Catherine Archer - Lord Sin

Mary knew only that the tingle of awareness that traveled from her ear to the pit of her stomach was in no way connected to any memory of her father.

She became aware of Ian Sinclair’s strong hand on her back, felt its warmth through the thin cotton of her dress with a shiver that had nothing to do with being cold. And at the same time it seemed he had grown very still, as if he knew what she was feeling.

With bated breath, Mary glanced up at him from beneath the thick fringe of her lashes. He was looking at her, his dark eyes intent with some emotion she could not name.

When Ian dipped his head and placed his firm but supple lips to hers, Mary thought she would surely faint from the sweet pleasure that rippled through her. Unconsciously she tilted her head to allow him better access as his mouth caressed hers.

His arms tightened, pulling her even closer to the long length of him, and she gave a start as a foreign hardness grew against her belly. Her eyes flew open wide and Mary jerked back in shock.

She looked away from Ian Sinclair, her eyes focusing on nothing, her hand going up to cover her mouth. How could she bring herself to face him after allowing him to kiss her, after feeling his…? Crimson color stained her face and neck. She did not even know this man. Whatever would her father say about this? What must Ian Sinclair himself think of her?

She attempted to cover her shame with hauteur. “I think it would be best you go now.”

He answered, drawing her gaze, though she could gauge nothing of his thoughts by his expressionless eyes nor the cool timbre of his voice. “I am very sorry for what I just did, but let us not make more of this than there is. You were upset and I was comforting you, nothing else.”

Mary felt a shaft of rebellion rise up inside her. Who was he to tell her not to make too much of anything? He had, after all, been the one to kiss her. Her nose tilted high. “How very supercilious of you, my lord. Am I to understand that you always comfort women by kissing them? If that is the case, I very much pity any woman who might find herself attached to you.”

He seemed a bit taken aback, but only for a moment before a gleam of amusement and, dare she think it, admiration lit those dark eyes. “My, but you are direct, Miss Fulton. To answer your question, I do not always kiss women when I am comforting them, but it has happened once or twice and I’ve had no complaints.”

She took a deep breath, her hands going to her hips. “Why, you insufferable beast.”

His gaze slid down, pausing for a moment on her bosom before he looked back at her face. Mary only then recalled that she had unbuttoned the neck of her dress. She knew that if she looked down there would be far more of her showing than she wished. Only by an act of will did she keep herself from doing so. She would not allow him to see that she was embarrassed. Even as the thought swept through her mind, he smiled knowingly and she felt a deep flush of heat move down her throat and over her breasts.

His next words drove all thought of retaining a pose of unconcern from her mind. “If you keep standing there looking so completely desirable, Miss Fulton, I just might kiss you again.”

Her arms came up to shield her bosom from his view. “You, my lord Sinclair, are despicable. No wonder they call you ‘Lord Sin.’"

By the way his eyes narrowed and his lean jaw flexed she could see that this had struck a nerve. He spoke with slow deliberation. “I will thank you not to call me that again.”

“And why should I do as you tell me?”

He took a step closer to her, and Mary took an involuntary step backward. His tone was dangerously controlled. “Because I have asked you not to do so. If you will not comply with a polite request—” he shrugged meaningfully “—I can take more drastic steps to gain your compliance.”

“Why…you…you…I can’t think of anything despicable enough to call you. I’ll not stand here for one more moment.” With that she swung around and stalked away.

Ian watched her with irritation and a surprising amount of amusement and, to his further surprise, a grudging respect. What a little hellion she was. A man just did not know what she might say. Mary Fulton was the complete antithesis of his docile, obedient cousin Barbara. Unexpectedly Victoria’s warnings that his father would never approve of a minister’s daughter popped into his mind again. How very angry his father would be if he married someone like Mary Fulton, someone who would match and possibly even best the old fellow in a contest of wills.

And how very delicious she had tasted. How very much he would like to sip at those lips again, and even more, to learn if the skin on the curve of breast she had so unwittingly displayed was as smooth as it looked.

An idea was beginning to insinuate itself into his mind. The idea that Mary Fulton would make a very interesting selection as a wife. No. He could not even contemplate such a thing.

Besides, the woman obviously detested him. She had even gone so far as to call him “Lord Sin” to his face, something few men would have the temerity to do.

He pushed away the unthinkable notion that continued to prod at his consciousness. He would do well to ride straight back to Briarwood and enjoy the rest of his visit with Victoria and Jedidiah. In a few days he would be returning to London and his life there.

Not even to spite his father could Ian consider any union with that hoyden, no matter that her lips tasted of warm, sweet woman and fresh air. Or even that she was delectably rounded in all the right places despite her delicate form. He started toward his horse, which was still tied waiting for him. Yet he could not keep his gaze from straying to where one of the curtains fluttered at the upstairs window.

So she was watching him. An unconscious smile curved his lips as he rode toward Briarwood.

When the footman arrived at the rectory the next day with an invitation to dine at Briarwood, Mary told herself that she would not go. Never. Not as long as that man was staying there. With polite determination she gave the man her apology—she would not be able to attend dinner.

He bowed and left. Closing the door, she looked down at the card in her hand. With a disdainfully raised chin she promptly dropped the missive into the wastebasket.

She went back into the sitting room where she had been perusing several recent copies of The Times and The Post. Mary had circled several advertisements. Each was requesting a résumé from young women who would be interested in the post of governess. Sitting down beside the low table, she picked up her pen and continued down the columns. Her stomach churned with nervousness at the thought of what she was doing. Taking such a position would separate her from everything and everyone familiar to her. Determinedly she told herself she was only doing what was right.

Yet not thirty minutes later she found herself back in the front hall holding the invitation to dinner in her hand with a yearning expression on her face. Mary told herself she did so love Victoria and it might not be long before she was gone to make her living elsewhere.

Why should she allow Ian Sinclair to keep her from Victoria? Her friend’s companionship was especially precious to her now when she was very likely going away.

Besides, a small voice inside her piped up, he had done nothing but kiss her. Then apologized for that. Was she, as he had implied, making too much of a little thing? The man had made it very clear that he would not be losing any sleep over the matter.

Yet she could not bring herself to go.

Half an hour later, unable to concentrate on anything, Mary left the vicarage. A walk would surely clear her mind. Until recent times, being out amongst the growing things had always soothed her. Perhaps it would do so today.