A Sense of Sin Read Online Free Page B

haughty demeanor. But, she was gone. She had thwarted him.
    The Ravishing Miss Celia Burke. Fuck her .
    With a hunter’s instinct, Del turned towards the far end of the room, where glass-paned doors led to the ubiquitous terrace and country garden. He knew McAlden would need air after the purgatory of dancing. Perhaps he could find Miss Burke attempting to amuse Hugh, languidly fanning her pale, haughty cheeks in some conveniently darkened corner. Yet, as he strolled across the flagstones and down the gravel paths, neither Miss Burke nor McAlden was anywhere to be seen.
    Damn her for a clever jade. He would have to regroup. Del turned his feet and his thoughts back towards the house. His friends should have already found the Marquess of Widcombe’s stash of smuggled French brandy in the library—somewhere across the house in the opposite wing.
    If he went back through the ballroom, there would be more censorious looks and disapproving stares. He found he was no longer in the mood for them. He felt thwarted and caged—in the mood to bash heads together the way he had at the local Heart of Oak tavern three nights ago. Best to avoid the ballroom altogether.
    He set off across the inner courtyard to the wing opposite the ballroom that housed the library. The curtains were drawn and the outer doors locked. He might have gone on, rattling doors until he was heard, but he noticed a window open to the evening’s breeze at the very end of the wing. A lamp was lit inside. In the warm glow of the light, it looked to be a part of the library—perhaps the Marquess’s personal book room—with a desk and a chair, most likely giving into the library. If he couldn’t have Celia Burke, at least he could have a decent drink while he pondered his next move.

C HAPTER 3
    C elia was beyond hesitation. Every pair of eyes felt unfriendly, every stranger a threat. She tried to catalogue and keep track, separating them into their respective identifications of relations, friends, acquaintances, and others—those who were unknown and therefore unclassified, their characters and motives a mystery to her—until the ballroom felt close and constricted, and she couldn’t stand the scrutiny any longer.
    She skirted the dance floor and hurried in the general direction of the ladies withdrawing room before ducking out of sight into the servants’ corridor. Thank God the ball was at her uncle’s estate, and she could find her way without assistance. She knew Widcombe Court almost as well as she knew her own house.
    In another moment, she was safely hidden behind locked doors in her uncle’s book room, leaning against the table to catch her breath. It was a small room with bookshelves, a single table, and one armchair before the fire, but it had always felt safe and comfortable, a place where she could read her uncle’s collection of the Philosophical Transactions of the Royal Society without fear of detection or interruption. Even cousin Ronald never thought to look for her there.
    Celia sat down and drew another calming breath. She had to get a hold of herself and her runaway fears. She had to rise to the challenge. If not for herself, then for Emily’s sake. Resolution steadied her.
    What on earth could Commander McAlden have discovered that he was not willing to say? Unworthy men? His warning was vague at best. According to her mother, most men were unworthy.
    Celia reached through her skirts into her pocket and pulled the wretched piece of paper out to study anew. Emily had taught her to observe the many minute facets of life. Everything—people, animals, plants, insects and even clouds—almost everything under creation had something, some characteristic that set it apart from the rest of creation. It all depended upon how closely one looked.
    She schooled her heart to beat more slowly so she could look. And think. And approach the blackmail logically. She read the terse note again.

    We know what you did in Bath with Emily