Sin. Sharon Page

and blue ribbons, but Min…he’d never seen her look more radiant. Only two weeks from childbed and she glowed.

      Sunlight spilled into Min and Stephen’s drawing room, the fire roared with cheer, and being a part of the family gathering filled Marcus with a reassuring sense of warmth. He grinned as Min approached. Even his mother, who sat silently by the fire, had tolerated his presence without shrieking or throwing something at him.

      This was the happiest he’d felt in a long time. Nothing seemed to please him these days. Nothing…except Venetia Hamilton’s kiss.

      He hadn’t been able to sleep since kissing her. Hadn’t even gone to a bloody brothel to ease his pain because he’d vowed he wouldn’t and because it had been infinitely more pleasurable to lie in his bed with a cock as hard as a bloody iron bar and remember their kiss.

      A phrase of his father’s came to mind. I was shaken to my gleaming boots by her kiss. He’d been talking about a debutante—a virgin. A proper young lady, untouchable, off-limits, and oh, so ready to play, his father had claimed.

      Damn his father—he understood exactly what the old debaucher had meant.

      Hell, not the sort of thing to be thinking at a happy family gathering. He pushed the thoughts aside, and lightly kissed Min’s cheek.

      “David is smiling already,” she announced, raven curls bouncing. “If you smile at him, Marcus, I’m certain he’ll smile for you.”

      With shock, Marcus saw she was offering his nephew to him. He was at once honored and terrified. Min’s large, luminous eyes implored. She was so proud, so delighted with her joyous gift, that she would be hurt if he refused.

      He couldn’t hurt her.

      “Take care to support his head,” Stephen warned from his chair, “He’s a strong lad and when he throws his head back he can catch you by surprise.”

      Marcus flashed a grim look at his brother-in-law. “You’ve rapidly turned into an expert, have you? I seem to remember you were all fumbling hands that first night.”

      “True enough.” Stephen chuckled, raking his fingers through his hair. “Several bottles of port will do that to you.”

      “Don’t you want to hold him?” Min asked.

      Marcus swallowed hard and nodded. “But he’s such a tiny little thing.”

      “I can assure you he didn’t feel tiny,” Min admonished.

      He blushed at the quip and awkwardly slid his hand around his nephew’s head. For once his hand felt large, unwieldy, dangerous, but the baby’s head fit perfectly within. He cradled the tiny bottom, his gloved fingers squishing into the thick cloth there. Large blue eyes ringed with dark lashes gazed up at him as though he was the most fascinating sight ever beheld. Dark blond hair dusted the strangely shaped head, thickest in a ring above the ears.

      He shifted his hands, trying to ensure he had the best grip, and he felt as though he were trying to juggle china.

      “There!” Min crowed, “A smile!”

      His nephew’s hands fisted, then waved. He’d always thought infants were swaddled tightly, but Min had explained that she did so for sleep. She wished to let David explore and play.

      Some madness seemed to overtake him as he gazed down at the bubbling lips and the large eyes. Suddenly he was cooing and gooing.

      Beside him, Min giggled. “I think you are smitten, aren’t you, Marcus?”

      He couldn’t help but answer her smile. “I have to admit I am, Min.” She was so at ease with the little one even after a mere fortnight. Would he be the same as a father? He suspected he’d be the talk of the nursery if he had his own son—watching his miracle every moment of the day. He’d have to take care to employ an indulgent nanny, not a strident one.

      “Find a wife and you could be blessed as well.”

      He tried to tease. “You have a child dependent on you. I forbid you to launch into a matchmaking project.” But he wasn’t going to find a wife or, if he could help it, be a father.

      Min laughed. “I wouldn’t dream of attaching any female of my acquaintance to you.” He knew she’d meant to tease but her face sobered instantly and the vivacious light faded in her green-blue eyes.

      What was she thinking? Remembering how she’d caught him at twenty-one kissing Miss Wallace, who was her bosombow? He’d been cradling the lady’s full breast. Never a wilting flower, Min had accused him of trying to rape her best friend. She’d brained him with a vase to save her friend’s virtue.

      In that one moment, his beloved sister had revealed what was deeply in her heart—she thought he was like their father. She’d thought that he was capable of forcing himself on a defenseless woman. Miss Wallace had thrown herself at him, but Min wouldn’t believe it.

      She’d thought he was a brute. A debaucher. A rapist.

      How could she think he was like that? He used to cry himself to sleep listening to Min’s tears at night. With a child’s instinct, he’d known the way Father had touched Min had been tainted by lewdness and nastiness. He’d known it was wrong.

      The baby’s loud burp startled him. “Bravo, David.”

      Min dabbed at the baby’s pursed lips with her cloth, cleaning chunks of white. Cooing sounds ensued between both mother and son. David gave Min a gummy smile that tore at Marcus’ heart. “What about love?” she asked softly.

      “I have friends who married for love,” he said, “Who speak highly of it—call it the most perfect happiness. You know more about love than I.”

      Min looked up, her large blue-green eyes alive with perfect happiness. “I could never begin to explain love. Intimacy. Friendship. Something glorious that both hurts and enriches. And you know that if you lost it, your heart might never mend.”

      “But love is not for me. Nor is marriage.”

      Concern cast shadows in those eyes—concern for him—as she reached for David. “I thought you’d given up your sinful ways.”

      He relinquished the baby with relief—too small and precious for his big hands. “So did I. But some temptations are too great to resist.” That kiss. Venetia Hamilton had tasted of sweet tea, sugared biscuits, and feminine heat, and he had wanted to devour her.

      “Did you help Miss Hamilton? I know your honor balked at forgiving the debt—”

      “Yes, I protected Miss Hamilton as promised. And now my heart shines with the joy of a good deed.”

      “What was she like? Was she truly a proper lady?”

      “She blushed often. She wore a frightful gown and had red hair.”

      “Marcus!” She laughed. “Was she pretty?”

      “Yes. A country beauty with peaches-and-cream skin and curls the color of fine sherry bouncing around her wide hazel eyes—eyes both amber-brown and green. She has her father’s nose, unfortunately, and his sharp chin.”

      And a lush and lovely mouth. An enticing mouth. Miss Hamilton had wrapped her leg around his hips and pulled herself tight against his erection. Her kiss was eager, artless, and delightfully tentative—and the touch of her hands on him had sent shivers of pleasure down his spine and a surge of blood to his groin that had shut off his brain.

      Min’s eyes had widened at his flowery description. “And why are you so curious about a woman who draws naughty pictures?” he asked, to deflect her interest.

      “I just wondered if she was a bold woman, the sort with henna-dyed hair. I can’t imagine how a well-bred woman could do such a thing.”

      He shrugged. “Survival.” Miss Hamilton had moaned into his mouth as he kissed her. Desperate little moans. He’d never known a woman make such lusty sounds at just a kiss.