One Night of Sin Read online

  Becky tried not to look.

  Oh, yes, he probably had no trouble at all leading unwise women astray like the very Pied Piper. But although she averted her gaze, she could still smell the enticing cologne that clung to him; the rain and his exertions had heightened his scent. She could feel the heat of his muscled body from where she stood.

  “What’s your name, sweetheart?” he murmured, a practiced line delivered with smooth persistence, as silvery miniature waterfalls cascaded off the awning’s edge behind him. A boyish pout skimmed his full, kissable lips. “You promised to tell me yours if I told you mine.”

  “I didn’t promise you anything,” she informed him.

  The flicker of mischief in his laughing blue eyes admitted to his attempt at trickery. He flashed a smile. “I must know, all the same.” He edged closer, the irresistible softness of his deep voice coaxing her trust; she resisted for all she was worth. “Tell me. I shan’t go away until you do.”

  “In that case, it’s Becky,” she muttered, but did not offer her last name. The less he knew about her, the better.

  Fortunately, her first name alone seemed to satisfy him just fine. “And why, Becky dear, were you sleeping in Draxinger’s doorway?”

  Her pride bristled. “Maybe I was tired.” Maybe I had nowhere else to go.

  “The butler wouldn’t let you inside?”

  What was he getting at?

  “Why should I bother the butler?” she countered in a prickly tone, her pride smarting at the condition in which those rich, haughty fellows had seen her. They must think her low, indeed.

  “You could have knocked on the door,” he chided with a smile. “The servants would have let you in if you had simply said the abbess sent you over for the party.”

  Abbess? Becky furrowed her brow and stared at him, and then her eyes widened as understanding dawned. Oh, Lord . . . ! So, that’s why his friends had been so outrageously forward! It made sense now. Becky was appalled to realize that, along with his cronies and everyone else in this horrible town, Lord Alec Knight believed she was a whore.

  And that, she thought angrily, was the only reason he was still standing here.

  He didn’t care about her in the slightest. He was only after a bit of fun. “Come back to the house,” he coaxed her in a silky tone. “You just stay close to me. I won’t let the lads bother you.”

  Torn between outrage and disbelieving humor at what a very bad day she was having, Becky shook her head slowly, stubbornly, emphatically. But her heart pounded.

  Oh, this was rich. Finally, someone showed her a glimmer of concern in this hateful city, and now she understood why.

  She was about to correct his error when she suddenly stopped herself, recalling how everyone she had asked for help today had simply brushed her off. Surely, if she told this bona fide London rakehell that she was an honest girl—if he surmised he was not going to get what he wanted—then he, too, would leave her standing here alone again, starving, hunted, lost. The thought of being left out here in the streets again, by herself, in the middle of the night, was somehow worse than Lord Alec’s shocking assumptions.

  Worse by far.

  So, at that moment, instead of speaking up, she did what any canny country Yorkshireman would do and kept her mouth shut.

  No, let him believe of her what he willed. It didn’t really matter in the grand scheme of things. With her survival at stake, she was well past caring about her reputation. Somehow his golden presence made the night seem a little less black.

  “Come, Becky,” he coaxed her gently. “You’ll catch your death out here in the wet. I can see you shivering.” He glanced at her weapon. “Why don’t you put that thing down?”

  “Keep your distance!” she warned, but she could feel her defenses growing thin.

  He smiled almost tenderly, studying her in the darkness. “Why do I get the feeling you haven’t been doing this for very long?”

  “I—I—” She had no idea what to say. Did he mean whoring?

  “It’s all right,” he murmured indulgently, his glance flicking over her body. “You needn’t be embarrassed of your inexperience. In fact, I’m glad to hear it. You’re much too pretty to be out on the streets, my dear.”

  The compliment flustered her. Well, it must have been dark indeed if he thought that in her abysmal condition.

  He put his hands in his pockets, regarding her with a thoughtful gaze. “How long have you been in Town?”

  She swallowed hard. This much she could answer truthfully. “Oh, about . . . eight hours.”

  He raised his eyebrows in amusement. “So long?”

  She nodded. “I just arrived this afternoon.”

  “From?”

  “Yorkshire.” Her candlesnuffer dipped in her grasp as a lump of homesickness rose in her throat. Her chin trembled as she thought of her village and her beloved home, the ancient rambling Tudor hall at the edge of the heath. How she missed Talbot Old Hall, with its countless gables, climbing ivy, and four oak-carved angels standing guard atop the dramatic hammer-beam roof with swords and shields.

  His eyes glowed. “A Yorkshire lass. How delightful. I’m from the north, myself. Born and bred in the Cumberland hills. Country lad,” he teased.

  She could not help smiling ruefully at his claim and the unlikely image of this glossy London sophisticate scything hay or shearing sheep.

  “Well, that’s a first,” he remarked in a low tone, studying her. “You have a beautiful smile, Becky.” His leisurely stare moved over her. “My my, dimples and all.”

  She blushed, but then he shook his head and sternly took her to task. “This isn’t Yorkshire, ma cherie. You cannot proceed this way in Town. You could get hurt. Badly.”

  He did not know the half of it.

  “I’m not afraid,” she vaunted; a knee-jerk reaction, in truth, for of course it was a lie. She supposed such bravado was deeply ingrained in her from a lifetime of having to prove herself.

  He smiled knowingly. Drifting closer, he casually placed one well-groomed hand on the side of her candle-snuffer. She failed to protest, mesmerized momentarily by his elegant fingers’ deft caress along the smooth wood.

  He probably had an expert valet who buffed his nails for him in a monthly gentleman’s manicure, she thought. Hypnotic hands.

  His nearness made her strangely weak. She could do nothing, enthralled by his glittering gaze and strong, sensitive hands; he took her weapon gently out of her grasp and set it back in its holder, easily disarming her—in more ways than one.

  “That’s better,” he whispered. “Now we can be friends.”

  When he turned to her again, she stared at him uncertainly, filled with an odd longing to put herself in his beautiful hands. Help, she thought. Please help me.

  He reached out and with a bold, slow, seductive caress, traced the line of her jaw with his fingertip. She quivered; the response surely amused him.

  “So what do you think of our fair metropolis, after a full eight hours on London soil?” he inquired casually.

  “Honestly?” At his encouraging nod, her confession tumbled from her lips. “It’s horrid,” she wrenched out, her voice breaking to a wretched whisper, her chin starting to tremble. “I hate it with all my heart.”

  Her vehemence clearly startled him, but then he furrowed his brow and drew her closer. “Oh, darling, no. Shh, there. Don’t cry.” He put his arms around her, soothing her with his whispers; she stood there numbly for a moment, neither moving closer nor pulling away.

  The contact routed her defenses, taking her greatly off guard. It had been so long since anyone had held her. Years. That thought alone made her want to cry. She closed her eyes.

  “Shh,” he whispered.

  She did not know him, but she was so weary, and the delicious strength that she felt in his arms and muscled body as he embraced her, invited her to rest against him. Safety. When he bent and kissed her brow, she simply melted, leaning her forehead against his lips, half asleep on her f
eet.

  “Becky, my sweet.” His mouth skimmed her hairline and then he whispered, “Shall I take you home?”

  “I can’t go home,” she said miserably, exhaustion and his kindness making her eyes well up with tears. She shut her eyes more tightly, not wanting him to see.

  “So, it’s like that,” he answered thoughtfully, drawing what conclusions, heaven only knew. When he spoke again, his tone was mild, his breath warm against her brow, a sophisticated murmur. “Actually, you see, I meant . . . to my place.”

  Oh, God. He thought she was a harlot and was now genuinely propositioning her for the night. “Sir, I really don’t think—”

  “Look at me.” He tipped her chin up with his fingertips, and when he stared evenly into her eyes, the world disappeared. “I’m not going to hurt you. You know that, don’t you?”

  She nodded slowly.

  He wiped the single tear off her cheek, which had escaped her willful effort not to cry. “I understand better than you know, believe me. I can guess how it all played out. Some heartless cad back in Yorkshire had his way with you.” As he spoke, he slowly rubbed away the smudge of dirt on her cheek with the pad of his thumb. “Your parents threw you out. It probably wasn’t even your fault. Now you’re alone. You’ve got nothing, no one.”

  Tears threatened afresh at his last words, because those, at least, were true. Unbearably so.

  He shook his head with gallant tenderness. “We’ve all been down on our luck, my love. This isn’t the end. Don’t lose heart.” He kissed her head again. “Come home with me tonight. As a gentleman, I cannot leave you out here alone to fend for yourself. I’m sure there must be some way I can help. You’re very beautiful, you know. You’ll find no shortage of protectors. Yes, you’ll make your fortune, my girl, and when you do—” He pulled back, gave her a roguish smile, and chucked her gently under the chin. “I hope you shove it down your parents’ throats.”

  Becky stared at him with fresh tears in her eyes. Tears of gratitude. He had it all wrong, of course, but she smiled tremulously at his defiant encouragement, one rebel to another. No meek sufferer, it was very much in the spirit of the way she looked at life.

  Maybe he was not entirely uncaring.

  She managed a taut nod and took a deep breath. “Thank you,” she whispered as she blinked her tears away.

  His smile turned wily. “As for the fool who caused your ruin, I can guarantee you one thing: He never pleasured you as I can.” He moved closer, and then he touched her mouth, running the pad of his thumb slowly across her lower lip. “You look hungry,” he whispered. “I could feed you.” He lowered his head as though to kiss her, but Becky found the breathless strength to turn away, her heart pounding at his velvet beguilement.

  “Why do you resist?” he asked, his murmur rich with decadent sensuality. He stroked her cheek. “Come home with me. We’ll take it nice and slow. I’d never rush you, sweet babe. I won’t do anything you don’t want. I’m going to make you feel so good, Becky. Let me take care of you tonight.” He tucked her hair gently behind her ear. “You won’t regret it.” Her heart raced; his silken touch was maddening as he caressed her cheek and the curve of her neck. “What is it you desire?” he breathed. “Just tell me. Anything you want.”

  She swallowed hard, trying to hold on to her defenses as he made her body tremble. Well, that sounded terribly sincere, she thought. Yet his practiced seduction proved powerfully intoxicating.

  Intoxication often brought with it a fool’s courage, and Becky, in a surge of daring, decided to play along for a moment, perhaps out of simple fascination to find out how all this business worked. Or perhaps because he had already succeeded in arousing her. “Anything?” she countered skeptically.

  “Well,” he amended with a languid half smile. “Within reason.”

  His hand wandered lower, trailing slowly down the center of her chest.

  She glanced down at it. His gold and onyx pinky ring glinted in the distant lamplight. Such deft, expert hands. No man had ever touched her there before. A few had tried. She had slapped them.

  She did not slap Lord Alec.

  She didn’t even want to. He was too fascinating, too gorgeous, too charming, too smooth. Her mind felt drugged with his coaxing; she had a feeling she was in deep over her head with this man, but at the moment she didn’t even care.

  “You see, if it’s plain riches you want, you’re better off with Draxinger,” he purred, drawing little shapes on her breastbone with his middle fingertip. “I daresay you’ve won his heart already, aside from the small matter of knocking his tooth loose.”

  “You’re not rich?” she ventured boldly, lifting her chin.

  “Sorry, no,” he answered in amusement.

  “You seem rich.”

  “I try.” His eyes danced as he shook his head sadly. “I made a fortune gaming and I lost it.”

  “Ah, that’s a pity.” Her voice sounded a trifle breathless despite her playful bravado.

  “I know.”

  “So, make another.”

  “Good idea,” he said dryly. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

  “Why not? If you can do it once, you can do it twice, can’t you?”

  “When one falls down a deep, dark hole, cherie, one must crawl out of it as best one can. After that, one isn’t so inclined to throw caution to the wind. Besides, there’s such a thing as luck, and lately mine’s all bad.”

  “You met me,” she pointed out, mustering up a saucy smile. “Perhaps your luck has changed.”

  He laughed aloud at her assertion. “I like your style, my girl.”

  “I am in earnest. I was born lucky. It’s true.”

  “If you’ll forgive my saying so, you don’t look all that lucky to me.” He pinched her cheek playfully, and then lowered his hand to his side.

  His frank words startled her, then she broke into rueful laughter, in which Lord Alec joined her. It felt so good to laugh and smile after the past few days’ ordeal. She shook her head, lowering her gaze. What am I doing, flirting with him? She couldn’t seem to help herself. Her blush deepened as she realized she was behaving like a romping country hoyden, exchanging banter with the fine lord, just asking to be ravished.

  Very forward, indeed. Dangerous, too. But it didn’t scare her. Not compared to the Cossacks. It only made her blush, and she was glad it was dark so he could not see the way his sensual stare turned her face pink.

  You’d better tell him it’s not going to happen, her better sense warned. But then he’d leave, and now she found herself wondering what it would be like to kiss him.

  “What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?”

  She lowered her gaze, fighting a smile. “I have no interest in Lord Draxinger,” she murmured, peeking at him from beneath her lashes. “For whatever it might be worth.”

  “Ah. Well. There’s always my other friend, Rushford. The one you kicked.”

  “No!”

  “He’ll be a marquess one day.”

  “I don’t care. He’s a pagan and a brute!”

  “Yes, well—no. Not really. Very well. Sometimes.” He chuckled, attempting to defend his friend. “He’s just not used to girls who don’t swoon at his glance.”

  “Neither, I wager, are you,” she shot back, then bit her lip after the pert remark. Oh, dear. She cleared her throat. “My point being that, er, you didn’t act like a brute.”

  Lord Alec raised his eyebrows mildly. “No. Well. It does not matter, anyway, I’m afraid. I am sorry to say Lord Rushford is a . . . trifle cross at you at the moment. I fear the family line may be in peril after you nearly gelded him. Besides, he’s already got a mistress. On the other hand, of course, he will be bored of her by week’s end, so perhaps if you bide your time—”

  “No thanks.” Becky gave him an arch look and folded her arms across her chest. “What about that third fellow? Who was he?”

  “Fort? Yes, Lord Daniel Fortescue. Capital chap, but you don’t want him. He’s a
mere younger son, like me.”

  “Younger son?”

  He nodded. “In my case, the youngest of five.”

  “Good heavens, you’ve neither fortune nor title?” she taunted with a smile.

  He shook his head sardonically. “No, but I do have a number of talents that I think would astonish you.”

  Something in his stare made her believe it. “Really?” she forced out weakly.

  “Mm.” He nodded.

  “Like what?”

  He flashed a reckless smile. “Come home with me and you’ll find out.”

  Lord, he was too much. She bit her lower lip, captured by his cobalt eyes. Truly, he was the most beautiful man she had ever seen in her life, an Adonis, nay, Apollo. A sun god with hair of tarnished gold and eyes as blue as the deepest ocean.

  She forced herself to look away, feeling breathless and slightly overheated.

  “Well?” he whispered. “What’s it going to be, girl?”

  “You’re very bad, aren’t you?” she murmured, stalling for time as she struggled to relocate her wits.

  “On the contrary, my love, I am extremely good,” he whispered. “Why do you fight this? Don’t you like me?”

  “I like you.”

  “I’m not going to beg.”

  “Lord Alec—”

  “I want you. Stop playing games.”

  She turned as red as the cross on the Union Jack. What in blazes had she gotten herself into? What was she to say? Then a distant sound snagged at her attention.

  Clip-clop, clip-clop, clip-clop.

  Her eyes widened; she felt her blood run cold. Oh, no. Ignoring Lord Alec entirely for the moment, she mustered her courage and forced herself to look, peering into the darkness in the direction of the sound.

  By the dim illumination of the wrought-iron lampposts, she spotted two of the riders about a block away, but coming closer steadily, as undeterred by the blowing rain as mechanical automata. Even from a distance, she recognized the distinctive shape of their brimmed helmets and the familiar motion of their heads turning as they glanced from side to side, scanning each intersection they passed.