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.
His strategy was succeeding, at least in part. She had lost her intense wariness of him. And yet she found it harder to maintain an air of composure when he was near. He could make her quiver with a glance, render her breathless with a simple touch.
Perhaps it was her dread of what was to come that so unnerved her. Damien had been exceedingly patient with her reticence, not demanding so much as a kiss from her. Vanessa felt certain, however, that the situation couldn’t remain that way. Before long he would require her to become his mistress in truth.
One night during the beginning of her third week at Rosewood, the conversation turned even more personal- deeply, disquietingly so. Again they were sitting before the fire in the warm glow of candlelight. At first Vanessa remained undisturbed when she felt his heavy-lidded gaze lingering upon her. She’d grown accustomed to his lazy, searching perusals.
Yet she was not prepared for the question that broke the pleasurable silence between them.
“How long has it been for you?” he asked softly.
She could have pretended to misunderstand. Could have refused to answer such an intimate, intrusive query. But candidness had been a hallmark of their relationship from the first, and she had come to value it, despite how unsettling such honesty often could prove.
“Two years.”
“So long?”
She had to look away from the intensity in his observant eyes. “You have misjudged me,” she replied, a tremor in her voice. “I told you the truth. I am not experienced in carnal matters. I haven’t had countless lovers. Only my husband.”
“And you didn’t enjoy that,” he said, low and hushed.
“It… was not pleasant.” She flushed, ashamed that Damien had managed to draw such an admission from her.
“Let me guess,” he continued, keeping his voice quietly modulated. “He never took the time to arouse you. Instead he sought his own pleasure without considering yours. You lay beneath him, tense and unresponsive, expecting pain and dutifully receiving it.”
The stark picture he painted struck too close to the truth. Vanessa bowed her head, reliving the dark memories. “It was my duty, but he… hurt me.”
“You may trust me never to hurt you, Vanessa.”
Slowly she raised her gaze to his, searching his face. Trust was not a word she would use with Damien Sinclair. But, startlingly, she did trust him. Why else would she have so readily revealed her secrets to him? She should have deplored his insistent probing and her own intimate confessions; but, in a bewildering way, she was almost relieved to have her private shame exposed.
His eyes captured hers and held them. “Carnal relations needn’t be unpleasant for a woman. Indeed, they should not be.”
“He thought me cold… unfeeling. Because I couldn’t bear his touch.”
A swift spark of anger flickered in the storm-silver eyes. “He was a damned fool.”
She stared at Damien, wanting to believe the firm conviction in his pronouncement.
He kept his voice soft and even when he continued. “Vanessa, your dislike of physical intimacy stems from a cruel experience. While you might be lacking in education and experience, I doubt you are cold or unfeeling. I would wager my entire fortune that inside you is a warm, passionate woman yearning to break free.”
Against her volition, her throat constricted with emotion. For so long she had lived with the shame and guilt of her inadequacies. If she had been a better wife to Roger, perhaps he would not have sought other women’s beds. He might even have moderated his wild and reckless lifestyle and never met an ignominious end with a bullet through his heart on the dueling field.
The possibility was like balm to a raw wound, and Vanessa was absurdly grateful to Damien for suggesting a reason that she had never responded physically to her husband.
“You… think me passionate?”