A Sense of Sin Read Online Free Page A

of Widcombe’s best brandy, he left them behind, and began to stalk her.
    Del moved through the crowd slowly, pausing here and there to speak when he was acknowledged. He let his eyes wander, noticeably looking for her, before he politely excused himself to move on, so everyone might watch, take note of his passage, and wonder to whom he was going. So everyone might make conjectures and bandy his filthy reputation about until he moored up next to her, snug and familiar, as if they had long ago been introduced and were more than acquaintances. As if they were intimate.
    He would smile at her in a way that would tell he had seen everything there was to see beneath that concoction of silk and embroidery draping her frame and been very pleased, indeed. Her reputation would be linked—and tarred—with his. The mere fact of his notice, his singling her out, would stain The Ravishing Miss Burke’s porcelain reputation before he even had to charm her into relinquishing the last of her good name.
    As he prowled closer, the whispers began. He heard snatches of his denouncement from every quarter, especially from the Gorgon’s group of matrons.
    “. . . ought to keep to London. He and his friends act in the most scandalous fashion.”
    “. . . reputation quite beyond the pale. This past year, when he ought to have been in mourning . . .”
    “. . . carousing in public with sailors and ruffians of all sorts . . .”
    “They say he delights in prizefights! The other night at the Heart of Oak tavern, dreadful place on the waterfront, they say he fought . . .”
    “Though he is a Viscount, he doesn’t normally move in polite society.”
    “. . . heard of one drunken rout out at Glass Cottage . . .”
    The Gorgon herself, Lady Caroline Burke, was one of the few to actually meet his gaze. She gave as good as she got, fixing him with a gimlet, disapproving eye. “I’ll have nothing to do with the likes of him, Viscount or no. Libertine, that’s what he is. He ought know he’s not wanted here, amongst civilized people.”
    Oh, but he was definitely wanted there. By any number of women who were at that very moment casting looks as sharp, delicate, and subtly dangerous as fly lures in his direction. Angling they called it. Del lowered his chin and smiled through half-closed eyes at their flutterings of eyelashes and knowing, come-hither smiles. He had not spent all his time since he had arrived in Dartmouth thinking only of vengeance and retribution. The local ladies had been more than accommodating and deeply appreciative of his diligent attentions.
    But, he gave the ladies no more than a knowing smile and a passing glance. He was saving his lethal brand of charm for The Ravishing Miss Burke. He was stalking her like prey through this heated jungle of silk and feathers. He would track her down and ruffle that carefully preened plumage of hers. He would pin her down with nothing but his eyes and his words, and devour her.
    But he was too late. McAlden had stolen a march on him and was dancing with her. Maybe even warning her. But Del could turn it to his advantage. McAlden’s reputation was not as a libertine or a ladies man. Quite the opposite, but he was still known as a dangerous and not-altogether civilized man—who never danced. His dancing with Miss Burke might not shake her reputation, but it would certainly stir it up a bit. The Viscount Darling’s own presence beside her would finish the trick McAlden’s dancing had started. She would be talked about.
    Del kept up his steady path through the crowd, still pausing here and there to speak, until the music came to an end with a smattering of applause. He stepped to the edge of the dance floor to intercept them, but his quarry had flown. Celia Burke was nowhere to be seen.
    A few moments ago she had been floating above the dance floor, a beautiful, untouchable ice princess, her dark eyes unlit, her face bearing the slightest of smiles and her arched brows giving her a