If He's Sinful. Hannah Howell

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      What little he could hear of the conversation between Penelope and her brother made him inwardly shake his head. They seemed to believe they could feel things and see things others could not, could snatch emotions from the air and speak to the dead. She spoke of this specter named Faith as if the vision were not born of the potion Cratchitt had given her, which it certainly must have been. He then wondered if they were part of that group of charlatans who swindled foolish people out of money by claiming they could contact the dead or tell one what the future would bring.

      That would explain their fine speech, that air of gentility, he mused. Unless one went to a gypsy at some fair, most of the charlatans of that ilk dealt with the ladies of society and were as genteel as their customers, or pretended to be. He frowned as he tied his cravat under the intense scrutiny of the boys, wondering uneasily if the game was not over yet. Were they going to try to entrap him in some way? Perhaps even try to claim honor demanded he marry the girl?

      A little voice in his head whispered that it would not be such a hardship if they did and he brutally silenced it. It was his lust talking, nothing more. He could not marry just anyone, especially not some lovely woman whose bloodlines and purity were in question. He had a duty to his title and to the future of his line, as well as to his family. He had to marry a woman of the appropriate bloodlines, and one fully accepted by society. He also had to marry a woman with as large a dowry as possible to help rebuild the family fortunes. It did not please him to admit, even if only to himself, how swiftly he would toss aside the need for good bloodlines if this wide-eyed girl were wealthy. In a way, he had already done that by considering marriage to Clarissa for the barony her brother now held was very new. The family had been very minor gentry before then.

      For a moment he feared he was like his father, a slave to his passions. He pulled on his boots and shook his head, fighting to dislodge that fear from his mind. One moment of madness with one woman did not make him the satyr his father had been. Ashton knew he could never treat a woman as his father had treated his mother. Nor could he ever leave his wife and children nearly destitute just to sate those unbridled passions. He had to stop fearing that he was going to become his father. That fear could easily choke all the life out of him.

      What if I told you that I was the daughter of a marquis?

      He tensed as he heard her say those words again in his mind. That would make her bloodlines more than acceptable. Ashton silently cursed. He was grasping at the air, at any reason he could find not to tie himself in marriage to the beautiful but cold Clarissa. Even if Penelope was what she claimed, she was not the heiress he needed. The gown she now wore proved that. It was pretty enough but not of the finest quality. Neither were the clothes the boys all wore. His curiosity was now piqued, however. Just who were these people?

      “Pen, may we leave now?” asked Delmar. “There is a bad air here.”

      Ashton stared at the boy. He looked a little pale and his wide blue eyes shone with fear. It was not an offensive odor the boy referred to. Ashton frowned at Penelope, who now stood by the bed, her brother’s arm around her waist to steady her. Did the whole family believe they had strange powers?

      “Exactly who are you?” he asked Penelope. “All of you?”

      “That is no concern of yours,” replied Artemis, tightening his grip on Penelope when she started to speak.

      “You can depend upon my discretion.” Ashton grimaced and dragged a hand through his hair. “If naught else, I certainly do not wish my name connected to this debacle.”

      “De—baaa—cle,” Penelope murmured. “A fine word.” She smiled and closed her eyes.

      Artemis staggered when Penelope went limp and started to fall. Ashton lunged forward to grab Penelope before she hit the floor. Four young voices cried out in dismay and Ashton knew he, too, had been frightened by her sudden collapse. The relief that swept over him when she opened her eyes to stare at him was greater than he thought it should be.

      “My legs failed me,” she said and frowned at the faint slurring of her words.

      “The potion was obviously too strong for you,” said Ashton.

      “I can take her now.” Artemis reached for Penelope.

      “To where?” Ashton glanced toward the open window. “Out that way? Carrying her?” He could tell the boy wanted to say he could do it but had enough good sense to know it could prove impossible, even dangerous. “I need to find my friends to help us.”

      “In this place? Do you mean to knock on every door?”

      “I mean for you to go out the window, go up to the door, and ask for Sir Cornell Fincham. Tell the man at the door that the Duke of Burfoot has sent you with an urgent message for his son. They will fetch him or lead you to him. Tell Cornell I need him and the others to come to this room as quickly as they can. And as stealthily as possible.”

      “Which room is this?”

      “Twenty-two,” Penelope replied and rubbed her cheek against the soft velvet of Radmoor’s coat.

      “And I may trust in their discretion as well, may I?” Artemis frowned. “Why should I?”

      “Because they are my closest, most trusted friends and will protect my name as fiercely as they would their own.”

      “They will want explanations.”

      “Tell them they will get answers as soon as they join me here.” When Artemis still hesitated, Ashton added in a voice that held both command and counsel, “We shall need their help to get her out of here safely and unseen.”

      Artemis nodded and, after ordering the other boys to guard Ashton and Penelope, slipped out the window. There was barely a whisper of sound as the youth descended the outside wall and Ashton had to admire the boy’s skill. He sat down on the bed to await his friends and settled a limp Penelope on his lap.

      She felt right there, fit perfectly in his arms. Ashton heartily wished Clarissa fit so perfectly instead of this unknown girl. Not that he had actually embraced Clarissa yet. Worse, he found himself wondering if the hints of passion he had seen in her were born of his touch or the potion the madam had forced her to drink. It was not something that should concern him but he suspected he would be wondering about it for a long time. He also knew that he would soon question the veracity of the passion his past lovers had shown in his arms, few and far between though they were. Once a man began thinking of such things, he entered into a vicious circle of doubt.

      “Is she going to die?”

      Ashton looked at the small boy called Delmar. “No. She is just weakened by the potion given to her. It will loosen its grip upon her soon and she will be fine.” There remained a glint of doubt in the boy’s eyes and Ashton forced as much confidence as he could into his voice as he added, “Truly, your sister will fully recover from this.”

      “She is not my sister. She is my cousin. Stefan and Artemis are her brothers. The rest of us are her cousins.”

      “Ah, I had thought you all lived with her.”

      “We do. She takes care of us.”

      “All of you?”

      “Enough, Delmar,” said a boy who looked nearly as old as Artemis. “The man does not need to know our business.”

      “But, СКАЧАТЬ