Nicole Jordan - The Seduction

“I don’t know, but I haven’t yet given up trying to persuade Lord Sinclair to see reason.”

“He wants vengeance.”

“I know.” She shivered, remembering the storm-gray eyes that had seemed to penetrate her very soul. His compelling image rose in her mind’s eye: elegant, virile, dangerous. The wicked Lord Sin was a man to be reckoned with.

“He is a heartless devil,” she murmured, “but I shan’t accept defeat just yet.”

With trepidation Vanessa stepped down from the hired hackney carriage to stand before the magnificent Sinclair residence in fashionable Mayfair. Shivering, she tugged the hood of her pelisse around her face, less for protection against the gray morning drizzle than to conceal her identity. A lady did not call at the home of a gentleman, especially one of Lord Sin’s infamous reputation.

Yet she was driven by desperation. Summoning all her willpower, Vanessa climbed the marble steps to the imposing front door. When a stately majordomo answered, she presented her card. Not even by a twitch of an eyebrow did the elderly servant display surprise at her presence.

“I will inquire if his lordship is in, my lady,” he intoned. “Would you wish to wait in the blue salon?”

She accepted the offer. Entering the salon, she drew back her hood but remained standing, barely noticing the elegance of her surroundings that bespoke wealth and taste. The gates of Hades would hold more appeal just now.

She despised licentious noblemen. And Damien Sinclair, Lord Sin, was a profligate of the first order. He was known to be a leader of the notorious Hellfire League, a fraternity of depravity for wealthy lords, patterned after the club of a similar name made infamous a half-century before.

Still, she would have to quell her distaste if she cherished any hope of saving the Rutherford estates.

In only a few moments, a young gentleman appeared in the salon. He bowed politely while surveying her curiously through his spectacles.

“Lady Wyndham? I am his lordship’s secretary, George Haskell. He asked me to inquire how I may be of service.”

“Is Lord Sinclair not at home?” she asked, unsurprised to be fobbed off on an employee.

“He is preparing to go out. I would be happy to assist you if I may.”

“I’m afraid that is not likely. I’ve come on a matter of some urgency, which only his lordship may deal with.” Her tremulous smile was apologetic but determined. “Will you tell him that I shall wait for him to come down?”

Mr. Haskell bowed and withdrew. He was back shortly, wearing a troubled frown.

“His lordship bade me inform you, my lady, that he will grant you a short interview… upstairs. If you will please follow me?”

She expected to be shown to a drawing room, but when they had climbed the wide staircase, the secretary led her down a wide hallway to a private chamber. With another bow, Haskell left her, shaking his head in evident disapproval.

The room was large, Vanessa saw as she entered, and was tastefully decorated in crimson and gold and rich mahogany furnishings. In the center of the vast chamber stood a huge bed, whose covers were still in a tangle.

Vanessa felt her heartbeat quicken. This was Lord Sin’s bedchamber.

“Do come in,” a lazy, sardonic voice drawled from the opposite side of the room.

Vanessa took a single step and stopped short. The wicked nobleman was shirtless, dressed only in breeches and boots. The expanse of bare skin was stunning. With wide shoulders, a broad chest corded with lean muscle, a hard flat stomach, and narrow hips, he had the physique of a Greek god, his muscularity suggesting his devotion to athletic sport. Add to that the fact that he was treacherously handsome, and her pulse went wild.

She had forgotten the dismaying impact this man had on her.

He offered her an apologetic smile as he drew on a loose cambric shirt. “Forgive me for receiving a lady in such a state of undress, but you did insist.”

Indeed she had. Even so, his receiving her here was a blatant attempt to intimidate her, she realized. If it was known she had visited his bedchamber-a den of iniquity, without doubt-she would be thoroughly compromised. Still, she was in no position to challenge him. To have any hope of persuading him, she would have to swallow both her dismay and her nervousness.

“I can manage,” he said to the manservant attending him. He took the flowing stock and dismissed the valet, who bowed and obediently withdrew.

Alone with the premiere rakehell of London, Vanessa made a futile attempt to quiet her rioting pulse.

“You don’t mind if I continue dressing?” Sinclair moved to stand before the cheval glass, where he began tying his cravat with consummate skill. “I am pressed for time. I don’t wish to be late for an appointment with my tailor. My secretary would like me to take my place in the House of Lords, which requires my being suitably attired.”

His dry tone suggested cynical amusement, but Vanessa could not believe he was overly concerned about his style of dress.

He was a bold rogue, with a natural sense of arrogance bred into him, but he was no fop. And he had no need to rely on his tailor to present a favorable appearance. Men feared and respected him, while his looks and charm alone had seduced legions of females. Vanessa could not deny that her every feminine instinct came alive in his presence. Those stunning gray eyes of his, fringed with thick lashes, could only be called beautiful.

Swallowing with effort, she found her voice. “Thank you for agreeing to speak to me,” she began on a conciliatory note.

That swift masculine smile flashed in the mirror. “I had no choice but to yield gracefully, my lady. You are quite persistent… determined enough to camp on my doorstep, I suspect.”

“Necessity compels me to be. But I wish only ten minutes of your so valuable time.”

“You may have ten minutes, but I warn you, ten hours would not be adequate to change my mind regarding your brother. Pray be seated.”

Vanessa glanced at the wing chairs before the hearth, and the chaise lounge beneath the far window. “Thank you, but I prefer to stand.”

He inclined his head to signify his indifference and made a delicate loop of the cravat. “Does your brother know you are here?”

“No, and I have no intention of telling him. He would be scandalized to know I even called upon you, let alone that you received me in your bedchamber.”

“Notorious despoiler of feminine virtue that I am?” Sinclair asked ironically. “I do hate to disillusion you, but I don’t lie in wait for helpless females to ravish.” His eyes met hers in the cheval glass. “Although in your case, I confess I might be tempted.”

She took a deep breath. “You were correct, my lord. I did come here to discuss my brother’s debt of honor.”

“How clever of me to have guessed.”

“Perhaps,” Vanessa continued, striving for a reasonable tone, “you don’t comprehend the hardship that fulfilling the debt would place on his family.”

He gave a sigh of resignation. “I gather you mean to tell me.”

“My mother and sisters will be destitute, with no place to live.”

“Your brother can always apply to the cent-per-centers to redeem his vowels.”

“No moneylender would advance such a sum without the Rutherford estates as collateral. Even were he able to pay his debt of honor to you, once in the clutches of the moneylenders, the result would be the same. Aubrey would lose his estates and be thrown into debtor’s prison and his family driven from their home.”

“I still fail to see how that concerns me.”

Vanessa fought down an angry reply. It would do no good to antagonize Lord Sinclair. “You have every right to wish revenge on my brother, but must you make his family suffer as well?”

“That is an unfortunate consequence of his actions.”

“Not only of his actions. You are a practiced gamester, my lord. You lured him into deep play, you admitted as much last night.”

“Indeed, I had every intention of ruining him.”

“Fleecing green boys should be outlawed,” Vanessa murmured bitterly.

“So should destroying the lives of innocent young girls,” he retorted. When she simply stared at him, he added with impatience, “Did you come here to play the disapproving paragon, Lady Wyndham?”

“No, I came here to persuade you to see reason.”

He ignored her comment.

“Aubrey has threatened to shoot himself if he cannot find a way out of this difficulty.”

“I confess that would not break my heart.”

“It would mine.”

His eyes searched hers, as if to judge her sincerity. Then he shook his head, while his jaw hardened. “Your brother must pay a price for his reckless cruelty. But I will grant you one concession. If and when he is man enough to come to me himself, I shall discuss terms of payment.”

Her heart lifted a measure at his offer, but it was not enough. “What good are terms when he cannot manage to pay his tailor’s bill, let alone a wager the size of the one he owes you?”

“You are singularly interested in his financial affairs, are you not?”

“I have good reason to be. I manage the Rutherford estates for Aubrey, since he has little head for accounts.”

He raised an eyebrow. “And you have?”

“Enough to recognize when he is in dire straits. And I must say he is not wholly to blame for his dwindling resources. The chief difficulty has always been persuading our family to economize. I fear we are spendthrifts.” When she received no reply, she pressed on. “Is there no way you would consider reducing the debt?”