The Seduction (Notorious 1)

“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?”