Читать книгу Lord Sin - Catherine Archer - Страница 10

As she heard the front door close behind Ian, Mary unhappily found herself recalling how she had clung to him as he carried her, how she had been more than willing to allow him to find the way for both of them. Mary gave herself a mental shake. She would not think about that. She must stand on her own feet. There was nothing to be gained in relying on this man. Nothing could come of a liaison between them, nothing but ruin for herself.

Yet his words about her last opportunities to be with Victoria kept ringing in her mind. She had not thought about the way her absence would feel to her friend. And it was quite unlike her to ignore the feelings of others. Much of her time was spent ministering to the poor and needy in the village. How could she ever forget to consider her dearest friend?

Should she then not spend what could possibly be her last remaining weeks at Carlisle wisely? To use Ian Sinclair’s previous questionable behavior as reason to avoid going to Briarwood seemed unreasonable. He had not tried to take any untoward advantage of her at this meeting. He had been the soul of propriety. It was her own thoughts of him that had been inappropriate.

Should she allow her unacceptable attraction to this man to keep her from her friends? Mary had failed at conquering her fear of going up into the tower. Was she to fail in overcoming her fear of her own attraction to Ian Sinclair?

Before she could allow herself time to reconsider, Mary penned a note and gave one of the Anderson twins, who lived on the other side of the lane, a coin to take it up to the manor house for her.

She then went up to her room at the back of the house. It was a simple chamber, the only furnishings being the bed, a heavy oaken wardrobe, a night table and a chair. But the walls had been painted her favorite shade of pale pink and the counterpane was patterned with tiny red pansies. As she opened the door, the breeze from the open window brushed the ends of the lace curtains across the hardwood floor.

For a moment she paused in the narrow doorway, knowing she would miss this room very much. She had grown up here, conjured her own girlish fantasies of a happy future, a man to love her, children, a comfortable home with a garden, of course.

With a self-deprecating shake of her head she pushed the thoughts aside. None of that was to be, and she’d best get used to it.

With this thought fixed firmly in her mind, Mary went to the wardrobe and took out the one fashionable dress she owned. The rose pink gown with its full hooped skirts and low scooped neckline had been a completely impractical Christmas gift from Victoria. Though she wore the hooped confection only to Briarwood, she was secretly quite pleased to own it. Even a simple vicar’s daughter felt the occasional need to look fashionable and attractive.

With an unmistakable flutter in her stomach, Mary alighted from the carriage Victoria had sent for her. She told herself that she was quite overreacting. This night was no different than any other she had spent at Briarwood. An image of Ian Sinclair’s sardonic grin came to mind. Determinedly she pushed it away.

The footman opened the door immediately and reached for her wrap as she stepped into the grand foyer. As always, Mary sent a quick glance and prayer of thanks up to the cherub-painted ceiling. As a little girl she had thought those little angels were sent specially by God to look after her and her friend. Even though she now knew it was not true, they being the work of a gifted but mortal artist, Mary could not quite break the habit. And for some reason she had the sense that she needed their protection now as much as ever she had before.

Victoria came down the wide formal staircase at that very moment. She held out her hands. “Mary, I’m so glad you’ve come.”

Mary nodded, taking her outstretched hands and kissing her taller, elegantly gowned and coiffured friend on the cheek. “You are beautiful, Victoria,” she said. And it was true. The pregnancy had not detracted from Victoria’s loveliness in the least. Her dark hair was shining with good health and her cheeks bore a fresh rosy tint.

Victoria hugged her and led her along the hall to her favorite sitting room. “Jedidiah and Ian are out in the stables admiring the mare Jedidiah bought from Ian for my birthday. Wait until you see her. She’ll be a perfect mount after the baby comes. Until then you are more than welcome to ride her. It will be much easier for you to do so, of course, once you finish packing things up at the vicarage and come to us.”

So Ian Sinclair had not told them of her decision. For some reason this made Mary feel a grudging gratitude toward him. Obviously he was not one of those aristocrats for whom gossip was a favorite sport.

But Mary did not wish to think favorably of Ian Sinclair, nor did she wish to discuss her future right now. She knew Victoria was going to try to convince her to stay. Her kind nature was one of the reasons Mary loved her. For this one evening Mary wanted to forget her troubles. Thus she remained silent.

They went into the sitting room and settled themselves on the pale green settee. Just as she turned to Mary again, Victoria raised startled brows and placed a hand on her swollen abdomen. “My, that was the strongest kick yet.”

Mary gazed at her friend in awe as she watched the delicate fabric of Victoria’s pale lilac gown bulge a moment later. “Was that the baby?” What must it be like to have something alive inside you? Mary marveled. To feel your own child moving?

The ebony-haired woman gave a rueful laugh. “I’m afraid it was.” As if sensing her friend’s question, she asked, “Would you like to feel it?”

Mary’s golden eyes widened. “Oh, Victoria, might I?” At her friend’s nod, she said, “I would like nothing better.” Placing her hand over the spot Victoria showed her, Mary was rewarded a moment later as a firm thump met her palm. She gave a startled laugh, tears springing to her eyes. “Victoria, it is amazing.”

Victoria smiled indulgently as she ran a loving hand over her stomach, giving away the real emotions inside her even as she spoke with irony. “You would not think so in the middle of the night. The little one has even begun to wake up Jedidiah.” A look of loving contentment came into her face. “But he does not seem to mind. He lights a candle and talks to baby until it settles back down. Even if it takes hours. He says he does not wish to miss another moment of my confinement, having already lost too much time in his trip to America. Oh, Mary, I am so fortunate to have him love me. I never thought life could be so perfect. Every moment with him is precious, especially when I thought we might never come together.”

Mary knew the troubles the couple had faced, though Victoria had fully shared them only after they had been resolved. She was more certain than ever that she was making the right decision in going away. Jedidiah and Victoria deserved to have this time together—alone.

Mary realized she could not tell her friend of her plans. She did not want Victoria to know until it was too late to stop her. Once she had found a position and the arrangements had been made, it would be too late for discussion.

She was saved from having to hide her churning thoughts by the arrival of the two men. Mary’s gaze went directly to Ian Sinclair as if drawn there by some inescapable force. She saw that the tall, dark man was also looking at her. She blushed and glanced away. Goodness, but he was every bit as handsome as she remembered, and more. The midnight blue of his perfectly tailored jacket and trousers fully accentuated his height, the width of his shoulders and the narrowness of his hips. The crisp white of his shirt collar made his hair look even darker by contrast.

Her gaze flicked briefly to him again and she saw that he was still studying her, with those onyx dark eyes narrowed. As their gazes clashed for that brief moment he lifted one black brow high.

Heat suffused her. Was he remembering the fact that she had so abruptly asked him to leave her home and was now staring at him like some besotted fool?

Quickly Mary turned her attention to Jedidiah McBride as he said, “Good evening, Mary.”

She nodded. “Good evening.” Mary was genuinely fond of the American and felt he had been good for her friend.

He then came forward and kissed his wife on the cheek. Victoria was smiling at her tall, golden-haired husband with love. “How is the mare?”

Jedidiah laughed, the corners of his sea green eyes crinkling. “Settling in, but frisky. I think you’ll get plenty of excitement out of her when you can ride again. Ian has produced a mare worth every pound of her exorbitant price.”

Mary was infinitely aware of Ian Sinclair as he bowed and nodded modestly. Beneath his reticence she could tell he was proud of the horse they were discussing, as a parent might be of a praised child. His obvious fraternal affection for the animal surprised her and Mary realized there were many things about Ian Sinclair that she did not know.

What kind of father would he be, she wondered?

As soon as the thought entered her mind, Mary dismissed it. How Ian Sinclair might parent was not her concern.

Ian felt Mary Fulton’s gaze rake him again, but this time he did not look at her. She’d made her feelings quite well known when she’d asked him to leave her house. And in all honesty, Ian could not truly blame her for resenting his interference in her affairs. He had as yet been incapable of coming up with any reasonable explanation for why he was so very interested in what she did with her life. He’d tried to convince himself it was because he knew how much Victoria cared for the other woman, but somehow it did not ring true.

Before Ian could stop it an image of Victoria’s horrified face as she had listened to him talk about her friend flooded his mind. He clearly heard the discouraging words she’d said to him about his father’s sure disapproval of his wedding a vicar’s daughter.

Ian’s lips thinned. To even contemplate the notion of marrying a woman simply because his father would be displeased was despicable. It was true that part of his desire to marry Victoria had been brought on by knowing she would greatly irritate the earl. But she had been one of his social class, the daughter of a duke. Mary was not. Not only his father but all of society would frown on such a union.

Unconsciously he found himself studying her again. She was looking quite delectable in a gown of rose satin. The dress was of the latest fashion and showed off her tiny waist above her wide hooped skirt, not to mention a bewitching hint of cleavage. She was without a doubt the most delectable morsel of womanhood he had seen in some time. There was no denying the attraction he felt toward her.

Yet what he had learned of Mary over the past days had taught him that she deserved better than he could offer. From what he’d seen of her, she had a quick mind and a strong spirit that prevented her from bowing to anyone. Ian could not but admire that, for it answered a like place within himself. He had spent most of the years of his adulthood flouting convention. It was what had earned him the appellation of “Lord Sin.” But that was all behind him now, and fortunate that, for he might not have been able to resist the temptation to seduce the lovely Miss Fulton despite his assurances to Victoria.

His resistance to his desire was made doubly hard by her own reactions to him. For in spite of her anger toward him, he was not blind to the fact that Mary was not immune to him. Ian had experienced the charms of enough women to know mutual passion when he experienced it. Her response to his kiss, though brief and untutored, had been apparent Her desire needed only a gentle and sensitive hand to call it to the fore.

Ian drew himself up and forced himself to concentrate on the conversation Jedidiah was having with his wife. He would not allow himself to think of Mary Fulton in any but the most appropriate of terms.

It was all he, with any honor, could do.

He was drawn from his thoughts by the servant who announced that dinner was ready to be served. Ian watched as Jedidiah offered Victoria his arm.

Mary stood and came forward with them. Ian told himself that his recent feelings for this young woman precluded his doing the polite thing and offering his own arm. But as she moved toward him, Mary glanced up from beneath the fringe of those thick dark lashes, her golden eyes uncertain. When she saw that he, too, was looking at her, she raised her head high.

He could not help thinking of the way he had found her that afternoon, quaking with terror on the bell tower steps. She was such a strange mixture of strength and softness, this Mary Fulton.

Without even realizing he was going to do so, Ian held out his arm. “May I?”

She hesitated, and Ian had to make an effort to hold back his annoyance. Why was he so drawn to this woman when she seemed to resent him despite the attraction she had not been able to hide? Could it be because she was the exact opposite of his cousin Barbara, who would never openly disagree with anything he said or did, as Mary was quite willing to do?

Finally she nodded, then reached out to place her hand on his arm. As she did so he was struck by a jolt of piercingly sweet awareness that moved from her to him. A delicately floral scent rose from her hair and Ian found himself wanting to take it down from the loose bun she wore, to see the glorious golden mass draped across her shoulders and naked…

He stopped in his tracks. What in God’s name was he thinking here?

Mary looked up at him in question. “My lord.”

He could see that Victoria had already reached the doorway that led to the dining room across the foyer. He had indeed been lost in thought. Knowing that Mary would be completely shocked to know what he had been thinking, Ian did not meet her puzzled gaze. “I beg your pardon. I fear I was not attending.”

He made no comment on her suddenly closed expression. Releasing his arm and stepping away from him, she said, “I will leave you to your thoughts, then.”

Ian nearly reached out to stop her, but he drew his hand back. He told himself that it was much better for both of them if she was annoyed with him. Hadn’t he promised Victoria that he would not seduce her? Hadn’t he promised himself?

As he had told himself before, Mary deserved better than that.

Victoria was watching him closely as he entered the elegantly furnished chamber behind the others. She raised her dark brows high as she glanced pointedly from Ian to Mary, who was already seated.

He quirked a brow in return, wondering how she would react to the turn of his thoughts.

Jedidiah interrupted this silent exchange. “Please be seated, Ian.” He indicated the empty chair directly across from the vicar’s daughter.

As he took his designated place, she flicked a glance toward him and Ian saw again that Mary was not immune to the strange attraction that existed between them. Her cheeks darkened to rose and her breath came more quickly from her slightly parted lips.

Victoria interrupted his contemplation, and though her tone was teasing, he could not but hear the chiding in it. “I hope, Ian, that you have not forgotten the promise you made to me.”

He drew himself up, meeting her gaze directly. “I have not forgotten.”

With a relaxed expression, which Ian knew belied the keen mind he possessed, Jedidiah asked, “What promise is that, my dear?”

Victoria turned to her husband with a smile. Ian knew she would not risk hurting Mary’s feelings by making her reprimand of Ian known. “That answer you will not get from me, love. No more than you would tell me why Ian had come to visit before you had given me the mare. Torture would not have it from me.”

For a moment Jedidiah said nothing, letting the heat of his gaze fall upon his now blushing wife. “I think we both know that you have your breaking point, my dear.”

She flushed even more deeply and Ian looked away. What must it be like to be so close to another human being? Ian had never known.

Ian’s gaze flicked to Mary. Though she flushed, she faced him squarely. He felt a wave of admiration.

As a notion he had been trying to reject for days set itself even more firmly in his consciousness, Ian’s lips pressed to a line of determination. He would not seduce her.

But there was another way to have her. Was he not a man, free to do as he pleased? The act he was contemplating might very well garner enough disapproval from his father to see Ian disinherited, but he would not be ruled by the older man.

In the next breath Ian halted himself. What was he thinking? He could not marry this woman simply because he desired her, nor even because it would be the perfect act of rebellion toward his father. Had he not decided that he would no longer live up to his reputation as “Lord Sin"? Mary Fulton was a young woman who had shown that she took much pride in ordering her own life. How could he not understand this sentiment when it was a right he valued so highly himself?

As a knock sounded on the front door, Mary looked up from the box of books she was packing. Still holding a volume in her hand, she went to answer it.

Deliberately she avoided looking at the letters waiting on the hall table to be posted. She had crossed a bridge by writing them, as each was an offer of her services for the position of governess. She had every hope that at least one reply would be favorable. Her problem lay in the fact that she had been assaulted by doubts as to the wisdom of her decision as soon as the missives were sealed. The idea of facing the unknown future had become suddenly overwhelming, but she knew she must do so, must have the courage to leave behind the only life she knew and strike out on her own.

She told herself they must be sent this very afternoon. Before she could change her mind. Why she was having such doubts she could not say, other than realizing that Ian Sinclair’s face kept intruding on her thoughts. But that, she knew, was completely ridiculous. Lord Sinclair had nothing to do with her future. Even if she had wished to accept Victoria’s generosity and live at Briarwood, she would not be seeing him. Sinclair was only visiting her friends and would soon be off to do…well…whatever a single man of his wealth and undeniable attractiveness did.

And beyond that he was not in the least interested in her. He had hardly spoken to her last eve at Briarwood.

It was true that Ian had kissed her the second time they’d met, but he had done nothing of the sort since. Oh, there had been times since when he looked at her…when she had thought…Obviously it was nothing more than her overactive imagination at work.

Realizing this only seemed to bring her a discomfort that she somehow feared to examine too closely. With these dismaying thoughts in mind, it was with little enthusiasm that she opened the front door.

To her utter amazement, Ian Sinclair himself stood on the stoop. A sudden nervous chill gripped her and she hesitated before speaking. Seeing him was especially unnerving considering her recent preoccupation with him. Telling herself she was being foolish, she opened the portal and said, with much more breathlessness than she would have hoped, “Good afternoon, Lord Sinclair. Is there something I can do for you?”

To her surprise he seemed somewhat hesitant, even agitated himself, turning his black silk hat in his hands. He stopped, his dark gaze meeting hers as his brows arched upward. “I…may I come in?”

She stepped back, realizing that she must seem somewhat foolish standing there gawking at him like some besotted schoolgirl. Determinedly Mary told herself she was not attracted to him, in spite of his undeniable good looks. She was simply overreacting to the fact that he had twice been there when she needed someone.

She would remain calm. Yet her heartbeat quickened as he stepped across the threshold to stand so near that she could see the fine shadow of mustache above his mobile lips. Would it, she wondered, feel rough if he should kiss her?

Mary’s eyes flew wide with horror at her own thoughts. She certainly did not want Ian Sinclair to kiss her.

To her relief he did not appear to notice her agitation and continued to seem somewhat nervous as his gaze slid away from her to graze the tabletop. Then he appeared to frown with displeasure as his eyes alighted on the letters she had been thinking of only moments before. “Your requests for employment?”

She nodded, too surprised by his reaction to resent the prying question. “Yes.”

His frown deepened for a moment before he straightened his already wide shoulders and took a deep breath. For some reason she had the distinct impression that he had come to a decision about something. His next words served only to confuse her further. “I have come to ask you a question.”

“Oh,” she replied, not at all certain as to what she should say. Studying him closely for a moment and judging him no less nervous, she began to think this was no ordinary question. What of import could Ian Sinclair have to say to her? Did he have some position in mind for her?

Ian continued to look down at her in the long, narrow hallway, and Mary glanced away, knowing that the light from the window that sat high in the door illuminated her own face much more clearly than his. In spite of the dim lighting she was very much aware of his being too tall and imposing for such humble surroundings.

Trying to still her sudden trembling, Mary reached out with her free hand. “May I take your hat?” She halted as she saw the traces of dust on her white fingers. With a selfconscious laugh, she wiped the hand on her apron, then indicated the book in her other hand. “I have been packing my father’s books. I will be taking some of my favorites with me.”

He glanced at the volume. “You read Greek?”

She looked down at the book. “Why…I…yes, father was a great scholar. He taught me everything he would have taught a son.” She held her head high, knowing how most men disapproved of the practice of educating females and referred to them as bluestockings.

But Ian did not seem the least bit shocked or disapproving of her revelation as she reached out again and he gave her the silk hat. He said only, “I see.”

How very nice for him, she thought with a trace of irony, for she certainly did not see. She hoped he came to the point soon, for she was growing more uncertain by the moment. With deliberate care Mary placed the hat on the rack along the wall and turned back to him.

“Would you care for some refreshment? I could make some tea.”

He shook his head, his intense onyx eyes meeting hers again. “No, thank you.” Once more she had the impression that this was no ordinary social call. She told herself she was imagining things.

In spite of her self-assurances, it was with growing unease that Mary motioned toward the open door of the study. The chamber was in a state of upheaval because she had been packing the books, but it was one of the few rooms that did not have dust covers over the furnishings. “Won’t you come in and sit down?”

The answer that accompanied his polite nod only served to make her more unsure. “Yes, I think that would probably be best.” She did her utmost not to worry herself over this last strange remark as they sat on the two matched navy blue wing chairs near the window.

With studied poise Mary folded her hands in her lap and waited for Ian Sinclair to begin. He did so after only a moment. “Miss Fulton, I realize that what I am about to say may seem somewhat precipitous to you, especially as we have only known one another for a very short time.”

She frowned, wondering where on earth this could be leading. “Go on.”

He surprised her by reaching over and taking her cold hand in his warm one. Mary was too amazed to either comment or draw her hand away and she listened to him continue with only half her mind, as the touch of his warm skin made her own tingle with awareness. “I know that the last months have been very difficult for you and that you find yourself in somewhat distressed circumstances. I want you to know that if the situation were otherwise I would not speak so hastily.” His dark eyes were full of meaningful intent as she looked up into them, feeling herself drawn closer to him, though she made no physical movement.

She shook her head, her eyes wide. “I cannot think what you might be talking about, sir.”

He squared his wide shoulders. “I am asking, Miss Mary Fulton, if you would do me the honor of becoming my wife.”

The words had the effect of creating a thick haze of shock and confusion around her. She looked down at her hand in his, feeling as if it was miles from herself.

How—why was this happening? It could not be real. Ian Sinclair, eminently eligible bachelor and heir to an earldom, could not be asking her to marry him.

For heaven’s sake, they did not even like one another. A sudden vivid memory of the kiss they had shared only days before in her own backyard insinuated itself into her mind. Even through the fog of her confusion Mary felt a tug in her lower belly.

She shook her head to drive the thought away. That kiss had not occurred because Ian liked her. He’d said himself that he was only trying to comfort her.

Was that possibly why he was doing this, she asked herself, because he felt sorry for her? Her sense of confusion cleared slightly at the thought. She looked at him closely and found that he was still watching her with that same intent expression he’d worn since entering the vicarage.

Forcing herself to speak calmly, she asked, “Why…why are you doing this? Is it because you feel—” she sat up straighter, forcing herself to go on “—sorry for me?”

The immediate and forceful tone of his reply made her believe him when he said, “No, absolutely not. I have no need to marry any woman out of sympathy.”

A frown marred her brow as she wondered why, then, he would wish to marry her. “Tell me what has brought this about? I don’t understand.”

He leaned close to her, his tone intimate. “Don’t you, Mary? You are a beautiful woman. I also think you would make just the kind of bride I have been searching for.”

The words caused her heart to beat more quickly, even as she realized that for a moment there was something odd in his tone, almost a hint of bitterness. But as he went on looking at her that way she told herself she had imagined it.

As if sensing her uncertainty, Ian’s fingers tightened on hers. “I desire you, Mary. I should think that even an innocent like you would know that.”

A thrill of honeyed warmth suffused her even as she answered, “I don’t know. I don’t think it would be…” There had been times when he had looked at her as if…well, she’d been too afraid of her own reactions to really allow herself to understand what that look meant.

There was no denying it any longer. Mary had been attracted to Ian from the first moment she saw him riding across the moors toward her. Even the discovery that he was the infamous “Lord Sin” had not dulled her interest, no matter how she had tried to tell herself he was not an honorable man. And was he not disproving that even now, by asking her to marry him? It was completely honorable, this proposal he offered her. And did she not in her most secret heart rejoice that such a bold and handsome man would want her, Mary Fulton?

Still, a small voice inside her cried out in indecision. She shook her head and repeated, “I do not know.”

He halted her with a finger on her lips. “Don’t think, Mary. Just say yes.”

When he saw her continued hesitation he went on, his tone rich and persuasive. “Or do you prefer the future you have told me of? Do you wish to spend your life in another woman’s house, looking after her children? Is that what you really want for yourself, Mary? You were meant for so much more than that.”

She pulled her hand away from the persuasive warmth of his touch and rubbed her forehead. “This is too sudden, too unexpected. I don’t know how to answer you. I had not even thought.”

To her utter amazement he stood and drew her, completely unresisting in her surprise, into his strong arms. His mouth, warm and pliant, descended to hers.

A current of heat swept her as his lips played over hers. It became a torrent as his mouth encouraged hers to open and his tongue flicked over hers. Mary moaned as the sensations pooled in her belly. Her breasts swelled against the hardness of his chest and she pressed herself closer to him to relieve their aching.

When Ian drew back, she looked up at him, her eyes heavy with languor. He spoke huskily. “Can you say you have not thought of that, Mary, of the way it feels when we touch, kiss? I have thought of little else since I first kissed you.”

His frankness and her own innate honesty brought forth a truthful, albeit befuddled reply. “I have thought of it.”

Ian placed his hand on the back of her head and drew her to him, kissing her again with a mastery that left her head swimming, her blood pounding in her veins. Weakly she leaned against him.

He felt so strong, so very solid in an unknown world. This was her opportunity to have her own home, a husband…perhaps children. Mary had always been strong, looked after those around her, behaved with a maturity far beyond her years. Was this her invitation to throw caution and common sense to the four winds?

His breath was hot on her forehead. “Say you will marry me.” Again his mouth found hers. Those mobile lips sucked and played at her own until she could barely stand the depth of heat that washed through her and left her knees weak. He drew back only slightly, punctuating each word he uttered with a kiss. “Say…yes…Mary.”

Unable to think of anything save being in his arms, of being held and kissed by this man, Mary nodded. When she replied, she was a little surprised by her own breathlessness, her own capitulation. “Yes, yes. I will marry you.”