Sinfully Ever After (Book Club Belles Society) Read online

This love for books is as ephemeral and suspicious as his limp, she thought. She’d noticed that there were times when he seemed to forget about the need for his cane. But when he found himself cornered by a difficult question, he made much of that pain in his leg to distract people from the fact that he fudged an answer.

  It was interesting that his masquerade had fooled Mrs. Makepiece, of all people. That lady was usually wary of gentlemen until they met with her stringent approval, yet only a quarter of an hour in this rogue’s company had been enough to impress her. Fine and gallant, indeed! Ha, Becky knew better. Mrs. Makepiece didn’t know that he preferred his women face down in the pillow. But Becky had not forgotten that story.

  According to Mrs. Kenton, there were hundreds of those women. A harem.

  Naturally, one could not believe everything the parson’s wife said, but Mrs. Kenton’s stories about the scoundrel’s past simply confirmed Becky’s own sound judgment in this case. For once, therefore, as it supported her own cause, she did not instantly dismiss the woman’s gossip as nonsense.

  When Lucky Luke began to say something else, she sharply cut him off. “I might have let my guard down last night, in a moment of regretful silliness, but I am not an empty-headed girl eager for a gentleman’s attention. Some people in this village may think I fretted while all my friends became engaged and married, but I have plenty of other, better things to do. My father and brother need me to take care of them, and I have no time to manage yet another overgrown boy.”

  She heard the vicar’s gasp of surprise at this outburst, but she could not stop herself. “I certainly do not need one who is fifteen years older than me and has an illegitimate daughter, whom he abandoned, escaping his responsibilities to explore the world and seduce more unfortunate women.”

  “You sound tense.” Lucky Luke’s voice was so low, so deep, it quaked her to the very core. “Rebecca.”

  Her name on his tongue was as startling as a public kiss would have been. She stood quickly, pulse thumping. Oh dear, she had forgotten her vow not to lose her temper, to be as calm and unruffled as Diana.

  Alas, despite the need to keep her wits intact, her throat was parched and the punch bowl beckoned.

  Only three steps later, he was in her way again, moving with remarkable ease suddenly for a wounded man.

  “Don’t you carry a fan?” he inquired in a louder voice, stopping her mid-stride.

  “No. Why?”

  “It looked as if you might be in need of one.”

  She whispered, “Only to slap your face with it.”

  To her added annoyance, he merely laughed. “That’s a fine way to talk to your fiancé. Am I not allowed to admire you?” He laid his fingers on her wrist, not grasping her hand but simply holding his long fingers there, as if he could feel her pulse through her evening glove. A fluttering sensation swept up her arm and then down through her body. Oh yes, she could quite see how Lucius Wainwright had seduced so many. He would have been the dark and dangerous man in the room who few women could resist. The more often a girl was warned against him, the more she would be drawn to the villain’s company.

  He only had to brush against her, speak her name in that deep tone, and Becky the Bold forgot that she’d meant to walk away from him. His voice, like a rich, sticky toffee sauce, dripped over her body.

  “I enjoyed our supper last night,” he muttered very low, “although it ended prematurely. I hope we’ll finish what we began. Soon. Don’t make me wait too long to satisfy my sweet tooth. I might turn wild and ravenous.”

  Fortunately no one was within hearing distance. The Book Club Belles had gathered around the pianoforte to sing a song while Mrs. Makepiece played for them, and Becky deliberately did not see Justina gesturing to her. Singing Yuletide songs was the last thing she felt like doing with her insides all in a pickle. The music began without her.

  Whispering again, she told him, “I see you don’t bother acting the gentleman around me. I daresay you know it would be a waste of your time, since I already met the real Lucky Luke. You may be yourself around me.”

  His smile changed from self-contented cat to confused kitten, newly discovering that balls of wool unravel. “Mayhap that’s why I like you. There must be some reason why I couldn’t stop myself trailing after you.”

  “Like me? You know nothing about me.”

  “But I do. You told me all I needed to know as soon as we met, remember? It was a succinct but thorough introduction. Once we’re married, we’ll get to know each other even better.”

  “Kindly stop talking of marriage,” she hissed. “I will not be used just to secure your inheritance.”

  He frowned. “What?” His voice boomed, making Mrs. Makepiece play a brief jumble of wrong keys. Everyone looked over at them.

  Thirteen

  Becky forced a smile to reassure their audience and then she walked around the annoying fellow so that he must turn away from their view. She waited until the music and singing began again before she whispered hurriedly, “The last thing you want is a woman hanging on you. Those were your words yesterday. I’m sure once you have the certificate signed to show the solicitors, marriage will not curb your behavior in any way. I will not be a party to deceit. Or trapped in marriage with a notorious rake, who only wants to get his hands on the family fortune.”

  “Your friend is right and you read too many novels.”

  Head high, she would have left him standing there, but Luke moved closer, blocking her view of the others at the pianoforte, causing her to take a step back until she felt the wall at her shoulder. “Who told you about the terms of my father’s will?”

  “Aha! Didn’t think I’d find out?”

  He shook his head. “When I encountered you yesterday, I wasn’t planning to stay long. I had made up my mind to move on. Our collision changed all that. This has nothing to do with the will.”

  “I’m supposed to believe you’re a reformed fellow? At the age of seven-and-thirty? Suddenly you want to change? I told you, I’m not a naive girl with eyes wide as barn doors and a mind full of fantasy.”

  Luke studied her for a moment and then said flatly, “You’re angry.”

  Somehow restraining herself from screaming, she sputtered, “I wonder why?”

  He sighed and shook his head. “’Tis best not to tackle a woman in conversation when her temper is up. I should know better. I had forgotten that.”

  “If you really don’t know why I might be angry—”

  “What have I done to you? Saved you from scandal by announcing our engagement. Yes, I can quite see the cruelty, the villainy!” His eyes were jet black now, staring hard into hers. “Apparently that vast experience of the male gender—a matter of which you boasted to me last night—does not include them ever thinking of your reputation.”

  She gritted her teeth and hissed softly, “Just for a moment, Colonel, let us bypass your true reason for marrying and look at my reason for not doing so.”

  His brow wrinkled. His lips tightened. He leaned on his cane as if she made his leg hurt worse.

  “If I ever marry, Colonel, it will be to a man of my choosing, not one who suddenly decides, after a lifetime of avoiding marriage, that he wants a wife. And then assumes the first convenient woman he sets his sights on will agree.” The very idea of being cornered into this made her skin itch, and yet if she dared scratch herself in public, the likes of Mrs. Makepiece would never recover. “I sincerely doubt I will ever need another man in my life, least of all one who thinks he can master me. Even as he lies with every word out of his mouth.”

  “I did not lie to you.”

  Again, Becky would have moved around him, but he put up his arm suddenly, pretending to draw her attention to a landscape painting on the wall. Slyly he leaned even closer, his cane effectively trapping her there with him.

  “I warned you what I am,” he growled. “But you
still wanted a kiss from me. You insisted upon it. Now look what you did.”

  It was true, he had not lied about what he was. Only who he was. Perhaps, now she knew the truth, she was angry with herself for succumbing, almost as much as she was with him for not telling her his name. For letting her think he had come there just for her. She should have known better. That must account for some of these wild emotions careening about inside her.

  He caught her fingers and held them. “The last thing I ever had in mind to be was a decently married man, Gingersnap. I ought to be angry with you.”

  “Oh, be angry with my cherry basket”—the words sizzled hotly off her tongue—“as that seems to have caused you all the trouble. Blame that.” But she hadn’t snatched her hand away. The strength and size of his fingers made her hand feel small-boned, delicate. Ladylike for once.

  He gave her a wicked half grin. Swaying, he propped one shoulder to the wall, his pose shockingly casual for a genteel drawing room party. “Very well,” he whispered. “Let me be angry with that. Slip away with me into the hall right now and I’ll see the naughty thing well chastised. I can help you release some of that pent-up mischief held within it.” He caressed her gloved wrist with his fingertips and she knew he felt her rapid pulse.

  This was very, very bad. Her nipples were beginning to ache and that heaviness had returned to her body. The heightened awareness that made every nerve ending tingle. His grin made it worse. He must have seen her glance over at the door, as if she actually considered his suggestion. Becky knew she had to get away and quickly before she was lost, enthralled by that wicked grin. Tempted by this sinner, like too many victims before her.

  “So much for your attempt at reform,” she sputtered. “While I wish you well with your struggle, I suspect respectability will soon prove too great an adjustment for Lucky Luke, even with a vast fortune at stake. Standing in this drawing room for an hour has already made you long to leave it.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because the first time I met you, in that hot, smoky little tavern, you wore a heavy coat, impervious to the heat. Tonight, however, there is a bead of sweat, Colonel, slowly trickling down your temple.” She retrieved her hand from his and pointed at the offending drop. He looked at the white tip of her gloved finger as if he might bite it, and Becky quickly put her hand down. “You have adjusted your neckcloth enough times that it looks as if your dog brawled with it, and your lips are pressed so tightly together with resentment that your nostrils must work extra hard to take in air. Oh…there goes another bead of sweat making its course over the wrinkles of your surly frown.”

  “All these words are making my head ache. Do you mean to say that you think me incapable of change? I thought you prided yourself, Gingersnap, on getting to the point?”

  “Very well. I am convinced the effort of being a gentleman will cause your large, thick head to fall off.”

  “Smug, aren’t you?”

  “We can make a wager on it, if you like.”

  His eyes gleamed, immediately interested. “Gambling? Tsk, tsk. Accepting such a challenge will surely mean I have lost already.”

  “Are you afraid, Lucky Luke?”

  His lips twitched. “Me? Never. I’m just like you.”

  Sighing heavily, she turned away, but he stopped her again with a hasty whisper that brushed the curls at the nape of her neck.

  “Double or nothing, Gingersnap.”

  Slowly she turned, raising her gaze to his face again. “Meaning?”

  “Give me time to prove I can mend my ways. If I don’t, you can call off the engagement and that way still save face. Blame it all on me. I’m used to it.”

  She licked her dry lips. “Oh, don’t try to make me feel sorry for you.” Any minute now, she thought, he’ll complain about his leg and clutch his cane tighter.

  It was as if she’d known him forever.

  The walls of the drawing room seemed to be closing in, candlelight blurring in the sides of her vision. Suddenly she wanted to get out of there probably as much as he did. The heat of the room, so comforting and much appreciated when she first arrived, now felt stifling. She longed for cool air again and space. To turn her face up to stars in the velvety sky and breathe. “And if you do reform?”

  “Well, you just claimed that to be impossible.” He blinked his dark lashes, trying to look innocent and harmless. Failing at both. Too late for that act with her.

  “Then I will give you until the new year.” There was no doubt in her mind that he would fail. How many times did she have to tell him that she knew all about men? Suddenly struck with a curious thought, she added, “You would be content with a marriage to a wife won on a wager?” That only showed how little he valued the institute of marriage.

  Those dark eyes glimmered down at her. “Love is an unnecessary complication. We can manage without it. You’ll enjoy the company of this sinner in bed, nonetheless.” His lips bent in a slight smile.

  The man had an answer for everything. And every answer left her unsettled, dizzy. Like one of those pale, dainty women who fainted at every opportunity.

  How ironic that she’d longed to feel more feminine and this was the man who did it to her. This crude-tongued charlatan.

  Becky turned so quickly to get away that she tripped against a chair leg but righted herself and walked across the room with as much grace as she could manage to join her friends at the pianoforte. Yes, indeed, she could see exactly how so many women had fallen around him, for it was very hard to keep one’s footing in his presence.

  * * *

  “I hope your intentions toward Miss Sherringham are genuine,” Darius muttered, meeting Luke at the punch bowl a few moments later.

  “Of course,” he replied gruffly before taking a long swig of punch. “Christ, haven’t you any brandy? Anything without fruit in it?”

  “Miss Sherringham is a friend of my wife’s and a very pleasant young woman. Not your usual conquest, as far as I recall.”

  “That’s the damned point, isn’t it? I thought you’d be pleased.”

  After a pause, Darius said, “You met her in Brighton?”

  “Yes.”

  “She’s rather young for you.”

  Luke groaned and scratched the back of his neck, wishing he could get out of his brother’s clothes and cool off. “Perhaps.” Usually the climate here was too cold for him, since he was used to more tropical places. But tonight, as she had pointed out, he was definitely overheated. Kept thinking about getting her out in the quiet hall and taking a drink of something that would better quench this almighty thirst.

  “I hope you appreciate more than her physical attributes, Lucius.”

  Bloody hell. Anyone would think his brother was seven years his senior instead of junior. “Nah,” he snapped. “I’m only in it for the lovely bubbies, ain’t I? You know me too well, Handles. There you go. Scuppered me again.”

  Darius remained grave, watching him closely. “She told me this marriage idea was a misunderstanding. Why would she say that?”

  “A temporary lover’s tiff,” he muttered. “I expect I looked at her the wrong way or said something I shouldn’t. You know how women are. Never quite on the same blasted orbit.”

  “You’re perspiring on my shirt, Lucius. You haven’t come back with some fever? Perhaps you should see Dr. Penny.”

  “It’s just these damnable clothes. I’ll have to get some new made for myself, won’t I?” Irritated, he looked around for something else to talk about. “Bugger, it’s hot in here.” He saw her with the other young ladies around the pianoforte, singing. “My future bride can’t hold a bloody tune, can she?” He winced just as Rebecca caught his eye. She put her prim nose in the air and sang louder.

  Ness had wisely scuttled under the sofa.

  Witnessing this exchange and his brother’s continual perspiring, Darius
muttered, “I know you generally disdain any form of advice—and, indeed, pride yourself on having lived thirty-seven years without it—but perhaps you will allow me to caution you in regard to the young ladies of Hawcombe Prior, since I have some experience of them already.”

  “Why? What’s wrong with ’em?”

  Darius sighed. “Their orbits have a tendency to make one somewhat…vertiginous.”

  “I can believe that.”

  “They are very fond of missions.”

  “Oh?”

  “And they read a great many romantic novels.”

  Fourteen

  “It would be a compact of convenience, and the world would be satisfied. In my eyes it would be no marriage at all… To me it would seem only a commercial exchange, in which each wished to be benefited at the expense of the other.”

  —Marianne Dashwood, Sense and Sensibility

  “I’m afraid the colonel reads like an open book, Jussy. He’s doing this for the inheritance and I refuse to help him uproot you—my dearest friend—and your beloved Wainwright from your home. I would rather end my days an old maid. Which, as Papa pointed out to me yesterday evening, is more than likely my fate.”

  The two friends stood together, looking at the window display of Hawcombe Prior’s one and only shop. It was an emporium that began life as a haberdasher and tea shop in what was really little more than Mr. Porter’s front rooms but had since adapted into a treasure chest in which one could find all manner of sundry items without traveling the distance to Manderson.

  Justina was purchasing last-minute gifts that day, and Becky had joined her in hope of finding some new trim to brighten up her best white muslin.

  After all, she mused, the Clarendons were coming. One ought to make an effort.

  “But the colonel claims he meant to save you from scandal when Mrs. Kenton saw you kissing,” said Justina, frowning into the window.

  “He claims that to be his sole reason, but I know differently.”

  “He certainly looks at you as if he has many more reasons,” Justina replied wryly.