The Seduction (Notorious 1)

With trepidation Vanessa stepped down from the hired hackney carriage to stand before the magnificent Sinclair residence in fashionable Mayfair. Shivering, she tugged the hood of her pelisse around her face, less for protection against the gray morning drizzle than to conceal her identity. A lady did not call at the home of a gentleman, especially one of Lord Sin’s infamous reputation.

Yet she was driven by desperation. Summoning all her willpower, Vanessa climbed the marble steps to the imposing front door. When a stately majordomo answered, she presented her card. Not even by a twitch of an eyebrow did the elderly servant display surprise at her presence.

“I will inquire if his lordship is in, my lady,” he intoned. “Would you wish to wait in the blue salon?”

She accepted the offer. Entering the salon, she drew back her hood but remained standing, barely noticing the elegance of her surroundings that bespoke wealth and taste. The gates of Hades would hold more appeal just now.

She despised licentious noblemen. And Damien Sinclair, Lord Sin, was a profligate of the first order. He was known to be a leader of the notorious Hellfire League, a fraternity of depravity for wealthy lords, patterned after the club of a similar name made infamous a half-century before.

Still, she would have to quell her distaste if she cherished any hope of saving the Rutherford estates.

In only a few moments, a young gentleman appeared in the salon. He bowed politely while surveying her curiously through his spectacles.

“Lady Wyndham? I am his lordship’s secretary, George Haskell. He asked me to inquire how I may be of service.”

“Is Lord Sinclair not at home?” she asked, unsurprised to be fobbed off on an employee.

“He is preparing to go out. I would be happy to assist you if I may.”

“I’m afraid that is not likely. I’ve come on a matter of some urgency, which only his lordship may deal with.” Her tremulous smile was apologetic but determined. “Will you tell him that I shall wait for him to come down?”

Mr. Haskell bowed and withdrew. He was back shortly, wearing a troubled frown.

“His lordship bade me inform you, my lady, that he will grant you a short interview… upstairs. If you will please follow me?”

She expected to be shown to a drawing room, but when they had climbed the wide staircase, the secretary led her down a wide hallway to a private chamber. With another bow, Haskell left her, shaking his head in evident disapproval.

The room was large, Vanessa saw as she entered, and was tastefully decorated in crimson and gold and rich mahogany furnishings. In the center of the vast chamber stood a huge bed, whose covers were still in a tangle.

Vanessa felt her heartbeat quicken. This was Lord Sin’s bedchamber.

“Do come in,” a lazy, sardonic voice drawled from the opposite side of the room.

Vanessa took a single step and stopped short. The wicked nobleman was shirtless, dressed only in breeches and boots. The expanse of bare skin was stunning. With wide shoulders, a broad chest corded with lean muscle, a hard flat stomach, and narrow hips, he had the physique of a Greek god, his muscularity suggesting his devotion to athletic sport. Add to that the fact that he was treacherously handsome, and her pulse went wild.

She had forgotten the dismaying impact this man had on her.

He offered her an apologetic smile as he drew on a loose cambric shirt. “Forgive me for receiving a lady in such a state of undress, but you did insist.”

Indeed she had. Even so, his receiving her here was a blatant attempt to intimidate her, she realized. If it was known she had visited his bedchamber-a den of iniquity, without doubt-she would be thoroughly compromised. Still, she was in no position to challenge him. To have any hope of persuading him, she would have to swallow both her dismay and her nervousness.

“I can manage,” he said to the manservant attending him. He took the flowing stock and dismissed the valet, who bowed and obediently withdrew.

Alone with the premiere rakehell of London, Vanessa made a futile attempt to quiet her rioting pulse.

“You don’t mind if I continue dressing?” Sinclair moved to stand before the cheval glass, where he began tying his cravat with consummate skill. “I am pressed for time. I don’t wish to be late for an appointment with my tailor. My secretary would like me to take my place in the House of Lords, which requires my being suitably attired.”

His dry tone suggested cynical amusement, but Vanessa could not believe he was overly concerned about his style of dress.

He was a bold rogue, with a natural sense of arrogance bred into him, but he was no fop. And he had no need to rely on his tailor to present a favorable appearance. Men feared and respected h

im, while his looks and charm alone had seduced legions of females. Vanessa could not deny that her every feminine instinct came alive in his presence. Those stunning gray eyes of his, fringed with thick lashes, could only be called beautiful.

Swallowing with effort, she found her voice. “Thank you for agreeing to speak to me,” she began on a conciliatory note.

That swift masculine smile flashed in the mirror. “I had no choice but to yield gracefully, my lady. You are quite persistent… determined enough to camp on my doorstep, I suspect.”

“Necessity compels me to be. But I wish only ten minutes of your so valuable time.”