The Seduction n-1 Page 7

  “He doesn’t cherish me, not really.” Olivia’s voice trembled. “He never paid me the slightest heed until my… accident. I’ve always been alone.”

  “I know he regrets that. And you aren’t alone, Olivia. The servants obviously adore you, and I’m certain you have friends who are concerned for you.”

  A tear spilled down her pale cheek. “Some of my friends called at first, but I… turned them all away. I didn’t wish them to see me like this.”

  “That is understandable,” Vanessa said gently. “And were I in your place, I daresay I would have felt the same way. It would be easier simply to give up, to believe my life over, to lie on my couch and never have to face the world. It would be easier… but it would not be fair.”

  “Fair?”

  “To your brother. I cannot believe you have any notion how much he blames himself for letting this tragedy befall you.”

  “He wasn’t to blame,” Olivia admitted in a low voice.

  “You will never convince him of that, not as long as he can do nothing to help ease your misery. He is hurting for you, Olivia. Is that what you want?”

  There was an obvious hesitation. “No…” she said reluctantly. “I don’t want Damien to hurt for me.”

  “Then you might begin by agreeing to see the physician he has engaged for you. Even if you show little progress, you will at least have tried for his sake.”

  When Olivia turned her face away, Vanessa felt her heart sink.

  “There,” she murmured, “I believe I’ve said enough. I shan’t badger you any longer, but will leave you to rest.” She paused. “Would you like me to turn out the light before I go?”

  “No…” Olivia said in a small voice. “Leave it on, please. I should like to read my sonnets.”

  Vanessa felt the constricted feeling in her chest ease a little. She had made a tiny measure of progress, at least. And she had given the girl something to think about besides her sorrow and shame. Yet it would be a long, difficult task to bring Olivia Sinclair to any semblance of her former health or spirit.

  She changed for dinner several hours later with the assistance of a maid whom the housekeeper sent. With inordinate care, Vanessa chose a high-waisted gown of powder blue silk, more for its demureness than for its admittedly flattering lines. Unfamiliar with her new role of rake’s mistress, she preferred to err on the side of modesty.

  It was with renewed trepidation that she sought out the drawing room on the lower floor. Daylight was fading with the setting sun, and the moment was swiftly approaching when she would be required to fulfill the amorous duties she had agreed to.

  She found her nemesis standing at one of the open French doors, staring out at the courtyard gardens. The soft golds and crimson of approaching twilight bathed the scene and entwined with the scent of roses to create a magical aura, yet Damien Sinclair did not seem to have passion on his mind. He stood still as a statue, his lean-muscled frame looking sleek and powerful in a tailored blue dinner jacket.

  Drawn to him in spite of herself, Vanessa crossed the elegant room silently and came to stand beside him. He didn’t immediately acknowledge her presence, and yet she was certain of his awareness. Her own senses had taken on a fresh alertness, heightened by misgivings about what the evening would bring.

  When at last he spoke in a low voice, the question he chose surprised her a little. “Do you like roses, Vanessa?”

  “Very much. Your gardens are spectacular.” When he made no reply, she ventured her own comment. “I understand they are your own creation.”

  “Not creation. Resurrection. In my younger days I rescued them from oblivion and my noble sire’s willful destruction.”

  Hearing the edge of cynicism in his tone, Vanessa glanced up at Damien’s profile. The snowy white linen of his cravat seemed to accentuate the chiseled beauty of his face. Her pulse quickened, as it always did at his overwhelming nearness. And yet his mind was obviously not on her.

  “So what is your assessment of my sister?” he asked with a casualness that seemed feigned.

  She hesitated, not wanting to raise his hopes excessively. “I think you were correct. She is a deeply troubled young lady. Not only because of her physical infirmity, which is daunting enough in itself, but because she perceives little reason to hope for a better future. But I also believe it is too soon to despair.”

  His gaze remained hooded as he stared out at the golden-hued beds of roses. “Olivia used to love roaming these paths. Now she won’t come near the gardens.”

  “You care for her very much.” It wasn’t a question.

  “If I could bear her suffering in her place, I would. Gladly.” The soft conviction in his voice left no room for doubt.

  Vanessa looked away. She could not imagine this strong, vital man as an invalid. He was a man who would reach out and grasp fate and shape it to his own desires.

  With a shake of his head, however, he seemed to shrug off his dour mood, while the grim line of his mouth relaxed. “But I am acting an uncongenial host. Forgive me.”

  He turned to regard her. His gaze swept over her slowly, lingering on the modest cut of her neckline. His smile, when it came, was soft, apologetic, ripe with unconscious sensuality.

  Vanessa shivered at the quivering feeling of intimate warmth that overcame her.

  “Allow me to escort you in to dinner, my lady.”

  When he offered his arm, she placed trembling fingers on his sleeve and allowed him to lead her to the smaller of two dining rooms. Even so, the mahogany table was immense. A pair of tall, silver candelabra graced the center, while one end was laid with twin settings of crystal and china.

  With reluctance, Vanessa took her seat at his lordship’s right, self-conscious about the intimacy of dining alone with him in such close proximity.

  The Madeira wine proved delicious, the meal a treasure of culinary delights. The first two removes featured clear turtle soup with truffles, and a dish of smoked salmon with aspic, followed by a ragout of veal, roast venison, green peas, and cauliflower, and braised pigeons with mint sauce. Despite the long day, however, Vanessa found herself with little appetite.

  The conversation remained desultory. While Lord Sinclair put himself out to be charming, narrating some interesting history of the house, Vanessa grew more and more quiet, responding in monosyllables and only picking at the food on her plate.

  Her appetite had deserted her by the time the sweets were served, and her nerves were keenly on edge. She barely tasted the cheese brioche, the pineapple cream, or the almonds toasted with sugar and cinnamon.

  “Are the dishes not to your taste, my lady?” Damien finally asked mildly. “Shall I reprimand the cook?”

  Vanessa swallowed. “No… everything is delicious.” Her voice held a thin, breathless note.

  “Then why have you scarcely touched a bite?”

  Instead of replying directly, she murmured, “Shall I leave you to your port now, my lord?”

  “We needn’t stand on ceremony with just the two of us.”

  When Damien motioned to the footman to refill her wineglass for the last time and then dismissed the servants, she felt her panic rise. No doubt he wished to discuss the matter of her carnal duties and preferred to do it discreetly.

  Forcing herself to meet his gaze, she indicated her wineglass, which had been filled to the brim. “Is it your strategy to ply me with wine, the better to render me susceptible to your advances?”

  He studied her for a long moment. “When the time comes, angel, I will have no need of wine to render you susceptible, I assure you.” He smiled, a tender, charming smile. “In truth, I want you fully in command of all your senses. The better to enjoy the moment.”

  An irrational surge of anger sparked through Vanessa. “Does my agitation amuse you, my lord? Does it please you to mock me?”

  She flinched when he rose abruptly, but he merely went to the bellpull and rang for the butler. When Croft arrived almost instantaneously, Damien had settled in his
chair once more.

  “Be so kind as to send Mrs. Nesbit here, Croft.”

  “Certainly, my lord,” the stately butler replied. “At once.”

  Vanessa waited in bewilderment, wondering why he would summon the housekeeper.

  Mrs. Nesbit, when she arrived, looked just as puzzled. “You rang, my lord?”

  “Do you have the key to the Chalice Chamber?”

  “Key, my lord?”

  “Yes, to Lady Wyndham’s room. I presume you carry it on your ring?”

  “Yes, my lord.” She patted the giant ring hanging from her waist. “I carry the keys to all the rooms of the house.”

  “May I have it, please?”

  The housekeeper searched her accumulation of keys for a moment. When she found the one in question, she handed it to his lordship.

  “Is this the only key to that room?”

  “To my knowledge, my lord.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Nesbit, that will be all.”

  When they were alone once more, Damien held out his hand to Vanessa, the key resting in his palm. “If it will make you feel safer, angel, you are welcome to keep this in your possession.”

  She searched his handsome face, looking for any hint of deception. She found none. He seemed entirely serious.

  “I will repeat, Vanessa. You needn’t fear my forcing myself on you,” he said softly. “Despite my numerous faults, I would never ravish an unwilling woman. You are safe from me for now.”

  Vanessa swallowed. The silence stretched between them.

  “Take it.”

  The key was still warm from his palm as she closed her fingers around the smooth metal. “Thank you,” she murmured thickly.

  “My pleasure.”

  The word was a husky whisper. She froze when Damien reached up to touch her. His hand stilled for an instant, before he caressed her cheek with a gentle ringer.

  The startling tenderness of the gesture held her immobile. This side of him, this sensitive, considerate side, contrasted so starkly with the heartless devil who had compelled her to become his mistress.

  “I am just a man, no monster,” he murmured. “In time you will come to accept that.”

  With a sigh then, Damien picked up his wineglass and leaned back in his chair. “Go to bed, angel.”

  “To bed?”

  His mouth twisted faintly at the hint of alarm in her tone. “Alone, love. You are free to retire alone. I won’t demand to share your bed. I’ll wait until you invite me.”

  Vanessa rose on trembling legs. He meant to let her go.

  “Sleep well.”

  She made her escape before he could change his mind.

  When she reached the Chalice Chamber, Vanessa shut the door behind her and leaned weakly against it. Damien had given her a reprieve. For tonight, at least, he didn’t mean to force her to fulfill their brazen bargain.

  The key in her hand seemed to burn a brand in her flesh.

  After a moment’s hesitation, she bolted the door and then placed the key on the dressing table. Then she turned to survey the elegant chamber, wondering what she should do.

  The lamps had been lit and a fire burned cheerily in the grate, while the covers of the bed had been turned down invitingly. At the moment, however, she felt too restless to sleep or even to read.

  The draperies had been closed against the night air, but she drew them wide, letting the moonlight stream into the room. For some time Vanessa stood at the window, watching the silent gardens below, letting the silver-white peace soothe her frayed nerves.

  Finally, though, she turned away and put out the lamps.

  In the semidarkness she removed her gown and donned a cambric nightdress, wondering wryly what Damien Sinclair would think of her modest attire. She supposed that when he did at last demand that she honor their bargain, he would require a filmy negligee or some such trifling costume.

  The bed was soft and welcoming. The long journey and the tension of the evening had taken a greater toll than she realized, and before she knew it, Vanessa fell asleep.

  She dreamed of him… of Lord Sin restlessly walking the night. Of Damien taking her in his arms, of his kissing her.

  His kiss was tender and passionate, sweet and fiery all at once. It had the power to rob her of breath, to make her limbs melt like warm honey…

  When she came awake, the delicate scent of roses greeted her while her body throbbed with a strange heat.

  She couldn’t tell what had roused her from sleep. For a moment Vanessa lay there listening to the quiet crackle of the fire in the hearth and the slow beat of her own heart.

  Moonlight poured through the open draperies, and in the luminous glow, she realized something lay on the pillow beside her.

  Hesitantly she reached out to touch it. It was a rose, slender, fragile, soft as velvet.

  Wondering if she were still dreaming, she lifted her gaze to stare across the room… directly into the silver-smoke eyes of Damien Sinclair.

  Chapter Five

  He was lounging before the fire in a brocade dressing robe of midnight blue. Still watching her, he raised a snifter to his lips.

  “Would you care for a brandy, angel?”

  He was no dream, she realized. His voice was soft and sensual as the moonlight, the expression on his handsome face just as beguiling.

  Unsure whether to be alarmed, Vanessa fumbled for the silk wrapper draped across the foot of her bed. “What do you want, my lord?”

  “Would you be surprised if I said companionship?” When she stared at him, he shrugged. “I find sleep eludes me at times, especially since my sister’s accident. I prefer not to deal with my demons alone. Will you not join me here by the fire?”

  Not wanting to remain in such a vulnerable position, she drew on the wrapper over her nightdress and rose from the bed. When she had buttoned the garment to her neck, she approached him cautiously, moving to stand near the fire.

  “How did you get in here? You must have used a key.”

  “No, you possess the only key.”

  “Then how?”

  “Would you believe me if I said a secret passageway? A former Baron Sinclair had it built during Cromwell’s bloody reign to provide a swift means of escape. But my father made use of it to gain convenient access to his mistresses.” Damien gestured toward a corner of the room closest to the windows. “A panel in the wall moves aside.”

  A surge of anger claimed Vanessa at his deception. “Why then did you make such a show of giving me the key to my bedchamber if you had entry all along?”

  “Confess, did you not feel easier in your mind, believing yourself safe from me?”

  “You said you wouldn’t come here until I invited you.”

  “I said I wouldn’t demand to share your bed-and I won’t.”

  She could think of no immediate reply, knowing he was right, yet his rationale only rekindled her resentment.

  His gaze remained soft. “I meant what I said, Vanessa. You have nothing to fear from me.”

  She stared at him, cursing her own foolhardiness. Damien Sinclair should have presented a menacing, sinister figure, wandering like a ghost in the night, intruding wherever he pleased, watching her sleep. But, strangely, she wasn’t afraid of him. She was merely angry. First he had forced her into this untenable situation. Then he’d failed to honor his word in spirit, if not in letter.

  “I do not fear you,” she retorted, raising her chin.

  “But you don’t trust me.” He smiled faintly. “Your eyes are eloquently expressive.”

  “Most certainly I don’t trust you. I believe you’ve given me little reason to.”

  “I shall have to convince you otherwise.”

  She shifted uncomfortably on her bare feet, wondering if she had the right to demand he leave.

  “Meanwhile…” His gaze surveyed her, lingering on the plaited braid of her hair. “Will you not join me?” he repeated. “I am not bent on seduction tonight, I promise you. All I am interested in coaxing fr
om you is perhaps a little conversation.” When still she hesitated, he took a different tack. “I came to thank you, actually.”

  “Thank me?”

  “I visited Olivia after dinner. She has agreed to see Dr. Underhill.”

  Despite her anger, Vanessa was relieved to hear the news. “I am glad.”

  “What did you say to persuade her?”

  “Nothing much. I played on her sense of familial duty, I suppose. I made her aware of your remorse at not being able to help her. Perhaps she decided to make an effort for your sake, if not her own.”

  Damien frowned. “I find that hard to credit. As you’ve no doubt deduced, we aren’t on the best of terms.”

  “Olivia says she doesn’t blame you for her misfortune.”

  “Perhaps not, but she blames me for neglecting her all these years. I’ve spent the past two months trying to improve our relationship, to little avail.” Damien shook his head. “You were able to draw her out in less than a day. I was exceedingly surprised to discover her reading Shakespeare. That is the first time since her accident, I believe.” He paused before adding reluctantly, “You have my gratitude.”

  His praise sounded somewhat grudging, as if he meant to withhold judgment about her and her methods.

  “It is only a first step,” Vanessa observed, her own tone just as grudging. “She still has a long, long way to go.”

  “A long way indeed,” Damien murmured darkly, staring down at his brandy for a moment. “How did you know her taste in poetry?”

  “My brother told me.”

  Damien’s jaw hardened visibly, reminding Vanessa of her own deception regarding his sister. But he appeared determined to shrug off any somberness.

  He gestured toward the chaise lounge. “Will you oblige me by joining me, Vanessa?”

  Although extremely reluctant to be so near to him under such intimate circumstances, Vanessa clamped down on her resentment and capitulated. She chose the wing chair opposite him, however, recalling the last time she had found herself on a couch with the decadent Lord Sin. Trying to banish the memory of his erotic kisses and his even more erotic caressing of her breasts, she curled up in the chair and tucked her feet beneath her.