A Sense of Sin (9 page)
Del could not follow the girl’s progress through the dense bracken on the hillside. He had to turn his mount around and recross the bridge, by which time she would have disappeared from sight. But he was first and foremost a military man, still possessed of his Marine’s experience and instinct. He was as good at reading the landscape as he was at reading a map.
All her father’s land, her home, lay on the south side of the mill creek. The small wood on the other bank gave way to fields where she would find no cover. Farther downstream the creek widened and deepened where it fed into the Dart. She would not be able to ford the river there unless she decided to swim.
A mental image of Celia Burke, pale and naked, water glistening from her skin as she rose out of the water, seared into his brain.
He reined his horse sharply left and returned across the bridge to the mill. No matter which way she went, upstream or down, she would have to cross the river to follow the lane on the far side back up the hillside and onto her father’s property. He dismounted, watered his horse at the pump in the mill yard, and sat down to wait.
It did not take long. Less than a quarter hour later she sprang into his vision, jumping across the water. Clever girl. She had waited for him to leave, then doubled back and retrieved her pails. Stealthily creeping upstream, under the bridge, she crossed when she thought it was safe. He mounted and followed, hanging back, staying out of sight and letting her go ahead unimpeded.
She moved quickly, with sure familiarity through the trees, and headed towards a stone building at the top of the hill. In another minute, she paused at a side door in the barn.
He could see her face, as she scanned the woods around her, her eyes wide and dark, her face pale with fright.
Why? He had told her she was safe from him. What could make her run? Del wound his way up to the crest of the hill. It seemed he was going to trespass on Lord Thomas’s property after all.
Celia was red-faced and gasping for breath, from nerves and the climb, by the time she made it back to the barn. She dropped her buckets by the door and leaned against the wall.
“What’s happened to you? You look done in. If that miller’s boy’s been giving you any trouble I’ll box his—”
“Viscount Darling,” she panted.
“Is giving you trouble? And him a Viscount! Isn’t that always the way of it?”
Celia gulped in a breath. “No. He didn’t give me trouble. Not exactly. He saw me. And I ran.”
“ ’Course you did. What with him being a libertine and all-around rotter. Your lady mother would have a fit to know he’d spoken to you. We’d best get straight home and come up with something, should he tell her. You get out of these wet things and—”
“Hello?” The Viscount’s deep voice echoed up the stairs, vibrating through the frame timbers of the building and deep into Celia’s chest.
“Oh, my God. The man’s a bloody hound!” Celia’s voice dropped to a whisper. “He’s followed me.” She flapped her hands at Bains. “Go! Get rid of him.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“Go down, before he comes up, and pretend to lock up.” She slapped the keys into Bains’ hand. “Go! Before he comes up.”
Bains mouthed something unintelligible, but went down. In another moment Celia heard her voice.
“Oh, sir. You startled me!”
“Your pardon, miss. I did call out,” the Viscount said. “You work in the Burke household? Bains, isn’t it?”
Celia tiptoed to the corner of the window to peek down.
“Yes, sir.” Bains curtsyed.
“Ah yes, I collect you are Miss Burke’s maid, are you not?”
“I don’t discuss my mistress with anybody, sir.” Bains lifted her chin and pulled the door closed behind her with a snap.
Viscount Darling heeded her subtle warning. “Very commendable, I’m sure. What is this place?”
“One of my master’s barns, sir.”
“Yes, I can see that. It appears to be something of an ancient granary. What is it used for?”
“I’m sure I don’t know, sir.” Bains’ tone was just short of pert.
“Really?” Viscount Darling returned her an unflinching stare. “Just how do you find yourself out here?”
Bains folded her arms across her chest. “I do my master’s business, sir. I’m told to clean out this old loft and that’s what I do.”
“Lord Thomas should have more care for his servants than to send them out alone, to do such a job of a morning.”
“I was just locking up now, sir, if you’ll be on your way.”
“Here.” Viscount Darling reached over and plucked the key from her hand. “Let me help you with this.”
And before Celia’s mouth could form a silent
no
, he was past Bains and treading up the stairs. Celia bolted for the only cover available, behind the stout door at the head of the stairs.
no
, he was past Bains and treading up the stairs. Celia bolted for the only cover available, behind the stout door at the head of the stairs.
“Here now, sir. There’s no call for you to go up there. That’s my master’s private room and you’ve no right to be here.”
Viscount Darling took his time looking about the room. Celia inched her head over a fraction, until she was able to see him through the crack between the door and the jamb, as he strolled around the big central table. Some of Bains’ sketches were scattered about, as well as some preliminary sketches Celia had made of the willow moss. Her master plant list, with all the projects she had planned, and those she had already completed, also lay on the work surface, at the end nearer her microscope.
It was too much to have him there, in her private, personal space. She had never felt so open and exposed, as if the room could reveal her most intimate secrets. It did, if he knew how to look. Everything there, every moment she had spent there, had been under his influence. Under the influence of his letters to his sister. Under the influence of his advice. His sense of merit. His daring and resolve. His purpose.
She had built this place out of her dreams. Her dreams of scholarly, botanical accomplishment and her dreams of him.
Viscount Darling’s stroll took him down to the far end of the table where the double loft window let in a flood of light, illuminating the microscope, its brass gleaming brightly in the morning sunlight.
Celia felt the tension coil tight within her body. Her lungs felt rigid, frozen in her chest. Her stomach clenched up fast, as he began to inspect the instrument. Emily’s microscope. Miss Hadley had sent the instrument to Celia after Emily’s death, instructed by the family, she said, to put it to good use. Celia had been touched by Miss Hadley’s thoughtfulness.
But the Viscount stared and frowned, and Celia held her breath. Did he know it was Emily’s? How could he? He had been away at sea with His Majesty’s Marines on a naval ship when Emily had purchased the instrument. Perhaps it was simply that a military man such as he had never seen such an instrument before. Oh Lord, she hoped he wouldn’t fiddle with the knobs the way some careless girls at school had done. He might scratch or break the lens.
Celia remembered the excitement of the day when the wooden crate, stamped from
MR. JOSIAH CULMER, MATHEMATIC INSTRUMENT MAKER, WAPPING, LONDON
arrived at Miss Hadley’s. The poor porter, having no ready assistance besides two girls, whom he would never allow to help him, had had to manhandle the crate into the hallway outside the classrooms by himself. Emily’s clever fingers had it pried open in a trice, and it had been a magical moment when she had pulled the gleaming brass instrument out of the straw.
MR. JOSIAH CULMER, MATHEMATIC INSTRUMENT MAKER, WAPPING, LONDON
arrived at Miss Hadley’s. The poor porter, having no ready assistance besides two girls, whom he would never allow to help him, had had to manhandle the crate into the hallway outside the classrooms by himself. Emily’s clever fingers had it pried open in a trice, and it had been a magical moment when she had pulled the gleaming brass instrument out of the straw.
The microscope, so vital to their study, was the only thing Celia had of Emily’s, making it especially dear.
“I see your mistress is a scientific young woman, Bains.”
Bains came to the side of the door, where Celia could see her. She looked uncomfortable but remained unforthcoming. “I’m sure I couldn’t say, sir.”
“Hmm. It is a beautiful instrument.”
Bains was holding to her line. “If you say so, sir.”
Celia pulled her eye away and pressed herself into the corner. She could hear Viscount Darling’s booted footsteps as he prowled along the table. He stopped at the basket of lemons she kept to remove the ink and paint stains from her hands, picking one up to sniff at the rind.
“Citrus.”
“Yes, sir.” Bains managed to look affronted by even so innocuous a comment.
Viscount Darling said nothing more, but paced back down the length of the room, and then paused before the door with his back to her. Celia held her breath and closed her eyes. She fancied she could feel the heat of him through the slatted wood door.
And then she
could
feel him, as he leaned on the door, squashing her back against the rough stone wall.
could
feel him, as he leaned on the door, squashing her back against the rough stone wall.
“I saw your mistress this morning, Bains. Not too far from here. Down along the mill creek.”
Celia could feel the rumble of his voice vibrate through her, through the wood of the door, a delicious, subtle tease.
“She looked quite lovely, in a sort of rumpled, country way. Fresh, with roses in her cheeks. That’s what I think of, when I see her. Roses and jasmine. Even when I can’t see her. Do you know, I sometimes imagine I can still smell the scent of her, as if she were in a room with me. Roses and jasmine. And citrus.”
The Viscount leaned his full weight against the door, pushing her back against the wall behind, pinning her, trapping her breath in her chest as heat built in her body at his words, at the intimacy of his statement.
“I think you’ve had too much sun, sir.” Bains was immune to his charm. “You ought to get yourself home.”
“Then I’ll see myself out. Good day to you, Bains. Please do give my kind regards to your mistress, The Ravishing Miss Burke.”
C
HAPTER
9
HAPTER
9
O
n Sunday morning, at the unfashionably early hour often o’clock, Del made his unhurried way over the threshold of St. Savior’s Church. He felt the congregation’s astonishment ripple over him as he walked up the center aisle in all his sartorial glory—his linen immaculate, his blue coat fitted like a glove, hat and prayer book in hand—as if he were quite used to attending divine services every day.
n Sunday morning, at the unfashionably early hour often o’clock, Del made his unhurried way over the threshold of St. Savior’s Church. He felt the congregation’s astonishment ripple over him as he walked up the center aisle in all his sartorial glory—his linen immaculate, his blue coat fitted like a glove, hat and prayer book in hand—as if he were quite used to attending divine services every day.
All he needed to finish his dramatic entrance to perfection was a requisite flash of lightning and a roaring clap of thunder.
The Gorgon, Lady Caroline Burke, noticed him first. Her flying eyebrows winged towards the rafters before she fixed him with a narrow, piercing scowl. The Burke family were seated in what looked to be their usual pew, to the left of the center aisle and two rows back from the front. Lady Caroline sat all the way to the outside of the pew, so by angling herself just enough, she appeared to be looking over her own family, when in reality, she had the greatest view over the rest of the congregation. Not a hat, a feather, nor a wayward smirk was going to escape her gimlet eye. There was no way for a rascal such as himself to go undetected.
Naturally, he bestowed upon her his sunniest, devil-may-care smile, and seated himself two rows back, directly behind her daughter.
When Miss Burke attempted to look around, The Gorgon gave her a hard pinch on the arm to keep her eyes decently facing front. She was left to lower her gaze demurely to her prayer book, the very picture of meek, modest, moral compliance, and leave the ogling of him to the more curious of her neighbors seated to the rear.
He wasn’t sure what he had expected, other than to make Celia his subtle object. And to speak with her before too much time went by. He was getting impatient for answers. And just plain impatient. His dreams of late, never the most restful, had grown increasingly filled with her image. And decreasingly filled with her clothing.
But he was in church, where he knew he must be drawing far more than his fair share of attention. While some of the congregation made a show of ignoring him, a few hearty souls, like Lady Harriet Renning, acknowledged him. He was a greater object of curiosity than the rector’s sermon, which he listened to with the appearance of clear-eyed attention. Likely half the congregation were waiting for him to be struck down at any moment by a tremendous lightning flash from a just and punitive God.
He was not struck down, and until such time as he felt the hot fork of the Devil in his back, he resolved to smile to everyone as serenely as if he were in a brothel.
But he was not in a brothel. St. Savior’s was an ancient stone church, but the heat of July had managed to overwhelm even its thick stone walls. The air was thick and still as the rector’s voice droned on like a bee, busy in a hedgerow. He ought to amuse himself by letting his gaze wander innocently over the magnificent medieval stained glass windows.
But Miss Burke had pinned her dark unruly curls up in defiance of fashion, and the back of her neck was long and white below the back rim of her hat. A single whorl of shining hair peaked from under the brim, dark silk against the vulnerable white of her neck.
Del wondered if any other man had ever noticed the way her hair grew in that swooping left-hand whorl. If any other man had even seen it or thought about placing his fingers there, to cup the back of her neck. The sight was strangely intimate, as if only a husband should or would know about such a place. As if only a man who had the
right
to touch her there and lift aside her glorious riot of hair or to press his lips to the sensitive skin at the top of her spine, should have discovered it.
right
to touch her there and lift aside her glorious riot of hair or to press his lips to the sensitive skin at the top of her spine, should have discovered it.
God help him. What a strange, unwelcome thought, and yet he could not look away. He could not stop his mind from skimming around the bottom edge of the hat and mentally un-tying the ribbons to push the hat off, and give him unimpeded access to the long, delicate line of her jaw and the soft, vulnerable skin of her neck.
Vulnerable. No. He would not allow anything about her to be vulnerable to anything but his worst intentions. He very much hoped she would be vulnerable to him. He would do everything in his power to make it so.
He would tell her about kissing her neck. He would tell her he wanted nothing more than to slide his teeth down the sensitive tendon to the little hollow formed by her collarbone. He would tell her how her head would arch back and her mouth would fall open, ready, waiting, wanting him to kiss her and search out the sweet confines of her mouth with his tongue and teeth. How he would taste her honey, and she would taste him and melt into his arms.
He might be in a church, but she was likely as close to heaven as he would get.
That wasn’t right. Her body would be heaven, what woman’s would not? His response was as it would be with
any
beautiful woman. He wanted Celia Burke physically. He wanted to sink his aching cock into the tight, whisper-soft pillow of her body until he found his release—but he did not like the fact that he did.
any
beautiful woman. He wanted Celia Burke physically. He wanted to sink his aching cock into the tight, whisper-soft pillow of her body until he found his release—but he did not like the fact that he did.
He stayed in the pew after the closing—because he could not possibly stand up in his current, inappropriate state of arousal. He took the time to mark his place in the prayer book as if he had plans for further, detailed liturgical study. He let the rest of the exiting congregation pass him by, ignoring both the curious and the hungry stares.
He had prepared himself to receive fire and brimstone emanating from the Gorgon, and for her to lift away her skirts so they might not come in contact with the pollution of his pew. But as Lady Caroline Burke and her husband, Lord Thomas, passed by, abreast of Lord and Lady Renning, the entire foursome acknowledged him. Lord Thomas made a slight bow in his direction and his lady followed with a slight, but regal angling of her head.
Wonder of wonders, he was not to be cut. Dartmouth society appeared to be warming to the prodigal Viscount. Guilt threatened to swamp him at such fine treatment from Lord Thomas. Del had taken liberties with the man’s daughter and had just daydreamed about taking even greater ones, while seated in church. He really did have no moral scruples.
As he stepped onto the wide stone steps, Del shook hands with the rector, Reverend Dr. Marlowe, and spoke politely to Lady Harriet Renning, who inquired after his mother’s health. He might have approached Lord Thomas and Lady Caroline Burke had they not turned to speak with a neighbor and had not Miss Burke stepped a fraction apart.
He arrived by her side at the precise moment when she turned away from her conversation. He tipped his dove gray hat politely. “May I say I am pleased to see you this morning, Miss Burke.”
“Good morning, Viscount Darling.” She curtsyed demurely, keeping her eyes down, and would not look at him.
“Are you not going to say how surprised you are to see me here this morning?”
“Ought I to be surprised?”
“No, I suppose my attendance jibes quite nicely with that rather sunny, idealized version of my character to which you ascribe.”
The faintest brewing of a smile appeared on her lips before she bit it back under control. “As you say, Viscount Darling.”
“It is too beautiful a day for formality, is it not, Miss Burke? Please call me Darling. What did you think of the sermon?”
The momentary flash of panic on her face told him all—she had no idea what the sermon had been about. His presence had discommoded her so far as to disturb her perfect character. She could not truly remember.
Good.
At least he was not alone in this infernal hell of awareness he had created.
Good.
At least he was not alone in this infernal hell of awareness he had created.
But Miss Burke was as clever as she was beautiful. She rallied. “The Reverend Marlowe is always most learned and eloquent when he speaks on God’s infinite and merciful grace.”
“I will have to take your word for it”—he smiled at her—“as I have not heard him before and was rather more interested in the beauties of the church.”
She did not take his meaning. He really did have to teach her to flirt. It would make the whole process of seduction that much easier. But, he supposed, a great deal less interesting.
“Oh, yes, the windows are rather beautiful, are they not”—she turned to gaze upwards at the edifice—“and the architecture is Gothic, as I’m sure you know.”
“Not at all. Never went to university and learned the niceties. Too busy killing Frenchies.”
“Oh. I had not thought.” And there was the blush, as if a paintbrush had been drawn across her cheek. “Do forgive me.”
“I believe I shall.” He gifted her with his breeziest, most charming smile.
She seemed to relax a bit, lowering the prayer book she had clutched to her breast like armor. “Are you enjoying your stay in Dartmouth, Viscount Darling?”
“In a way. But I do not stay in Dartmouth. I am out on the coast, at Redlap Cove at the home of a friend.”
“Of course!” She smiled, and transformed herself into the picture of genuine delight.
It surprised him that a young lady so conscious of her beauty as The Ravishing Miss Burke should ever crinkle up the corners of her eyes on purpose. No matter her skill at acting, he did not think any lady’s vanity would have allowed such a purposeful defilement of her beauty. But then again, Miss Burke had been trudging around the countryside yesterday, dressed little better than a washerwoman. Perhaps beauty was not a hardened priority, for Miss Burke smiled away, giving her heretofore haunted eyes a merrier twinkle.
“Of course you are at Glass Cottage. How lovely. I should have realized. Do you find it to your liking?” Hers did not seem an idle, polite interest. She looked at him with expectation.
“Yes,” he answered truthfully. “It is a pleasant, very comfortable house. I take it you know it?”
“Oh, yes. It belongs to my great friend Mrs. Marlowe, my Lizzie. I mean it belongs to Captain and Mrs. Marlowe. I take it you are acquainted?”
“With Captain Marlowe, yes. We sailed together for many a year, before I was brought home. From my knowledge of him, I can only suppose the house to be wholly hers. There is both wit and ease in the furnishings. I fancied it must show the hand of its mistress.”
Nothing, it seemed, could have pleased Miss Burke more than such a compliment to her friend. He had not believed her capable of such loyalty.
“Why yes,” she cried. “How perceptive of you. That is both Mrs. Marlowe and the house exactly—wit and ease. I admit, I envy Lizzie her lovely cottage.”
“Really? You surprise me, Miss Burke. I would not have expected the granddaughter of a Duke and the niece of a Marquess to envy anybody a mere cottage.”
“But there is nothing mere about Glass Cottage, is there? Such a happy, warm house and so beautifully situated, with the cove and the tide pools that form along the coast. There are several large streams that cut through her property. One marks the eastern boundary and comes right down to the shore to run into the sea, so full of excellent—Why it is just an excellent place.”
She stopped abruptly, he thought, suddenly nervous in his presence again.
“But I am rambling on. Suffice it to say, I think it an excellent property, despite all the trouble they have had with the smuggling. I hope you enjoy your stay there.”
“I thank you. I say, Miss Burke, I haven’t a clue as to the etiquette of hosting a party at a house where we are merely guests, but I wonder if Commander McAlden and I might host an afternoon of some sort and have some people, perhaps you and your family, out for an afternoon by the shore?”
Miss Burke regarded him as if he had suddenly run mad. “I hardly know, Viscount Darling. You did say my whole family? My parents and my brothers and sister? I have three younger siblings.” She pointed to two sooty-haired lads who looked as if mischief was their chief occupation.
“I collect you would be much easier in my presence if you were not going against the wishes of your family. So, if you are to spend time with me, your relations must be my friends as well. And I must be the one to befriend them.” What was he doing? He
had
run barking mad.
had
run barking mad.
“Would you really do that for me?” Her voice, low and breathless, was incredulous.
“I would.”
She began to smile and bit her lip, as if to keep herself from hoping against hope that it could be so. “Well, I think you are already well acquainted with my mother’s cousin, Lady Harriet Renning.”
“I am. She happens to be a great friend in former days of my mother, the Countess of Cleeve.”
“Ah. Well, if she were to aide you, I believe my parents might be more receptive to such an invitation.”
“And you, Miss Burke?”
Her smile could no longer be contained and when it broke free, her radiance left him momentarily stunned. He felt as if he wanted nothing more in this world than to bask in the glow of her happiness. To spend a lifetime making her so radiantly happy.
“For myself, I should like nothing more than to accept if such an invitation were to be proffered, not the least for the pleasure of being at Glass Cottage again.”
“So it would have nothing to do with the anticipation of the pleasure of each other’s company? With the pleasures of being with
me
, Miss Burke?”
me
, Miss Burke?”
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