Yet it was startling how effortlessly he affected her senses and was not in the least sensible that she’d begun to crave his company.
She found herself eagerly anticipating his nightly visits and the roses he brought her, each a different hue and size, from tiny, delicate buds of yellow, to lush, ripe blooms of palest pink, to elegant blossoms of wine red.
Those midnight’tete-a-tetes were ripe with sensual intimacy, even though he rarely physically touched her.
A few nights later they sat as usual before the fireplace, although Damien had lit a candle to augment the waning moonlight. He sipped brandy while Vanessa buried her nose in this evening’s rose, which was pure ivory.
“At this rate,” she murmured, “you won’t have a single bloom left in your gardens.”
“I doubt there is any danger of depleting my gardens just yet,” Damien responded wryly, his half-smile lavish with the devastating charm she had come to expect from him.
No doubt that sinful smile had served only to heighten his reputation for wickedness, Vanessa surmised.
“How did you come to be known as Lord Sin?” she asked curiously.
His answer surprised her by being unexpectedly thought-fill. “I suppose I was following in my father’s footsteps. I was a wild young blood, with no one to curb my excesses or set limits. And London held a treasure trove of forbidden delights for a green youth.”
“And later, when you grew older? You were no longer a youth when you established the Hellfire League.”
Damien shrugged. “A gentleman must have some diversions. When it was new, the League provided an excellent remedy for ennui.”
“And now?”
“The novelty has long since worn off, I’m afraid.”
Silence fell between them while they both became lost in thought. Vanessa suspected Damien suffered from much the same complaint as her brother-too much license and too little serious occupation. Her late husband, too, had turned to gaming and wenching to fill his time, especially in London, where the opportunities for vice and iniquity were so much greater.
“I don’t much care for London,” she remarked, changing the subject a little.
“No?”
“It holds… unpleasant memories for me. Most of my marriage was spent there. And I became a widow there.” She shuddered, recalling that terrible time. “I remember that day so vividly. A friend of my husband’s came to tell me Roger had been killed, and then his body was brought home… The time afterward is a blur, though. Thankfully my brother was there to support me. He took care of the details of my husband’s estate, dealt with the tradesmen and moneylenders-” With a start, Vanessa recollected what she was saying. “I’m sorry, I agreed not to talk about Aubrey.”
“Surely your memories of London aren’t all bad,” Damien said, ignoring her slip.
“Not all. I might have enjoyed it under different circumstances.”
“I wager I could have shown you a more pleasurable side of the city.”
She smiled. “I doubt I’m licentious enough to qualify for entry into your realm.”
He cocked his head, surveying her skeptically. “Have you never wanted to do anything wicked?”
“Perhaps, although my definition of wicked and yours are entirely different matters. There were any number of times when I was sorely tempted to flout society’s conventions. I remember a certain ball when the Duchess of Salford made a particularly vindictive remark… I nearly threw my cup of rack punch in her face.”
“That is wicked indeed.” He gave her that soft fallen-angel smile
that could ensnare a woman’s heart.
She flushed and averted her gaze, staring into the fire. “Why do I always tell you such personal things?”
“Because I tend not to be judgmental, perhaps?”
It was true, Vanessa realized. She never felt as if he was sitting in judgment of her.
“In any case,” Damien added lightly, “turnabout is fair play. You’ve made me bare my soul often enough.”
Yet it wasn’t simply that the intimate atmosphere of their midnight exchanges lent itself to confession, Vanessa suspected. Lord Sinclair was deliberately trying to draw her out, to learn her secrets so that he might better lure her to his bed.