A Little Bit Sinful (8 page)

“No, my life is vastly boring,” he said, giving her a wink.

She laughed.

There was nothing wrong with Miss Riverton, he decided. She only needed the right man to take notice.

Appearing to court one of the Ton’s darlings was raising some eyebrows and ruffling some feathers. Judging by the way a certain woman was looking in his direction, some of those feathers belonged to Clarissa Kincaid.

After their dance, Justin escorted Betsy to the refreshment table and handed her a glass of lemonade. She smiled coyly and then he returned her to her mother who eyed him suspiciously. The girl could do worse than him. Yes, he was a bastard, but he had more money than most of the families in here. He wanted to remind her that she was the one who had sought Vivian’s assistance with her daughter, but he nodded to the woman and walked off.

Marcus walked over to Justin. “I see that my beloved wife has not retired as she suggested she might. When did she convince you to take on this little task?”

Justin smiled. “The other night at dinner. And then again in a letter. She’s quite persuasive. And good at what she does.”

“Yes, she is,” Marcus said without an ounce of irritation. “On both accounts. In truth, I’m glad people still seek her out. She risked everything revealing her past, and it’s nice that some people don’t seem bothered by it.”

“You weren’t,” Justin said.

Marcus shook his head. “No. We’ve all done things we aren’t proud of. Women are no different.”

Justin glanced at the room around them.

“What’s wrong with the chit?” Marcus asked.

“Who?”

“The Riverton girl,” Marcus said.

“Nothing. Well, she favors horses a little too much, can’t seem to stop talking about them. But she’s pleasant enough and obviously intelligent,” Justin said.

“There you go. Smart women intimidate the lot of them.” Marcus motioned to the crowd in front of them.

He was likely right. Plenty of men found a woman with opinions to be unconventional and mouthy. He’d found, though, that he actually preferred a woman with a mind of her own.

A specific woman.

Briefly he considered bringing his concerns about George to Marcus’s attention, but he knew if he did that Chrissy might not forgive him.

…

Clarissa had been watching Justin all evening. Dancing with Betsy Riverton, making her laugh, getting refreshment for her, behaving suspiciously as if he were courting the girl. But certainly that couldn’t be the truth. His attentions to the girl stung, Clarissa couldn’t deny that, especially in light of what had transpired between the two of them night before last.

She’d gone through scenarios in her mind again and again, trying to figure out how to ask him about what he’d meant.

Not with you
.

There was nothing really to say. He didn’t want her, had obviously been kissing her before that to, what, entertain himself? She didn’t know. Ultimately she had decided that perhaps it was best to not mention the night in her bedchamber. Yet, she couldn’t make herself walk away from him. And seeing him dote on Betsy made that even more difficult.

Clarissa came up behind Justin and whispered, “Ask to take me on a walk.” Before he could turn around to face her, she walked off and met Aunt Maureen and Ella where they stood by the potted ferns. They were discussing the weather.

“It has been unusually warm for this time of year,” Ella said.

Justin walked up casually and smiled, greeting each of them. “Lady Clarissa, may I escort you on a walk?”

She gave him a smile. “Indeed. Thank you for asking.”

“I shall have her back in a few moments,” he added for Maureen’s sake. He took her arm and they walked out onto the balcony.

The night was chilly, but not so cold she’d require her cloak, but she was thankful this particular ball gown had sleeves that went to her elbows and her gloves covered the rest of her arms. His warmth surrounded her too, and she wanted to lean into him, but knew better of it.

They went to sit on a bench. The balcony was well lit and they were close enough to the opened French doors from the ballroom that they could still hear the music. Why not me, she wanted to ask, but didn’t, afraid of what his answer might be.

“I know what you’re doing,” she said instead.

“I beg your pardon?”

“With Betsy, you are trying to stir up trouble by appearing to court a lady.” She hoped she was right and that it wasn’t that he found Betsy Riverton irresistible. Not that she should care what he thought of other women, but certainly there were better choices out there. She couldn’t imagine cheerful Betsy being the recipient of one of his heated gazes or even still, one of his passionate kisses. Her face warmed.

He chuckled and she worried for a moment that he had read her thoughts. “Is that what I’m doing?”

“Of course, I am no fool.”

“You know I could never marry a woman from proper society,” he said.

His words sliced through her. She knew it was the truth, knew
she
could never marry him, yet hearing him admit it still bothered her. “No, of course not, you’re merely trying to raise some eyebrows.”

“Now, why would I want to stir up trouble?”

Good heavens but he looked so very dashing this evening. Every time the breeze blew by, she’d catch a whiff of his soap and shaving lotion. Things were going well between them. It had always been easy to be around Justin, there was no reason to think that one night would alter that. “Because you want to make them nervous. You want to worry them.”

He leaned over to her, nudged her a little with his body, then sat back straighter. “You believe me to be that transparent? Think you have it all figured out.”

She swallowed hard. “No, of course not,” she said hurriedly. “I only meant that I can certainly understand such a motive. People can be unkind.” And she meant that. If this town had treated her as poorly as they had him, she would want to turn them up on their ear.

“Indeed. So then if I were courting some woman to cause trouble, as you say, then you would approve of such actions?”

“Of the practice in general, yes, but I know Betsy and unfortunately you have selected the wrong girl.”

“I have?” He smiled at her, his eyes dropping to her lips. “I suppose you have another suggestion?”

Her heartbeat sped. Maybe he did still want her, despite what he’d said in her bedchamber. “I do. The way I see it, if you court any of these women, they will fall for you, be utterly seduced and entranced by your wicked good looks, and ultimately you will break their hearts.”

“Tragic,” he said.

“Precisely. None of them know you well enough to resist falling for you.”

“Because of my wicked good looks.”

She tried not to smile with him, but failed. “I am being quite serious.”

“My apologies, please continue.” He gave her a slight bow.

“What you should be doing is courting me.” She looked up at him.

Both of his eyebrows rose, then a smiled settled on his lips. “I’ll give you this, Chrissy, you never cease to surprise me. I did not see that coming.”

Frankly, it surprised her too that she’d thought it, let alone said it aloud. But she couldn’t let him know that so she quickly thought of an explanation. “It makes perfect sense. You get to do what you want, irritate the entitled, but you need not worry about breaking my heart.”

“Because you are not seduced by my wicked good looks.”

“Precisely.”
Lie, lie, lie
. His wicked good looks were the problem entirely. Well, perhaps not entirely, there was the matter of those intoxicating kisses…

“Your logic is intriguing, I shall grant you that.”

“Do you agree?”

“I’ll consider your proposal.”

Not with you
. She schooled her features to ensure her disappointment wouldn’t show.

“I do have a question, though,” he said. “Won’t my courting you cause problems between you and George?”

This is what she got for speaking before clearly thinking something through. This was what Rebecca had always warned her about, her impetuous nature. She’d seen Justin dancing with Betsy and had wanted to speak to him and then out popped that suggestion. But now that she considered it, perhaps a feigned courtship would be precisely what George needed to jump into action. And he certainly wasn’t keeping himself all to her; he had Franny Cooper and who knew what other lady hanging on the line waiting for him. “A little jealousy never hurt anyone.”

He chuckled again. “Ah, Chrissy, I have missed you.”

His words warmed her. Had he thought of her all these years? She had thought of him in passing, but had assumed that she’d never see him again. It had seemed a good thing at the time since Rebecca had thought him to be the wrong sort of boy to befriend Marcus.

“I do have a confession though,” he said.

“Which is?”

He leaned close enough to her ear. “I’m not truly courting Miss Riverton.”

“Yes, I know, that’s what I was saying.”

“No, you misunderstand.” He sat straight again. “Vivian asked me to pay court to Miss Riverton.”

She frowned. “Whatever for?”

“To draw the attention of other would-be suitors.”

She opened her mouth to say something, then closed it. Her frown intensified. She was annoyed that her sister-in-law would ask such a thing of Justin. But in truth she had no reason to be irritated. Still, part of it felt like a betrayal.

“Did you know that Lord Volley makes wagers on his wife’s dog breeding?” Justin asked.

She smiled relieved that he had changed the subject considering she’d just asked him to court her for no apparent reason. They had done well the other night when they’d spoken of similar matters. “I did not, but I do know that Lady Volley is so entranced with said dogs that supposedly she allows them in her bed, but not her husband. And I believe she has seven of those furry little creatures.”

“Fascinating,” he said.

“Most assuredly.”

“What do you know of that woman over there?” He nodded toward the stately older woman standing at the edge of the ballroom doors.

“Oh, that is Lady Pringle, and I’m afraid I have no gossip about her. She is a pinnacle of propriety,” Clarissa said.

“
That
is Lady Pringle?”

“You have heard of her? It would seem her reputation far reaches even what I would have thought. Then again, Rebecca used to call her the finest lady in all of London.”

He grinned, a devilish grin that made Clarissa’s toes curl. “It would seem that I am the one holding the gossip on her.”

“No!” But his grin did not falter. “Truly?” she asked.

“Indeed. Your mistress of decorum over there is also a notorious gambler. She uses a false name and sends a proxy in her stead, but she places wagers on nearly everything under the sun.”

“You are lying.”

“Absolute truth.” He put his hand over his heart as if making a pledge.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “If she uses a proxy and a fake name, how do you know it’s her?”

“I make it my business to know about everyone who patronizes Rodale’s. I did not know what she looked like, but my investigation turned up her real name.” He gave Clarissa a look. “I should go over there and introduce myself.”

“You cannot do that. You simply cannot introduce yourself, it isn’t done.”

“Yes, but I am a bastard. People would expect such things from me.” He shrugged. “But I will leave her alone. I do not want to lose her patronage. She is one of the more interesting ones.”

Chapter Eight

They stood in silence, looking out at the night sky. He hadn’t denied anything she’d said about him courting Betsy Riverton. And she wasn’t certain he’d taken her completely serious when she’d suggested he court her. She wasn’t even certain where that had come from. It had seemed like the best suggestion, though. She wouldn’t get hurt. This was Justin, he was a friend and nothing more.

Despite her obvious attraction to him, she shouldn’t develop any certain feelings toward him. He was not the sort of man Rebecca would have chosen for her. Clarissa needed to keep that in mind. Especially since she’d just proposed a scenario that would require the two of them spend more time together.

He looked over, gave her a half smile. “I have discovered some information on George. You wanted me to tell you.”

She grabbed a handful of her skirts, bunching the fabric, then thought better of it and smoothed it out again. “I can tell from your tone that you are not pleased with what you discovered.”

He eyed her for a moment, then was quiet for several more before he finally spoke. “I shall make a bargain with you.”

She nodded unsure of what he would ask of her.

“Cease your obsession with George Wilbanks.”

Her breath caught. Was he suggesting that he wished to replace George in her mind, in her favor? As wrong as it might be, she knew there was a part of her that hoped so. “I am not obsessed. I am merely dedicated to the notion of marrying him. He would be a good husband for me.”

“No,” Justin shook his head, “a
viscount
would be a good match for you, but not him.”

“I am not so certain.”

“I can prove to you that he is the wrong sort of man for you.”

His words rang with truth, and she knew she’d be inclined to believe him. But to do so would be to ignore the advice of the one person who had done her best to steer Clarissa in the right direction. “Precisely how can you do that?”

“I can take you to Rafferty’s.”

“I don’t think I know what that means,” she said.

“It’s another gaming hell. One on the banks of the Thames, next to the docks,” he said.

She gasped. “You can do no such thing. I would be ruined.” Though obviously she was already ruined. Still, to go to such a place with him, without a chaperone, it would be a blow to her reputation from which she could never recover.

“We could go without anyone seeing you.”

She considered his offer. She was curious, she couldn’t deny that.

“Chrissy, it’s important. You need to know the truth about this man before you agree to marry him.”

He was quite serious and his demeanor made her nervous. Anticipation fluttered to life in her stomach. “When?”

“Tonight. Do you think you can sneak out of your house without your brother or aunt being the wiser?”

Her heart thundered at the idea of sneaking out again. She’d done so on a handful of occasions recently and the adventure never ceased to thrill her. That old familiar pull toward adventure was a temptation she’d had to fight her entire life. Rebecca had helped her with that when she’d been alive, but since her death, Clarissa had battled on her own. “I don’t know.”

“It’s your choice. But I do know that you won’t believe me, you won’t believe the truth about your beloved George unless you see it with your own eyes,” Justin said.

She realized with alarming clarity that this entire conversation had been about George. Somehow she’d been so lost in idea of an adventure that she’d forgotten what it was all about. He knew something about George that would change her mind about pursuing him for her husband. She supposed she should go into the marriage with her eyes open. “Very well, I accept your invitation. What time shall I be ready?”

…

Soon Clarissa would be with him, ensconced in a darkened carriage as they drove London to the dirtier part of town. She hadn’t asked him anything about the night in her bedchamber, instead she’d jested with him, flirted. And then she’d asked him to court her, an obvious reaction to seeing him with another woman. Still he knew that Chrissy didn’t know what she asked of him. He could easily pretend to be interested in another girl, but to pretend to court her, he couldn’t do that and know he’d never have her. So he’d changed the subject.

Convincing her to come tonight had been easier than he’d first thought it would be. She obviously believed he was wrong about her beloved George, or at least she wanted to continue believing him to be this pinnacle of gentlemanliness that she held him to.

Justin had tried to be discreet and make inquires of the man, but he hadn’t discovered much other than he preferred Rafferty’s and had a penchant for boxing. Clipps following the man had been the only thing that had shed any light on the situation. Justin wondered if Clarissa knew her would-be groom enjoyed a good fight. Or that he chose prostitutes for his evening entertainment?

Once Clarissa saw the man she believed she wanted to marry on the docks at Rafferty’s she might begin to see that George Wilbanks was the very wrong sort of man for her.

…

C
larissa checked once more behind her to ensure no one followed. The darkened stairwell that led to the servant’s entrance in the back of the house was a perfect way to get in and out of the estate. She opened the door and was met with darkness. Justin, true to his word, appeared as if out of nowhere.

“Ready?” he asked.

She took a deep breath. “Yes.” She was determined to prove Justin wrong. George was not the wrong man for her. He couldn’t be the wrong man for her because if she didn’t marry George, who else would pick her? If after all of these years of everyone expecting them to marry and then he picks someone else, then no one would want her. She was already nearly on the shelf, as it were. She was running out of time and had already run out of options. No, she couldn’t explain his reluctance to marry her, but she knew there had to be a reason. A good reason too. So she’d agreed to this journey knowing full well if she got caught, there would be no explaining this one. It was worth the risk. George was worth the risk.

Justin grabbed her hand and pulled her into the darkness in front of them. She should probably feel more fear than she did, but this was no time to question such things. She was on a quest.

They reached the carriage and Justin helped her inside, then followed her and closed the door behind him. He sat across from her, a walking stick rested against the seat next to him. It was an opulent carriage, with plush upholstery and a soft leather finish. His height was even more noticeable in the small confines. His broad shoulders seemed to take up nearly the entire bench across from her and his gloved hand resting on the walking stick looked so big, masculine. That hand had been on her body. Her cheeks heated and she shifted in her seat.

They rumbled down the alleyway behind her family’s townhome.

“So we’re going to the docks, to a place called Rafferty’s?” she asked.

“You had never heard of it, until I mentioned it?” he asked.

“No, of course not. It is not the sort of thing people would discuss in front of a lady.” She pulled back the tiny curtain and peered out the window. London’s darkened streets slowly passed by. “And this is where you say George goes?”

“Yes, several nights a week.”

“What sort of establishment is this Rafferty’s? I mean should I find it sinful that he goes to this place?”

“It’s a gaming hell.”

“Like yours?”

“
Not
like mine. We share some things. We both offer games with high stakes, as any gambling establishment would, but there are some significant differences. Mine, for instance, is not in a wretched, filthy and dangerous part of town.”

“I’m certain that if this is true, if George goes to this place, then there is a logical explanation,” she said. She crossed her arms over her chest and prayed she was right. She had not been inside of Rodale’s that night she’d stood outside, but she’d seen enough to know that it was opulent, much like this carriage.

Justin had built a massive fortune, and likely had more money than her own family. Arguably George could find whatever he needed at Rodale’s, which begged the question of why he would frequent a gaming establishment on the docks of the Thames where everyone, even genteel ladies, knew that opium was rampant and prostitution was readily available.

“What is it about George?” Justin asked. “Besides Rebecca’s recommendation?”

“We’ve known each other a very long time. He’s a gentleman. We are an excellent match.”

“Yes, an excellent match,” Justin said, then he fell silent for a long time. “You say all of that as if you’ve rehearsed it for a long while. Are Ella and I the only ones who thing George is the wrong choice for you?”

“My Aunt Maureen is not overly fond of him either, but she knows how I feel about him.”

“And how is that, Clarissa, do you love him?”

“I believe that I could love him.”

“That’s not really the same thing, is it?”

“No, I don’t suppose it is. But people marry all the time without love.”

“A pity,” he said.

What did he mean by that? That he intended to marry for love? Her insides knotted and her palms began to itch with perspiration. They fell quiet for several moments before she spoke again. “What did you mean the other night when you said my piano playing was passionate?”

“I can tell from how you move with the music that it’s inside you, that you love it. It lights you up,” he said. “You play effortlessly.”

“Thank you,” she said and realized she fully meant it. He’d given her a lovely compliment.

“Your passion is evident. I could see it on your face, the way your body moved, the way your fingers flew over the keys. I very much enjoyed watching you play.”

“You’re not supposed to watch me, you’re supposed to listen, hear the music.” Was what he said true? Was it so obvious to others that she felt the music inside of her as if the notes were an extension of her bones? She felt her cheeks heat with embarrassment. A lady was not supposed to be so transparent, let alone so brazen. Then again, when it came to Justin, she had long since past the point of what a lady was supposed to do. Not only that, but being the perfect lady, or at least behaving as one, had certainly not gotten her where she’d wanted to be.

“I did listen” His voice was pitched low and sent a shiver through her. “Mozart, correct?”

That surprised her. “Yes, that’s right.”

“It surprises you that I know that,” he said. “You should remember, Clarissa, I was raised in a household much like your own. I am a bastard by birth, but only because my father was a liar and a cheater.”

There was hardness to his words. He was angry and she couldn’t fault him for that. He deserved to be angry with his father. He’d been furious with his father since she’d known Justin. It seemed he had not let go of his anger towards his father, but he had learned how to temper himself. The circumstances of his birth hadn’t been his own fault. Still society deemed that those of illegitimate blood were not true aristocrats no matter who their father was. “And your mother, the woman who raised you, you said she was a music teacher?”

He inclined his head. “Yes, before she moved to England.” Some of the tension left his shoulders. “She taught in Paris.”

“Your brother, are you two close?”

“We are now. Haven’t always been. Roe is doing the title much more justice than our father did, though he would never admit as much.”

“He’s a noted gambler,” she said. Funny that he would criticize George when his own brother had such disregard for his position in society.

“He’s a gifted card player.”

“You can say it with more polite words, but it doesn’t make the truth any less true. He’s a gambler, just as George obviously is.” Again silence surrounded them and Clarissa was left wondering what they’d see when their journey ended. The lights of London shone outside of her window. They were getting close.

“You are correct, of course. But I think you’ll see soon the full truth about George, not merely the penchant for wagering.”

“Perhaps. What is it about placing wagers that is so very thrilling for me?” she asked.

“I gambled some in school. Thought it wasn’t much of a gamble because I rarely lost. It’s how I raised the money to start Rodale’s. So I don’t have much desire to bet and gamble, as it were. Though I do know something about you I’d wager.”

“Indeed, and what would that be?”

“You would be a most passionate lover. I suspect no one else has recognized that in you. And I knew it, saw it in you even before we ever kissed.”

“You are scandalous.” But his words heated over her as if he’d reached across the carriage and touched her. Here in this darkened carriage where no one could see and yet he’d said things about the music and her playing as if he’d seen her, the real her, in a way that no one ever had.

“Perhaps. But no one can play the piano like that and not be a passionate person. It burns inside you, Clarissa, you merely need the right man to free it from its binds,” he said.

“And I suppose you believe yourself to be that man.” She said the words before she thought them through. He was also the man who had walked out on her the other night.

Not with you.

“I could be,” he said, his voice low and nearly a whisper.

She tried to say something, anything that would keep her from asking him why he’d left her, asking him why it couldn’t be her. She knew why. At least she knew all the logical reasons. They were from different stations in life. He obviously believed in love matches, he’d said as much one time. If he had tender feelings toward her, he would have made that known.

“Come here.” He didn’t allow her time to argue with him. He pulled her across the carriage and onto the seat next to him—well, in truth she was part on the seat and part on him.

“Trust me,” he whispered. And then he kissed her.

His lips were warm and gentle, and she tried to be unmoved by them, tried to ignore the desire coiling through them. But his kiss proved to be her complete undoing. She melted into him. His lips coaxed and she relented, opening to him. His tongue slid into her mouth a warm and shocking intrusion that sent shivers skittering across her flesh.