Lord Sin. Catherine Archer

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.

      But she was not soothed. She could not stop thinking about the way Ian Sinclair had kissed her and how she had reacted to that kiss. Why, oh, why did she feel this strange, unfortunate attraction for the blackguard? Why had she no more control over her own emotions and feelings?

      A lush hawthorn hedge ran the length of the laneway. She followed it to where it ran past the church that sat beside the vicarage. Greeted by Matthew Brown as he used a pair of hedge clippers to trim the new growth, she raised a hand and smiled. The elderly gentleman had been looking after the church grounds for as long as she could recall. But Mary did not stop to chat with him as she usually did.

      At the end of the hedge she paused and looked up at the church. It was a welcoming-looking structure, deceptive in its simplicity of design. No expense had been spared in the quality of the stained glass windows that ran the length of the building, nor in the highly polished woods, beautiful statuary and tastefully used gilt trim inside.

      But it was not to the inside of the church that her thoughts turned today. It was to the bell tower. The enormous silver bell that pealed so purely every Sunday morning was silent and glistening in the sunlight far above her.

      Just looking up at it caused a knot of tension in her stomach.

      It had not always been that way. She had loved that bell tower as a child. She had felt that she could get just a little closer to heaven and thus to her mother by going up there. Yet that had all changed when she was seven and two older boys from the village had discovered her up there alone. They’d teased her and said she was nothing but the lord’s daughter’s live doll. When she’d replied, haughtily telling them they were only jealous, they’d held her at the very edge of the tower platform, threatening to throw her off if she didn’t retract her words. Pride had not allowed her to do so.

      Luckily Victoria’s father had come along. The boys had been punished, but Mary had not been able to go up into the tower nor to any other high place since. In all the years since that event, Mary had forgotten neither the fear nor the feeling of comfort she’d known as the gentle duke had carried her home. Not until yesterday when Ian Sinclair had taken her into his arms had she known those feelings again.

      But she did not want to think of Ian Sinclair.

      As she looked up, she felt frustrated and angry with herself for allowing someone else to rob her of the comfort she had known from being in the tower. And now that both her mother and father were gone from her, she was doubly cheated of any comfort she might find there. Why should she let anything, especially something that had happened so very long ago, to keep her from being close to her parents?

      Just as she had allowed Ian Sinclair’s presence at Briarwood to rob her of Victoria’s company. Wasn’t she made of sterner stuff?

      Pushing her anxiety down with an act of will, Mary entered the church. Before she could change her mind she went quickly to the doorway that led to the tower.

      At the bottom of the stairs she stopped. Her breath was beginning to come more quickly as she looked up at the seemingly endless curve of the circular staircase.