Seven Nights with the Duke of Sin

Chapter One

“Give it to me, Dorothy!” Lady Emma Bates cried as she reached for her evening dress, while her cousin raised it beyond her reach.

It was days such as this that made her wish she had been blessed with a kinder family or more height. Alas, one could never choose such things for themselves. Emma jumped to seize the dress but lost her footing and fell ungracefully on the carpet.

“You should have jumped higher, dear cousin,” Dorothy laughed, her brows drawing maniacally.

Emma winced and gained her feet, reaching behind to touch her aching posterior. As if living with her cousins was not woeful enough, her aunt, Mrs. Mary Bates, was forcing her to attend a ball only days after her mourning ended.

Six months ago, Emma’s world was plunged into darkness when news of her father’s unexpected death arrived. He had taken ill on his way to the East Indies and passed on shortly. As her mother had died when she was only nine years old, Emma had no one left. Her aunt and cousins ought not to be considered kin for how cruel they were to her.

Standing where she was, Emma observed Dorothy for a moment before marching up to her and wrenching the dress from her grasp. The unpleasant sound of fabric tearing filled the air, and both ladies paused, blinking. Then Dorothy laughed and released the garment, stepping away.

Emma did not dare examine the tear, for she had very few dresses and even fewer that could be worn to a ball. Perhaps this could discourage Aunt Mary from forcing me to attend, she thought as the woman in question walked in.

“Why are you still in your undergarments, Emma?” Mary asked, her hawkish blue eyes holding Emma’s with no small measure of disapprobation.

“I was asking her the same question just now, Mother,” Dorothy put in with a smirk.

Emma was not surprised by this lie. After all, Dorothy’s single purpose of existence was likely to make her life miserable. Nevertheless, she defended herself knowing the futility of the attempt.

“Aunt Mary,” she began, raising the dress and exposing the torn seam at the waist, “Dorothy would not give me the dress, and—”

“She has no regard or respect for our time, Mother,” Dorothy interjected, and Mary’s eyes narrowed further. She and Dorothy were alike where they were as horrid on the inside as they were lovely on the outside. “I offered to help her dress so that we arrive early at the ball but she wrenched her dress away, ripping it.” She finished with a blithe shrug and a toss of her chestnut curls.

“Dorothy is right. You have no regard for our precious time, Emma,” her aunt said. “If you do not hurry, we shall depart for the ball without you.”

“But my dress—”

Mary promptly raised a hand to quiet her. “I have no care for your dress.” She turned on her heel and walked out of the room, and Dorothy gave Emma a venomous grin before following her mother.

Emma dashed to the drawers at her vanity and rummaged through them to find something with which to hold her dress together because there was not enough time for her to stitch it. She knew better than to ignore her aunt’s threat and missing the ball could have direr consequences.

Mary was her paternal uncle’s wife, and when she was widowed, Emma’s father brought them to live and provide Emma with the companionship and guidance she required to grow into a woman fit for the aristocracy. All had seemingly been well until the late Earl’s death. Her aunt and cousins changed, and every day brought her more anguish than the last.

She found two pins that held the dress well, and her stays promised to keep them from injuring her. Emma dressed quickly and regarded herself in the tall mirror in the corner of her bedchamber. She used to occupy a larger one with a sitting room and a dressing chamber once. She also used to have her very own lady’s maid but that was an unnecessary expense of the past.

 The dress that had fit her to perfection now looked awkward and misshapen because of the tear. Emma did not have time to fuss over her appearance, thus, she draped a shawl over her arms and quickly made her way downstairs to the front hall. It was quiet when she arrived, and only the butler, Mr. Elderman, was present.

“They left just now, my lady,” he informed her, and her shoulders fell. She was about to return to her bedchamber when Mr. Elderman spoke again. “I believe Lady Catherine is yet to depart. The carriage is still in front of the house.” The servants had always been sympathetic and did everything to make her comfortable in the house.

Emma could go to her dearest friend, Catherine Ashton—Kitty—and leave for the ball with her, but she was reluctant to do that. Nodding, she murmured, “Thank you,” before turning and slowly ascending the stairs.

She stopped abruptly, blinking, as she thought of a reason attending the ball would be particularly useful to her. If she missed the opportunity to seek a better match this Season, she could be trapped in matrimony with her dolt of a cousin, Harry. It was best to seize whatever chance she had. Her father was gone, and she had no one but herself to secure her future.

Emma ran back down the stairs, and seeing her, Elderman opened the front door with an avuncular smile, wishing her well as she hurried past him. Kitty lived only a block away from Emma, and within minutes, she was knocking on the door. The butler admitted her in, and she found her friend and her mother, Evangeline Ashton, the Countess of Marinold, in the front hall about to leave.

“Emma?” Evangeline’s pale brows rose when she saw her.

Emma curtsied in greeting before she spoke. “I was hoping you would allow me to ride to the ball with you.”

Kitty’s face tightened. “What happened?”

“They left without me.”

“How unsurprising,” Evangeline murmured. She and Kitty were aware of Emma’s abuse and had offered their home and protection to her. Not wishing to impose, Emma had politely declined. “You may come with us, my dear.”

Relieved, Emma smiled. “Thank you!” Kitty came to take her arm, and they walked out of the house together to the carriage. She was about to climb into the carriage when she felt Evangeline’s hand on her shoulder.

“Emma, what happened to your dress?” she asked, and Emma looked down to find that her shawl had slipped and the seam she had secured was unraveling. “Do not tell me you are going to the ball in that.”

“We should have the dress changed,” Kitty suggested. “You may borrow one of my dresses.”

“Oh, I could not possibly—”

“We insist.” Evangeline’s tone brooked no dissent, and Emma nodded, following Kitty back into the house.

It was indeed convenient and fortunate that Emma and Kitty were the same size. As such, she did not have to make her first appearance of the Season wearing a ruined dress, especially when she needed to find a husband to escape her miserable existence. A moment later, she was dressed in a pale blue dress that matched her eyes, and they were on their way.

“All shall be well, Emma,” Evangeline squeezed her hand reassuringly when Emma told them about the evening’s events that led to her being left behind. “I am confident that you will make a good match this Season. But beware of rakes.”

“If only my Papa was here. He would have never allowed this to happen. He would have–” Emma choked back a sob at the memory of her father. His loss was still fresh in her heart and mind, and she found it cruel that she had to focus on making a match even before the mourning period was over.

“We shall be by your side with everything you need, dear. Never forget that.” Evangeline placed a hand on her arm in a motherly way, empowering Emma to face the world. “Now, keep your head high and show them what you have got.”

They arrived at the ball, which was being hosted by the Marquess of Brimwood in his manor just outside the city of Westminster. Her stomach fluttered when she alighted the carriage and looked about at the guests arriving. Emma had been supremely confident last Season, and balls were occasions she looked forward to.

Kitty looped an arm through hers, saying, “I will stay with you for as long as you want me to.”

Emma swallowed and mustered a smile, intending not to allow her friend to stay with her throughout the evening. Knowing Kitty, she would remain at the fringes of the ballroom where she was most comfortable for as long as she could. After handing their shawls and cloaks, they joined a queue to the ballroom. It moved quickly, and a moment later, they were inside and Evangeline was introducing Emma to their hostess, Lady Brimwood.

“I remember your father, Lady Emma,” Lady Brimwood said with a kindly smile. “He was a very agreeable man. My condolences, once more.”

Emma received more condolences from everyone she was meeting, and she began to regret coming out tonight, for her chest was constricting with emotions. However, she continued to smile and accept the greetings until Evangeline finally drew them to the refreshment table.

“Do not forget to give the gentlemen your dance cards, my dears,” Evangeline said as Emma picked up a serving of champagne.

“You are not staying with us, Mama?” Kitty asked.

“Oh, many of my friends require my attention, Kitty.” She waved at a group of ladies at the other end of the ballroom. “I am sure that you can manage?”

“Do not worry, Evangeline. We shall dance and have a jolly time,” Emma reassured her. With a lovely smile and a wave of her hand, Evangeline left to join the eager matrons. She was dazzlingly sociable while her daughter was shy and quiet with Emma being her only friend.

“It is splendid to have you by my side in society once again, Emma,” Kitty sighed as if to confirm the verity of Emma’s thoughts. She tended to rely on her for company at nearly every society event. Of course, Emma did not mind at all. She was especially glad to have someone with her tonight who understood what she was enduring.

“You are late,” came a voice behind Emma that instantly made her shoulders stiffen and Kitty’s smile fade.

Slowly, she turned. “What do you want, Dorothy?”

“To inform you that your tardiness is not polite. It affects the good name of our family too.”

“We would not have been late if you ever bothered to be kinder to your cousin, Dorothy,” Kitty pointed out.

“Oh, Lady Catherine, what a surprise,” Dorothy turned her spite onto Kitty, every syllable of her name drawn with derision, “I see you have found your lost courage.”

Kitty immediately tensed, and whatever confidence she had mustered to defend Emma was now threatened by Dorothy’s words. “Having delivered your message, Dorothy,” Emma placed herself between her cousin and her friend, “what are you still doing here?”

“You should not be at this ball,” her cousin stated. “You will never find a husband. You could not when your father was alive, and you will not now.”

Anger clenched her stomach, and Emma breathed slowly to maintain her composure. “Because my fate is in your hands, is it not?” she shot back.

Mary joined them at that moment, and she looked surprised to see Emma; however, she did not remark on her presence and only asked, “Dorothy, why are you not dancing?”

“I came to encourage Lady Catherine to endeavor to become more than a wallflower so that she might make the best of her Season.” Dorothy’s blue eyes held Emma’s as she spoke. “But you see, Mama, Emma accused me of something I did not do.”

Emma opened her mouth to defend herself for the second time that evening, but before she could voice a word, Mary said, “If you are not careful, Emma, your timid friend will drag you into the shadows with her and doom you both to spinsterhood.”

A gasp escaped Kitty but Mary did not so much as acknowledge what her words had done. Fortunately, Evangeline joined them, and Emma suspected she had come to rescue them from Dorothy and Mary.

“Is something the matter, Mrs. Bates?” Evangeline’s countenance conveyed her displeasure, and it reflected the anger that Emma was struggling to repress.

“With respect, Lady Marinold, I do not want your daughter’s shyness interfering with my niece’s chances in the marriage mart,” Mary responded.

This comment caused Evangeline to bristle, and a hushed exchange of insults between the two women began with neither party willing to let the other have the final word. “Shyness is a trait and not an offense, Mrs. Bates. Perhaps it will be beneficial to Miss Bates to possess such a trait.” She looked pointedly at Dorothy as she spoke.

“How dare you draw my daughter into this argument?” Mary hissed.

“I thought this contest was so we could defend our daughters!” Evangeline chuckled. “I will stand for Kitty and Emma.”

A gentleman appeared then, forcing the squabble to cease. He introduced himself as Viscount Lindmoor, and asked Kitty to dance.     

Evangeline was very much pleased, and so was Emma, but Mary and Dorothy’s surprise and displeasure could not be more evident in their glares. “Fate decided to be kind to her tonight,” Dorothy mumbled in a low tone as Kitty was led away.

Mary looked around for the first titled gentleman she could find, and she practically threw her daughter into his arms for a dance. Emma was left alone to bear with the two women’s hate for each other. Her eyes traveled around the ballroom in search of what would take her away from Evangeline and Mary, for the growing tension between them was robbing her of her breath.

She was raising her champagne to her lips when her eyes caught two gentlemen walking into the ballroom. One of them arrested her attention because he was extraordinarily tall and handsome. He was too far away for her to discern the color of his eyes but they were dark, bold, and mysterious.

Emma had seen many handsome men before but there was something odd about this man that pulled her and made her want to step forward and ask him to dance, which would certainly stir the ton.  

Should I dare to be so bold?

Chapter Two

“Seven Nights. You know I cannot spend more than that with a woman.”

“But it has been, what? Three nights now? Do not say you are ending it already, Sin?”

Edward Keats, the Duke of Sinclair, had one very simple rule in life, and that was to trust no one. Not even himself, and especially not a woman. Which stretched to the rule he set for all women wishing to dally with him.

“I am,” he said and Nicholas Harrison, the Marquess of Bighaven, raised a brow as they stood near the ballroom entrance.

Nicholas’ surprise intensified. “Why?”

“She had three nights with me,” Edward drawled. “I say she is fortunate to have that long.” He never kept a woman for more than a sennight. Seven days, he felt, was the perfect amount of time for one to have a bit of a jolly and leave no chance for any attachments to form. Any more time than that was dangerous, and he had no wish to commit to anyone. After all, he was not in possession of a heart to give.

“Come, Edward. I had placed a wager on this one for five nights,” Bighaven complained. “Spend two more with her and save me from poverty.”

“You have more wealth than you know what to do with, Nicholas,” Edward murmured ironically as his gaze traveled the ballroom. He had come to this ball tonight solely with the intention of ending another of his arrangements. The woman was an opera singer he had become acquainted with three nights ago. He could seek another once he had spoken to her. The thought of making another conquest excited him, and his mouth curved into a smile.

“What about my pride, Sin?” Nicholas continued his tantrum.

“I have no care for your pride,” Edward chuckled because he knew that there were few things his friend despised more than being wrong. “Do us both some good and stop whining.”

“Oh, but this is the first time I am wrong.”

Edward gave him a sideways glance, “And it shall not be the last.” The guests were beginning to notice their presence and activity in the ballroom was slowing as a result. Edward was not unaccustomed to this because he and Nicholas had a reputation that made ladies blush and dandies look up to them.

Nicholas clucked his tongue. “No gentleman is fond of losing.”

“Speak for yourself,” Edward countered. “If all gentlemen shared in your opinion, then gaming hells would be out of business. But they are not because society is full of fops who do not know when to stop.” He knew, perhaps too well, about men who did not know when to leave the gaming table. He had been around one such man for the better part of his tender years.

“I was wondering when the two of you would deign to grace us with your presence!” a familiar voice called cheerfully and Nicholas winced, while Edward began laughing quietly as he turned around. Nicholas’s grandmother, the Dowager Marchioness of Bighaven, made her way toward them, her cane heralding her steps. “I have already written your names on a few dance cards. The ladies are waiting.”

The Dowager’s declaration froze the smile on Edward’s face. She was Nicholas’ bane of existence, and she never missed the chance to talk to him about marriage. Little did she know that her beloved grandson had some rules of his own when it came to women. Now, however, it would appear her matchmaking claws were extending toward Edward.

“Did you say our names, my lady?” Edward asked.

“It would be most unfortunate if you are already losing your hearing before your age has advanced,” she chortled. “Of course, I wrote both your names.” She poked his shoe with the tip of her cane. “You, Sinclair.” It was Nicholas’ turn to let out a wicked laugh. “I considered that if I did not take the matter of your nuptials into my hands, the entire evening would pass without you dancing with anyone. These responsibilities are far too important to neglect.” She punctuated that statement with a look that dared them to dissent.

“How is dancing at balls a responsibility, Grandmother?” Nicholas argued, regardless.

The Dowager thumped her cane against the marble floor. “Why else would you make social appearances if not to dance, interact with lovely ladies, and eventually, choose which to marry?”

“Oh, I can certainly think of more interesting reasons that do not involve blushing debutantes, Grandmother,” Nicholas responded, and she swatted his shoulder with the elaborate satin fan in her left hand.

Edward laughed, his gaze idly roaming the ballroom and picking out these blushing debutantes his friend spoke of, all insipidly decked in white or ivory.

Society was incessant in its way of boring a gentleman. Senseless rules and standards that had once been fascinating were now dull. It was no wonder there was an increasing number of bachelors, hounding grandmothers, and spinsters. That thought barely had time to settle before his attention was stolen by a fair-haired beauty with bright blue eyes. She was staring at him unabashedly.

His head tilted as he allowed himself to examine her. She was a slight young lady but perfectly formed in the right places. Although she was very young, she was thankfully not wearing a white dress—a color he quite detested. The blue matched her bright eyes. A smile curved his lips, and color ascended to her cheeks. Still, she did not look away, which intrigued him. No unmarried young woman had ever dared to hold his gaze thusly.

To intimidate the bold little angel, he took one step forward. She advanced, as well, and one of his eyebrows rose. Fascinating.

She was defying convention, and he liked her for it. Hell, she was drawing him like a lodestone, and he took another step forward, the intention to wade through the crown to know who she was overwhelming him. His blood stirred, rushing downward, which was all the encouragement he needed to go to her.

An older woman took her arm and began leading her away. Their locked gaze was broken, and as he moved to prevent her from disappearing, the Dowager caught his coat sleeve. “Just where are you slipping away to?” she asked.

“I saw a lady I might dance with,” he replied, turning to glance at the Dowager.

Her eyes widened with excitement. “Where?” Edward turned to find the young lady, but she was nowhere in sight. Lady Bighaven shook her head. “Are you telling lies now, Sinclair?” Her attention was diverted before he could respond, and her hold on his sleeve slackened. “Oh, there you are, Lady Rose. My grandson and I were just discussing your dance. I believe it is about to start now.” She looked from her grandson to the young lady in question, who looked to be a debutante from her unflattering white attire and ridiculous blush. Nicholas was left with no choice but to accept the dance.

The girl covered the lower portion of her face and giggled as she placed her hand on Nicholas’ arm.

I need to get out of here quickly before I suffer a similar fate.

Chapter Three

“Smile!” Mary whispered harshly.

Emma huffed a sigh in disappointment. Just when she thought she had found the right gentleman to pen his name on her dance card, Mary had drawn her away. When she turned to look for him, he was gone, even though her gaze had been wandering the ballroom for the past five minutes, she was unable to find him.

“A sigh such as that would only send the gentlemen running,” her aunt criticized.

Evangeline was quick to jump to Emma’s defense and predictably, it resulted in a fresh squabble. Feeling worse than before, Emma sought an excuse. “I have to use the washroom,” she said, and when Evangeline and Mary did not acknowledge her, she picked her skirts up and hurried away.

I should have stayed at home. The moment she reached the doors that led out into the gardens, she heedlessly walked through them. There was hardly a soul out there, and that was where she needed to be; a quiet place in which to collect herself.

The cool spring breeze brushed her skin, sending a shiver through her, and she almost regretted venturing out here without her shawl. The sound of festivities faded the more steps she took, and she found herself on a cobbled path that was illuminated by tall lamps.

Her fingers tightened around the string of her reticule and she sighed again, this time with relief. She appreciated Evangeline’s efforts to defend her but it tore at her whenever it resulted in harsh words being exchanged with her aunt. She did not want to tell Evangeline to stop lest she felt slighted.

Emma’s steps carried her deeper into the gardens, and she did not notice the darkness until she almost collided with a hedge. Glancing behind, she realized the lamps were far behind, and there was nothing about her save for hedges. She did not mind it because the lack of illumination deepened her sense of serenity. That was until she heard voices.

She stopped and listened, her eyes moving slowly as she contemplated turning back. The voices were urgent, however, and her curiosity was piqued, trampling her sense of reason. Another reason why Emma listened was that she thought the woman’s voice was tearful, and that she might need help. Walking quietly around the hedge in front of her, she sought the source.

“You promised me a week, Sin,” the woman said, sounding both imploring and displeased at the same time. “You cannot dismiss me after three nights.”

Sin? Emma thought with a frown. Could it be the infamous Duke of Sinclair?

That Duke, as was widely perceived by society, was the very personification of depravity, and he bore the moniker of The Duke of Sin. Emma had never seen him but she had heard enough to make her nervous about being here. 

“No, Isabella, I gave you a possibility, not a promise,” a male voice responded, and Emma assumed he was the Duke. More curious than ever, she peeked around the corner of the hedge and saw the dark outline of the Duke. He was very tall and broad-shouldered, exactly as the ton had described him. Unsurprisingly, there was no tenderness about him. In fact, he sounded distant and lacking any sentiment as he spoke to the woman. That seemed to be the manner of the Duke of Sin.

“Please, Sin,” the woman leaned into him and he caressed her cheek. “One more night. That is all I ask. You do not have to give me any money or jewels. I want you.”

“I am not yours to have, I never was. I will leave you now, and you shall not follow me.” He lowered his hand to his side.

Emma’s head tilted as she found the woman’s pleading pathetic, and the Duke deplorable. He must feel like a god to be desired by a woman and be begged to remain with her. Somehow, she sympathized with Isabella, for she knew the pain of being unwanted.

“You are not keeping to your word.” Isabella was undoubtedly displeased now.

“I have kept to every word I gave you, Isabella. But you broke your promise and the one rule I gave you,” Sinclair returned. “There is to be no attachment, no pleas.”

“That is ridiculous!” she whispered desperately.

He shrugged. “Yet you agreed.”

“If you will not give me one more night, then kiss me.”

“There will be no parting kisses, as well.”

Does this man have a heart? Poor Isabella, Emma inwardly commiserated with the woman, for she seemed quite desperate to hold onto this man who was only too eager to be rid of her. Watching Isabella’s shadow, she saw her wrap her arms around the Duke’s neck and draw his head down. He did not resist, and she seemed to be whispering something in his ear. Instinctively, Emma leaned closer to hear, then took a step forward.

Her foot touched something slippery, and she lost her balance, falling ungracefully on her posterior on the damp grass just as an equally unflattering yelp filled the air. She realized, with no small measure of dismay, that the yelp had come from her.

“Who is there?” Sinclair called out.

Emma tried to stand but froze when she heard ripping. The sound was quickly followed by a sharp sting in her calf. Her leg was in a thorny bush, and she was likely injured. She winced and tried to gain her feet again as Sinclair’s shadow descended upon her.

“I will leave, I cannot be seen,” Isabella said before hurrying through an opening in the line of hedges opposite of her. Emma’s heart pounded fiercely, and she refused to look up at the Duke.

“What have we got here?” The Duke stood tall and imposing before Emma, and she was mortified at being found sitting on her bottom on the damp grass. “An eavesdropping little bird?” He sounded amused, and she could only see shadows on his face from where she was.

“A lady passing by,” she corrected, the pain in her calf adding to her irritation and defiance.

“Oh, I rather doubt that,” he responded, clasping his hands behind him and tilting his head. He did not even have the grace to be a proper gentleman and ask her if she was all right, whether she required any help. Not that she needed his help, because she could free her dress by herself…once she could stand.

“You may believe whatever you wish.” Emma made to stand once again but winced at the pain in her calf. Something was digging into her skin, trapping her.

“Are you well?” There was some concern in his voice, and it surprised her. When she looked up, her gaze was met with his proffered hand. She hesitated. “Allow me,” he said softly, completely unlike the arrogant man who had approached her just now.

Emma took his hand, and she immediately wished she had not, because when he drew her up, the thorn tore at her calf, causing her to cry out.

“Are you injured?”

She nodded, and he crouched before her, reaching for her skirt. As he lifted the garment, she saw the tear, which was quite long and ugly. A loud gasp slipped past her lips. Kitty has never worn this dress! “No, no, not Kitty’s dress!” she cried.

“Kitty’s? Never say you just ripped a dress that is not yours.” The amusement in his tone returned, but very quickly, his countenance became grave. He reached for Emma’s leg then, but she flinched and pushed his hand away, afraid he would worsen her injury even though she had yet to see it and know its extent.

“You are bleeding,” he pointed out. “Allow me to help you.”

“No, I am—” Emma began but cut herself when she noticed the blood staining the dress. First, she had torn it, and now it was drenched with blood. Forgive me, Kitty! Sinclair retrieved a handkerchief from the inner pocket of his black tailcoat, and she foolishly asked, “What are you doing?”

“You need that taken care of.”

“I am fine,” Emma let out, but he did not wait for her response before he scooped her up into his arms, drawing a gasp of surprise from her and stealing her breath. Her heart beat faster, and heat coated her skin. He was strong, and she had never been this close to a man before. He walked confidently in the dark as though he knew every part of the garden. He found a bench and lowered her onto it.

Feeling overwhelmed in his presence, Emma made to protest once more, but he interrupted her with, “Would you rather let your wound get infected, fester, and lose the limb altogether than allow me to help?”

“Very well,” she murmured and watched him crouch and dab at the wound with the handkerchief. When the blood had been cleaned, he folded the cloth so the cleaner part of the handkerchief was exposed, and he carefully tied it around her calf.

Every touch of his fingers to her skin warmed her in places she was too proper to acknowledge. The heat was sinfully delicious and she began wondering what a kiss from him would feel like. Emma was relieved when his voice tore into her scandalous thoughts and she was drawn back to reality.

“This could hurt,” he warned, and Emma nodded, bracing herself. He tightened the knot he had made. “You should have a physician look at this tonight.”

Emma swallowed. That would be impossible. She recalled the flu she had two months ago with a particularly stubborn fever. Her aunt and cousins had refused to call a physician to tend to her and prescribe a remedy, but the kind housekeeper, Mrs. Evans, had brewed her tea and nursed her until she had regained all of her strength.

Sinclair rose and looked down at her. “That was not so difficult, now, was it?” His mouth was curved slyly, and she thought he looked familiar.

“Any difficulty is your doing,” Emma murmured.

“I beg your pardon?” he laughed. “I just saved you from losing a limb.”

“Precisely,” Emma agreed. “Your manner, your talk of infection, a festering wound, and losing my leg, it was unnecessary.” She pushed a wisp of blonde hair from her face, then added softly, “You should have said something better.”

“I just helped you and this is the gratitude I receive?” he asked as though he could not believe what was happening.

“Oh, believe me, I am grateful, but my gratitude is not enough to make me disregard the truth.” Emma folded her hands on her lap.

“This truth being?”

“Your complication of a simple matter and your need to be thanked,” she replied. He aggravated her and made every part of her scream in defiance. She found him positively intolerable, too.

“I have no need to be thanked, and I do not recall you doing that,” he chuckled, perching on the bench beside her. Warmth from his body floated toward her, and Emma almost closed her eyes to relish it, but she forced them to remain open. “How do you feel?” The gentleness in his voice surprised her yet again.

“I do not feel any pain, Your Grace,” she responded.

“Not at all?” He raised a brow, and she realized he was the same gentleman she saw in the ballroom. She had thought him a good prospect then but knowing the sort of man he was now, she was filled with the need to keep away from him. He is the very kind of man everyone has warned me against.

“Only a little discomfort.”

“Then would you mind telling me what part of my conversation you overheard? Seeing as you already know my identity when I am yet to introduce myself.”

“I wanted to be alone,” Emma said, avoiding his gaze, “but then I got lost.”

“I would believe that from someone else,” he chuckled, and Emma’s eyes narrowed. She could not believe his presumptuousness.

“You speak as though you know me,” she challenged.

“I know that you enjoy a bit of gossip. Was that why you hid in the shrubs and listened?”

Emma bristled. “I will not sit here and have you insult me.” She gained her feet awkwardly.

He stood and reached for her wrist. “You are not going anywhere. Not until I have received my reward for helping you.” His gaze moved fleetingly down her body before returning to her eyes.

“Payment?” Emma echoed, perplexed. Surely, he was not asking for something similar to what Isabella gave him?

“Yes.” He nodded. “Many things in life are reciprocal, and I do not simply do things out of…” Sinclair frowned. “How do you say it? Ah, yes, the goodness of my heart.”

“That is because you do not have one,” Emma retorted, recalling his conversation with Isabella.

“Why do you suppose I have no heart?”

“A man with one would never treat a woman the way you just treated Isabella there.” She looked past him at the hedges for emphasis.

“You heard everything, then,” he stated, the amusement fading from his features. Now that she could see him better, she shuddered at how dangerously handsome he was.

Emma grimaced inwardly at how she had stupidly exposed herself. She stood abruptly, deciding that it was time to leave, but the suddenness of the movement and the tightness in her calf made her sway. Sinclair rose quickly and caught her.

“I…” the words died on her lips when their eyes met. His were as green as a forest with a glint that sent a sweet shiver through her. One of his arms circled her waist, and she did not protest. The heat from him was the most inviting thing she had ever felt, and Emma would remain in his arms longer if she could.

His expression was inscrutable, and very slowly, his eyes descended to her lips, which parted of their own volition as if to ask for a kiss. She understood the reason Isabella had begged him for one more night. A devilish smile tipped up one corner of his mouth, and he leaned ever closer.

Emma swallowed and held her breath. He was going to kiss her.