Sin. Sharon Page

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СКАЧАТЬ was the only light cutting the blackness of his library. Marcus wasn’t certain why he’d summoned Stephen here, and before his brother-in-law could counter, he said, “And you bloody well know I can’t snitch to her father. Miss Hamilton will hire an escort—some seedy ex-Runner who will likely rape her. Or Chartrand will find out who she is and make her the centerpiece of some perverse sexual display.”

      Stephen grinned. “You’re looking for an excuse to go with her.”

      “Hell and damnation, Stephen, she’s a virgin. If she wanted to drink an entire bottle of brandy, I’d stop her.” But he was trying to justify taking her, not stopping her. “She’s sensual…innately sensual, but innocent. And a day at Chartrand’s event should shock her into realizing she must give up her career.”

      “And she needs a noble escort who won’t ravish her?”

      He’d already ravished her—with his mouth. Rock-hard at the memory, his cock strained against his trousers. He would love to do it again. The delectable Miss Hamilton deserved to discover her sexuality. He could teach her without hurting her, without spoiling her future.

      “I began with a kiss. A kiss to prove a point.” He lowered his head, unable to look Stephen in the eye. “I’ve never been kissed like that—it was more passionate, more heated, more explosive than any other kiss I’ve had. She was so…untutored, but so giving.” And then, in his library, he’d begun again to ‘prove a point’ and been overwhelmed by desire.

      He launched to his feet to pace. “Damnation, Stephen, is it her innocence that tempts me? Am I the same kind of blackguard as my father?”

      “Christ, no!”

      The vehemence of Stephen’s cry gave him the answer he needed, even as Stephen assured him, “You are not the same kind of man as your father, Marcus.”

      Marcus tossed back his brandy as he strode across the carpet. “Lydia Harcourt is blackmailing me.”

      Stephen’s liquor sloshed over his ice-blue waistcoat. “Hades, over what? Everyone in England knows your reputation for bedding women. I believe it even extends to the Continent and the Americas.”

      He frowned. That might be true if Venetia Hamilton’s book found its way there. “Father’s scandals.”

      His brother-in-law’s face went stark white. “God, not—”

      “Not Min,” Marcus lied. “Lady Susannah Lawrence, the young woman who got with child and killed herself. And the details of my father’s disgusting practice of having madams procure innocents for him. I’m terrified what having that in print would do to Min. To Mother.”

      Stephen rubbed his temple. “Why in Hades would your father confess to Lydia Harcourt?”

      “Drink. He spent his days in a brandy bottle and was possessed by devils. The witch—I quote from her letter—‘sought to ease his pain by encouraging him to confess his troubles’.”

      The rest of the letter haunted him. A subject of great delicacy…Lady Ravenwood…secrets… Damn that bitch, Lydia.

      “How much does she want?”

      “Ten thousand.”

      Stephen grimaced. His white hand gripped the glass. “Do you plan to pay her?”

      “I’d like to wring her blasted neck. But I’m thinking of negotiating a trade. If I can get hold of her manuscript, I can trade it for her silence. I imagine she’s taken her book to Chartrand’s with her. I’ll burn it page by page until she agrees.”

      “And Miss Hamilton?” Stephen prompted.

      “Taking a pretty new mistress to Chartrand’s orgy would be the perfect disguise.”

      “Take her because you want to,” Stephen advised. “Don’t take her as a way to punish yourself with temptation.”

      Marcus swung open the door as his carriage clattered to a stop on the street outside Venetia’s narrow townhouse. A slim figure in a swirling black cloak darted out from the shadow and hastened down the steps.

      Leaning out, Marcus reached for her hand. At this hour the street was deserted, save for his servants loading her trunks. Her delicate fingers slid across his palm. As he drew her up into his softly lit, private world, she pushed back her deep hood. He caught his breath as he gazed into effervescent hazel eyes.

      Holding her cloak about her, she settled in the seat opposite him. He raised a brow—after the sensual session in his library, he’d expected her to cuddle up against him.

      She smiled happily. “My father is much improved. His color has returned and he’s had no more pains.”

      “I am pleased to hear that. So there is no need to take you to Chartrand’s?” Why did he feel the pain of regret?

      She shook her head, curls bouncing. “He’s not well enough to risk travel. No, that wouldn’t be wise.”

      “I suspected it wouldn’t be.” He couldn’t help but smile. “You might want to open your cloak. I’ve kept the coach heated.”

      Slowly, teasingly, Venetia tugged at one end of the ribbon that tied the wool shut. His throat dried. He’d watch dozens of women undress, but the sight of Venetia playing seductress aroused him instantly.

      She drew the sides of her cloak apart, revealing a stretch of pale satin skin.

      It took him a full minute to realize he was looking directly at her bare legs. Not quite bare—she wore creamy white stockings and pale blue garters. Rigid with sudden tension, he gazed upward at the stretch of her bare stomach, the curves of her naked breasts, at her cheeky, hopeful smile.

      Other than stockings, she wasn’t wearing a damned stitch beneath the cloak.

      “What in damnation are you thinking?” Marcus demanded.

      Venetia sat demurely, despite her nudity, her legs crossed at the ankles. On the seat opposite, Marcus was glorious. The buff breeches he wore displayed the hard muscles of his legs. Blue superfine fit like a second skin across a broad chest and broader shoulders. A heavy greatcoat lay discarded at his side. He was a man who had seen everything—done everything—and she’d gambled on a bold, wild tactic to intrigue him.

      She took a deep breath. “I want you to understand that I am not a frightened virginal miss, Marcus.”

      He gritted his teeth, growled between them, “You can’t travel to Dorset naked.” He rubbed his jaw and she watched the pass of his hand. Freshly shaven, his skin would be smooth, soft, and smell of his soap.

      “Why not? This is our own private world in your carriage, is it not? Who will see me other than you?”

      “What of meals?” he snapped. “Using the necessary?”

      She hadn’t expected him to be so enraged. “I can just hold the cloak closed.”

      “You plan to walk in public completely bare beneath your cloak?”

      “No one СКАЧАТЬ