Susan Krinard - Lord of Sin

He laughed under his breath. She could do anything she chose, couldn’t she? If she could change her very face, paralyze a man with a flick of her fingers and deceive those she claimed she wanted to “help,” she could certainly trick a dying man into marrying her. Her professions of “fading powers” had not rung true; she had certainly lied to Sinjin about her weakness, even as she revealed her true nature.

A witch. Not a crooked-nosed, hump-backed crone, but this . This female any man might desire. A creature neither Fane nor completely human. A woman whose motives were not to be trusted for a moment.

If he had been possessed of less discipline, Sinjin might have confronted her then and there. But he would have been walking into a situation he knew nothing about. She might very well have heard he was in Town; she obviously didn’t fear the prospect of meeting him again.

And why should she? She had used him just as she had the others. Yes, Mariah and Ash had found their happiness, but Giles was dead. And Pamela…

“Have you seen that girl?”

Wiping the scowl from his face, Sinjin turned. Felix Melbyrne, his latest protégé, was grinning like the fool cub he was, his gaze fixed on the very point where Nuala had been standing. Sinjin’s hackles began to rise.

“Which girl?” he asked.

“Which girl? Are you as blind as Erskine?”

Sinjin began to wonder how many of his friends were going to turn up to disturb his thoughts. “Enlighten me,” he said.

“That girl, right there, beside the ginger-haired one.”

His aching lungs reminded Sinjin to breathe again. “The dark one?”

“Who else?” Melbyrne’s blue eyes glittered. “I’ve already asked around. She’s a widow, Donnington, and well out of mourning.”

“She looks it.”

The boy frowned as if he’d noticed the girl’s drab gray dress for the first time. “Poor child. It isn’t right for such a lovely girl to suffer so.”

Sinjin passed over Melbyrne’s amusing reference to the young woman as a child, when the boy was scarcely out of leading strings himself. “What is her name?” he asked.

“Oh. I suppose you wouldn’t know…she’s been in seclusion for the past year, and before that she—”

“Her name?”

“Lady Orwell.”

“As in the Viscounts Orwell?”

“Precisely. Hardly anyone knew anything about the late viscount’s bride, since he had been living in Paris for a number of years and seldom crossed the Channel.”

“I never met the man.”

“Most knew him only by reputation. How that old curmudgeon could catch a beauty like this one…”

“Orwell was deuced rich, wasn’t he? Who are her parents?”

But Melbyrne wasn’t listening. “Isn’t she glorious? All that black hair. A man could drown in it.”

It was ginger hair, not black, that Sinjin was envisioning.

“I should say,” Sinjin said, “that she would not be the easiest lady to conquer.”

“Why not? She isn’t in seclusion now. She—”

“She is with that flock of widows who have vowed never to marry again.”

Felix blinked. “That girl? Preposterous. And who said anything about marriage?”

Sinjin smiled cynically. The boy was still green enough to think of binding himself to a female before he reached the age of forty. One misstep, and he might fall. And that Sinjin was determined to prevent.

“Perhaps you ought to set your sights a little lower,” Sinjin suggested. “The younger they are, the less likely that they will be able to conceal any…indiscretion. There are any number of experienced women who would be happy to accept your attentions.”

“But where is the challenge in that? You always say a good challenge makes it all the more satisfying when one is victorious.”

So he had. But Melbyrne might easily bite off more than he could chew…especially since it was clear from Lady Orwell’s attitude that she regarded Nuala as a friend. The girl was near the age Mariah had been four years ago, and, to judge by her eager reception of Nuala’s speech, just as trusting.

Don’t get tangled up with her, boy. No pretty young widow is worth the trouble .

But how could he tender such an opinion without explaining what Nuala was? The real events at Donbridge remained a secret, and would never come to light.

Best if he simply distracted the boy, pointing him toward a less perilous partner who would teach him what he needed to learn.

“Come, Melbyrne,” he said, gripping the young man’s arm. “Don’t make any sudden judgments. There are many other pretty pictures to see.”

Felix sighed. “If you insist, Donnington.”

Sinjin didn’t look behind him as he led his pro-tégé away from immediate danger. He suggested several suitable partners, at least one of whom returned Melbyrne’s polite smile with a coquettish one of her own.

“Mrs. Tissier is an excellent prospect,” Sinjin said. “She is still young, a courtesan of the first water.”

“A courtesan? What is she doing here?”

“The prince has been known to favor ladies whom Society would ordinarily ignore. Mrs. Tissier is one such lady. As such, she enjoys a certain caché.”

“Have you had her, Donnington? Is that why you consider her such a prize?” Felix snorted. “Of course you have.You’ve had all of them at one time or another.”

The implied insult missed its mark. “You aren’t likely to find a married woman in our set who hasn’t taken at least one lover,” Sinjin said. “If a matron has borne the necessary offspring, she can always pass an additional child off as her husband’s. His own infidelity makes it unlikely that he would raise an objection even if he suspected the truth.”

“I know all that, Sinjin, but—”

“Of course your prospect need not be married at all. Mature widows are generally intelligent enough to recognize the danger of having their amours confirmed by an unexpected birth.”

“I know how to take precautions,” Felix said with a flash of uncharacteristic irritation.

“Precautions or no, there is always a risk. You must convince the lady that you have such matters under control, and then keep your word.”

“Which you always manage to do.”

“I have produced no children, to my knowledge,” Sinjin said mildly. “I avoid naive young widows just as I do girls who have yet to take their marriage vows. I urge you to follow my example.”

“I’m not so certain I belong in your dashed club.”

Sinjin yawned. “That is entirely up to you. But if you make a mistake and find yourself forced to marry the chit, don’t come running to me.”

Frowning, Melbyrne gave Mrs. Tissier a second look. “If you wouldn’t mind, Donnington, I’d like to do my hunting in peace.”

“As you wish.” Certain that he’d made his point, Sinjin walked out of the Academy and breathed in London’s not-so-fresh air. At least here, away from the crowd, he was able to think.

He’d told Melbyrne that a challenge was always most satisfying, and he’d faced more than a few himself. But there was one woman in the world he wouldn’t pursue for all the tea in China. Except to make her explain…confess…

He didn’t know what he wanted of her. He only knew that he couldn’t let her go until he finally understood who and what she was. Until she knew what it was like to be the one truly without power.

DEBORAH CLUTCHED at Nuala’s hand.

“Did you see him?”

Nuala looked away from the Frith. The prickle of awareness she’d felt earlier returned with a vengeance.

“See whom?” she asked a little too sharply.

“That young man who was staring at us.”

Nuala turned fully in the direction Lady Orwell was looking, her heart beating much too fast. “I don’t see any young man,” she said. “Can you point him out?”