The Den Of Iniquity. Anabelle Bryant

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СКАЧАТЬ him. One thick brow arched over eyes blacker than soot. Meanwhile her shoulders eased from their rigid position and she drew another breath, no longer afraid.

      ‘You have lovely green eyes.’ So had his mother.

      She appeared perplexed, her lids flared then narrowed as if his comment surprised her. What had she expected? That he would set upon her, or worse allow Ransom to take a bite? Wrapped tight in a thick woollen cloak the only part of her he could discern was a heart-shaped face, smooth creamy skin kissed with a soft flush from her flight across the lawn. It gave the look of a playful wood sprite caught against the ivy. She angled her sharp little chin in defiance though she’d hardly said a word and likely trembled in her slippers.

      The lady was stunning—composed of stark contradictions and delicate beauty. His body immediately took notice despite refined ladies not being for him. Too many airs and complications, worst of all, the inevitable haughty stare down the nose that spoke volumes to announce he was beneath them, a man of the lowest mark, and by consequence of his birth unworthy of attention, never mind genuine affection. That disdain sliced the deepest. Best he remember whenever he entertained the illogical notion he might taste caviar when he was born to eat porridge. Aah, but there lay the irony. He could easily afford the most expensive delicacies.

      Time to move on. Had he not ranted with such vitriolic expletives over Rowley’s grave this situation would have been avoided, yet the miscreant’s dirty deed and scarring history evoked such volatile emotion he knew little else than to let it rain over the man’s final resting place. His loyal wolfhound had sensed the distress and reacted. Bloody hell, in his hurry to chase Ransom he’d forgotten to spit on the grave.

      He pulled his attention to the present where moss-green eyes, luminous and almond-shaped with long curled lashes, twitched with shock and some other indecipherable emotion, her lips drawn in a tight white line. Indeed, the woman was scared of his approach and the realization stirred an errant question. Had this same haunting trepidation filled his mother’s gaze all those years ago?

      He should offer reassurance. Would she be offended if he told her to settle?

      ‘We mean no harm.’ As he reached forward she recoiled, yet her action didn’t deter his. He plucked a wayward leaf from below her ear and his fingers brushed a tangle of curls, silk, caught between her shoulder and the collar of the cloak. Acting on instinct, he lowered the hood and a mass of hair tumbled past the woman’s shoulders, down in rivulets of blue-black gloss, sleek as the feathers on a raven’s wing. The sight conjured images of an avenging angel or, perhaps, an ethereal spectre. He breathed deep and fought off a misplaced feeling of arousal. Stop wanting what you can’t have. ‘You’re safe.’

      Who did he aim to reassure?

      ‘Thank you, Mr…’ She paused mid-sentence, her voice snagging his attention.

      ‘Sinclair.’ He supplied with a speck of amusement. ‘Sin, if you prefer.’ He watched her slender brows rise high, her expression wide-eyed and dishevelled, somewhat delectable.

      ‘Yes, thank you.’ She eased, smoothing a hand down the length of her hair to tuck the ringlets into order. ‘I was startled, but I’m better now.’ She shifted, adjusting her cloak in the process, and ventured a small step from the wall where’d she pressed herself flat in hope of becoming invisible.

      Impossible, that. This young lady would easily stand out among the finest beauties of the ton.

      Not that it mattered.

      Damned if his body thought it did.

      Instead he waited.

      ‘Your dog is asleep.’ Her statement was a mixture of curiosity and hope.

      He shot his eyes to Ransom who’d apparently found their conversation dull. When again he looked up, the lady had undergone a transformation.

      ‘He’s not a wolf at all.’ She wrinkled her nose, wise and wary enough not to approach.

      While Ransom appeared complaisant one wrong move would put him on alert.

      ‘Appearances aren’t always accurate.’ He cleared his throat, wondering if she would read the world within the words. ‘Ransom’s a loyal protector. It all depends on who he wishes to protect.’

      ‘I see.’ She looked beyond his shoulder.

      ‘I’m keeping you, Miss…’

      ‘Vivienne.’

      Her name fit. It might have been a type of rare flower. He made a sidelong step and the dog stood as if by having listened he knew it was time to take leave. ‘Well then, accept my regret for Ransom’s misbehaviour.’ With a nudge from long-abandoned manners, he canted his head towards the street. ‘Were you headed to your waiting carriage?’

      She answered with a nod.

      ‘I’ll accompany you there.’ Suspecting she would object he continued. ‘By way of apology for my dog and temper having sent you running across the property.’

      She flicked her eyes to the wolfhound, likely at war with her courage.

      ‘Ransom is less than interested now that we’ve spoken. He wouldn’t cause harm unless I gave the command.’ The words rolled out before he thought the better of them. He glanced to Byward Street and strove to soothe her ill ease. ‘To your carriage then.’ The lady shouldn’t be out without a footman, maid or some kind of keeper and that deduction held true for anyone bound for a private carriage. Fine gentry. The seedier parts of London composed the place of his ill-spent youth that now provided his living, but this woman didn’t belong to the streets. She was polite society. His personal anathema. Hell if she didn’t spark his curiosity though.

      She gave a curt nod, her expression a mixture of appreciation and speculative trust, and fell in beside him. He adjusted his stride so she could keep pace. Ransom wandered ahead on the pavement clearing a path until Vivienne stopped beside a cluster of carriages, one stacked against the other too closely for him to discern to which the lady belonged.

      ‘Thank you.’

      She smiled and he forgot what he was about to say until the crack of a nearby whip broke him from distraction. He reached into his breast pocket and withdrew a card, doubtful he would ever see her again. Such a pretty bit of muslin was unlikely to frequent the same establishments as he, but something told him to offer his address. It was the least he could do after scaring her thoroughly. ‘If you need anything or if I can be of service, do not hesitate to call.’ He extended his ungloved hand in her direction.

      ‘Anything?’ She watched him with those crystalline green eyes and he quelled a smile.

      ‘Anything at all.’ When she didn’t immediately reply, he added, ‘A one-time favour if you will, to compensate for your inconvenience.’

      She stared at the white calling card a long minute, scepticism wrinkling her brow, and just when he believed he’d made an error in judgement, she accepted. This time he allowed a smile free and with a sharp click that brought Ransom to heel, he left her standing beside the kerb.

Chapter Three

      After speaking to the driver, Vivienne settled against the squabs and exhaled a СКАЧАТЬ