Two Sinful Secrets (4 page)

Hardly daring to breathe, Sophia slid off the bed and tiptoed to the door. She held
her skirts tight against her to still their rustling with one hand and reached for
a straight-backed chair with the other. She wedged it under the knob and stood back
to listen, holding her breath.

“
Hier!
” she heard the hotel’s stern owner cry in German, her voice muffled through the door.
“I don’t allow people who are not paying guests to wander the hallways at all hours.
This is a respectable establishment. Who are you, anyway? What do you want with Frau
Westman?”

“A thousand apologies,” a man said, his voice deep and echoing, indistinguishable
through the door. “I was merely returning something Frau Westman left at the casino.”

“Then you can leave it with me. She already owes me enough for her stay.”

Sophia listened as the stranger was bustled away from her door and their voices faded.
She turned and hurried to the window to watch from the shadows as the hotel’s front
door opened. A tall figure clad in an elegant evening cape
emerged, and Sophia felt that panic clutch at her deep inside again. It was Lord Hammond.

She had to get out of there. Quickly.

Sophia slid back from the window and pulled the valise out from under the bed. She
could pack her meager belongings in fifteen minutes, and be on the first train out
before it was light. It was past time for her to go home.

He has asked me to marry him.

I hardly dare write those words for fear that putting them down in stark black ink
will render them imaginary. It has been so long since we saw each other, since these
wars between the king and Parliament have divided us, but now he has returned and
he immediately came to my father’s house to see me. I thought my heart would burst
when I saw him there in the lane, the sun on his golden hair, laughing as I came running
to greet him. And when he kissed me—no woman could be happier than I am at this moment.
My love has returned to me.

The new king is making him a duke—the Duke of Carston. So I will be a duchess at the
royal Court, by my husband’s side. How can I bear such happiness?

London

S
he was definitely interested.

Dominic St. Claire watched the woman from across the crowded salon of his gambling
club, the Devil’s Fancy. She stood behind the chair of a gentleman considerably older
than herself as he played a hand of loo, dutifully pretending to watch even as her
gaze kept sliding to Dominic. She was tall and slender, with a generous expanse of
white décolletage above a stylish, ruffled blue bodice, blonde curls, and the face
of an angel. But the smile she gave him was full of pure deviltry.

Once he would have been there in an instant. He would have returned her inviting smile,
raised her hand to his lips, given her a careless compliment, and stolen her away
right under the nose of her portly companion. She was exactly the sort of woman he
would share his bed with for a night or two.

But tonight—tonight he felt strangely unmoved by her beauty and the invitation in
her smile. He didn’t feel the leap of excitement at the hunt, the flare of hot lust
he once
would have. He only felt—cold. Removed from the whole scene of laughter and bright
lights. The Devil’s Fancy, once something he had loved and taken pride in, had become
merely a business and a duty. And that woman’s beauty awakened no spark in him.

It had been that way ever since Jane died. Sweet, serene Jane, who was far too good
for him but somehow had still considered marrying him. He had always loved his life,
the rush of gambling and the theater, but Jane had made him start to imagine another
way to be. She had made him imagine a home to come back to after his work.

And then, as swiftly as those new hopes rose, they were gone and Jane was dead. Six
months ago now.

Dominic turned away, catching a quick glimpse of the disappointed pout on the blonde’s
face. He made his way through the crowd and automatically checked to make sure everything
was running as it should and everyone was having a good time. In the time it had been
open, the Devil’s Fancy had become one of the most popular clubs in London, and it
was full almost every night. All the noble and the wealthy clamored for memberships,
and they were turning away people at the door every night because it had become too
crowded.

They came for the high-stakes gaming, the luxurious surroundings, the people that
could be seen there. And they came because it was owned by the St. Claires, and everyone
always liked to gossip about them.

Dominic loved the Devil’s Fancy and was proud of its success. But tonight he wished
he was someplace else. Someplace quieter, darker, where he could lose himself in a
good bottle of brandy and a woman. Not the blonde, though, and not any of his usual
mistresses. Someone
different, someone who could intrigue him, beguile him, and make him forget.

Dominic took a glass of wine from a footman’s tray and drank it as he coolly studied
the crowd. There were women everywhere, as there always were. Beautiful, readily available
women who watched him and smiled at him. Dominic had been an actor, both on the stage
and off, since he was a child, and he had learned to read human nature, to know how
to persuade people to do what he wanted. His St. Claire looks, pale golden hair and
green eyes in a sculpted face, didn’t hurt either. Finding company was never a problem.

But tonight—tonight he felt strangely restless and removed. He wanted something, but
he didn’t know what it was. He tossed back the wine as he studied the crowd at the
faro table. There was a lady with glossy black hair there, her back turned toward
him, and suddenly something sparked to life in him.

An old memory came back, one he had not thought of in a while. A woman in a black
gown with hair like that, her face concealed by a mask. A flashing smile, laughter—the
taste of her kiss, so sweet and strangely innocent. She had intrigued him as no other
woman had, with her beauty and her mystery. Until she kneed him the balls like a brawling
street whore and fled.

He had looked for her for weeks after that, consumed with the need to find out who
she was and to take some retribution for the way she had left him. He had wanted to
kiss her again—and to take things much, much further.

Yet he never found her. It was as if she vanished in a puff of smoke, or was merely
a dream. And there had been other women, beautiful, pliable women, and then
sweet Jane. But no one had quite gripped his imagination like the woman in black.
He watched the woman at the faro table, wondering if maybe she had returned at last.
That would certainly make the night far more exciting.

The woman turned and caught him watching her. She gave him a delighted smile, and
he saw with a flash of disappointment that it was not
her.
This woman’s face was the wrong shape, her skin not as pale, and she was a different
height.

The woman in black remained a mystery then.

Dominic made his way past a cluster of card tables and stopped to greet some of the
regular patrons. He automatically talked and laughed with them as he always did—it
was good for business. But finally he found the slightly quieter surroundings of the
dining room, where a lavish buffet was laid out. Once the suppers and dancing had
been organized by his sister Lily, who had a flair for entertaining. But she was married
now and living in Edinburgh with her new husband.

Her new husband who was a Huntington. Aidan was the only tolerable member of that
cursed clan. The St. Claires had hated the Huntingtons for centuries, ever since a
Huntington abandoned and ruined his wife, Mary St. Claire. Hating them was second
nature to Dominic now.

He reached for one of the hothouse grapes and ate it as he forced bitter thoughts
of the Huntingtons out of his mind. He had better things to think about now.

“A fine evening,” he heard his brother Brendan say behind him. “Especially for the
Christmas season. The receipts should be most satisfactory.”

Dominic turned and grinned at Brendan. “More work for you, then, since you’ve dared
to take on the books
after Lily left.” As well as arranging the hospitality of the Devil’s Fancy, Lily
had kept the accounts. She was much missed.

Brendan shrugged. “Work of the best sort, making money.” He studied Dominic closely,
his expression as solemn as ever. Brendan had always been almost impossible to read,
so intensely private and quiet was he.

“I saw Lady Rogers giving you the eye,” Brendan said.

“Lady Rogers?”

“The blonde in the blue gown. She and her new husband are members as of last week.”
Brendan gave a rare, wry smile. “I suspect the gaming was not the only thing that
drew her here.”

Dominic shrugged. “If she is newly married, perhaps she should pay closer attention
to her husband.”

Brendan arched his brow. “Dominic! I have never heard you urge marital constancy before.
Are you feeling ill tonight?”

“Not at all.”

“But there is something not right with you. I can see that.”

Dominic shrugged. Brendan might keep his own thoughts private, but he always watched
everyone else far too closely.

“Perhaps I’m just distracted with everything we need to prepare for the theater engagement
in Paris,” Dominic said.

“We’re all distracted by that,” Brendan answered, his gaze sweeping again over the
room. “Are you sure our mother’s idea of taking James with us is the right one?”

“Surely he can’t get into any more trouble there than he can here.”

Brendan arched his brow. “Can he not?”

Dominic laughed, remembering all the follies his brother had committed in the name
of romance. “All right, perhaps he can. Paris is full of temptations, after all. But
at least we’ll be there to watch after him.”

“And perhaps Paris will offer you a share of distraction as well.”

“Brendan…” Dominic said warningly. His family had been hovering ever since Jane died,
giving him worried, secretive glances. He couldn’t take it from Brendan, too.

“I won’t say anything else. Just that Paris is full of beautiful women. There should
be plenty to occupy us while we’re there.” And then Brendan turned and walked away,
leaving Dominic to study the crowd alone.

Maybe his brother was right. Maybe distraction was in order now. Something to make
him quit thinking about black hair and a pair of vivid blue eyes behind a satin mask…

V
oilà Paris! Voilà Paris!
”

Sophia smiled at the coachman’s shouts and lowered the window of the large, lumbering
diligence
stagecoach to peer outside. She could only see a few scattered buildings, tucked
back behind the thick trees that lined the broad lane, no grand bridges or turreted
palaces yet, but those words told her they were near their destination at last.

Since fleeing Baden-Baden, Sophia had been making her way across the Continent, unsure
of what she should do. Several times she had thought about going back to England and
throwing herself on her family’s mercy. She had been alone for so long; even when
Jack was alive she had been alone, struggling to make decisions that would keep them
from starving. Moving from place to place, never staying long in the same place or
coming to truly know the people around her.

She had been lonely in her family, too, always surrounded by them yet never really
seen, never understood. She was always their disappointment. But at least there she
had almost belonged to something. Was it worth it to
debase her pride and return to them? Sophia wasn’t sure. Her pride was a fierce thing.

And that was what had brought her to Paris. She had intended to stop in France only
for a few days, to see some sights before she went on to England to decide what to
do about her family, to see if somehow she could get back into their good graces.
She had invested her winnings from Lord Hammond with a little judicious gaming on
her journey and was financially secure enough for the time being. She could indulge
in something she hadn’t in a long time—a little leisure.

In Rouen, she encountered a Frenchwoman who had befriended her in Monte Carlo many
months ago, a woman she had much in common with and could laugh and talk with freely,
have fun with. It had been a long time since she had a friend like that, and they
had kept in touch intermittently after departing Monaco. Sophia smiled and sat back
against the carriage seats as she remembered Camille Martine’s joyous greeting in
that Rouen cafe, their lively, laughing conversation over champagne.

When Camille heard of Sophia’s rootlessness, her doubts about returning to her family,
she shook her head sadly.

“
Ma chère amie
Sophie, you cannot return to such a grim life!” Camille cried. “You would wither
away. I should know. If I had stayed with my mother-in-law after my dear Henri died,
as she wanted me to, I would have become as dry and dull as her. Closed off from the
world and life, shut off from all joy—bah! Not for me. And you are the same, I could
see that from the moment we met.”

Sophia had to laugh, Camille’s words were so true. All
her life she had felt as if she was suffocating under the weight of her family’s expectations,
the rigorous responsibilities of being a duke’s niece. “Very true, I fear. It’s why
I ran off with poor Jack in the first place.”

“See? You escaped once. Why would you go back?”

Sophia shrugged. “I haven’t a great deal of choice. I don’t have many talents to use
in taking care of myself.” She could have become Hammond’s mistress, given in to the
glow of lust in his eyes, his need to possess everything around him. But that would
have been an even closer prison than her family, a drowning of her own soul.

Just thinking about it made her shudder, and she could say nothing of the whole bitter
episode to Camille.