Sinful Cravings (Cynfell Brothers Book 4) Page 2

  Blast, she should have stopped to quiz him. The trouble was, he made her feel so out of sorts that she’d almost forgotten why she was there and had simply wanted to escape him. To think he wished to ride with her. She wasn’t sure she could have coped having him beside her in a carriage. No one would gossip about her—no one knew her—but to have a man like that in close proximity was more than she could bear.

  Not because he was devilishly handsome, of course.

  No, it was his reputation that was the problem. She doubted he’d try to take advantage. A simple lass like her wouldn’t appeal to him any more than her sister. But how could she suffer a man like Jasper Cynfell? Tales of his antics were legendary, even to someone like her who avoided London at all costs. Her aunt loved the regale them with tales when she visited them in Wiltshire, and the gossip columns—while often mentioning all the Cynfell men—paid particular attention to Jasper’s latest conquest.

  Of which there were many.

  As near as she could tell, he had to run through several women a week. That man was simply a glutton for women.

  “Where shall you go today?”

  Hettie snapped out of her building annoyance and glanced at the window. “I thought maybe the park.”

  “She will not very well be wandering around there, surely?” Aunt Flora pushed her wire-rimmed glasses up her nose and took a long sip of tea. “I fear we shall never find her and your mother will never speak to me again. I have failed Emma most terribly.”

  Hettie reached across the table and patted her hand. Really, she could almost forgive her aunt for being deceived by Emma. She was no different to the rest of their family, all of whom thought Emma entirely trustworthy and sweet-natured.

  “I will find her before Mama and Papa return, Aunt.”

  She peered out of the window again, relieved to see she wouldn’t need her umbrella today. But a parasol might be in order. She doubted she’d need to use it to fend off any unsavoury men this time, however. Hyde Park would present no danger to her but plenty of opportunity to speak with people. Whether anyone would speak with this odd woman, quizzing them about some unknown country girl, she didn’t know, but she had to try. Flora said Emma spent a lot of time in the park with Clara and a few of their friends. She longed to find out exactly who these friends were. Clara had been very evasive when Hettie had quizzed her about that.

  “Well,” Hettie announced, coming to her feet, “I see no need to wait any longer. It is too early for the fashionable hour but I’m sure I shall be able to find some people to talk to.”

  “Just be cautious, dear. One can never be too careful.”

  Hettie thought of the men she’d attacked with her umbrella and allowed her lips a slight quirk. Perhaps delicate ladies needed to be cautious in London but she was a country girl. She had spent most of her childhood climbing trees and mud-wrestling with the farmers’ sons. Then, when she’d been older, she’d set to work at the orphanage. Splitting up fighting boys had taken quite a bit of strength and tenacity. She doubted those men who’d approached her yesterday had expected her to do anything other than meekly hand over any money she had.

  “I shall be back for supper.” She paused to give her aunt a peck on the cheek.

  Poor Aunt Flora. It wasn’t her fault she was so naive and a terrible guardian for Emma. Hettie supposed she should be cross with the woman for letting her sister run so wild but her parents shouldn’t have entrusted her in the first place. In truth, the only person she was cross with was Emma. And perhaps herself, a little. If she’d made more of an effort to make her family aware of the true nature of her sister, perhaps this would never have happened.

  Either way, it was up to her to fix things.

  Hettie opted to take her parasol and regretted it as she started down the road. Though the sun shone brightly between the clouds, a bluster of wind whipped up the narrow street and nearly knocked the thing from her hand. After fighting with it for nearly ten minutes of walking and almost attacking a gentleman on the street—entirely accidentally—she put the lace annoyance down and held it at her side.

  Her aunt lived in a pleasant house, only twenty minutes walk from Hyde Park. Though her family were not rich, they were comfortable and Aunt Flora had married well. Her shipping magnate husband had died many years ago and so she enjoyed having her nieces for company. Another wedge of guilt slipped into Hettie’s throat. If she’d have spent more time with her aunt, perhaps this wouldn’t have happened. But London never appealed to her. She longed for clean, fresh air and peaceful walks where she wouldn’t have to greet anyone for miles.

  Hettie skirted around some horse droppings and grimaced before nearly getting run down by a carriage driving too fast. She couldn’t wait to leave here—with her sister in tow.

  Hyde Park would have been a welcome break from the busy traffic of London and the smoke that hung thing in the air except it proved to be remarkably busy, even at this time of day. Several cyclists whipped past her and she had to jump out of the way of too many men driving recklessly in their cabriolets. She noted they were with women and most likely showing off. It was exactly the sort of thing she pictured Lord Jasper doing, though why she even thought of the man she’d met for all of two minutes, she didn’t know.

  Hettie followed the path alongside the Serpentine. She had seen it crowded on sunnier days at a more popular time but, at present, only a few people milled around the water’s edge. A few grubby boys dipped their toes into the water while elderly ladies peered out at the water from their seats on benches. Maybe she should have waited until fashionable hour.

  Maybe this was all a big mistake. The truth was, she hardly knew where to start. London was so vast and though she had an excellent sense of direction, she had found herself lost several times over the past few days. What if Emma had simply become horribly lost and found herself in a ghastly situation? What if she wasn’t being irresponsible at all?

  Hettie pressed her lips tighter. She couldn’t think like that. It did not help one bit.

  She continued along the riverside, looking over the river toward Rotten Row where several men and ladies were already making use of it on horseback. She couldn’t very well leap in front of them and demand if they knew her sister so she’d have to find someone else.

  A gentleman about her father’s age and a woman he assumed to be his wife strolled her way and when he offered her a tip of his hat she took her chance.

  “Excuse me,” she asked, breathlessly. “Forgive me, but I’m hoping you can help me.”

  “What can we do for you, dear? Are you lost?” the woman asked.

  Hettie had to conclude she had been looking a little lost, which was probably true, though not in the sense this couple thought.

  “No, no. I’m looking for someone—my sister.”

  She fumbled to pull open the locket she normally kept stashed in her skirt pocket and held it out to them. It held portraits of the two of them. They both had one but neither of them had worn them after having them painted last year. A shaft of anguish pierced her. Had she been a truly awful older sister? Was this why Emma’s behaviour had become so extreme? She hadn’t felt right wearing it when Emma had declared she didn’t want to. That had pained Hettie more than she’d wanted to admit.

  “Pretty young thing,” the woman murmured, “but I do not recognise her I’m afraid. George, do you know her?”

  “You know I can’t remember faces,” he told his wife with a half-smile. He lifted a monocle and peered at the portrait. “No, I’ve never seen her. Does she frequent Hyde Park often?”

  Hettie snapped shut the locket and pushed it back into her skirt. “I believe so but I do not know with whom.”

  “Well, you’ll have a time asking every person who comes here. I suggest you consider finding out with whom she visited.”

  She attempted not to sigh. They were only trying to be helpful after all, but Clara had really offered so little to go on. She’d claimed Emma began to do her own thing and le
ft Clara in the dark. Hettie suspected Clara knew more than she had let on but wanted to protect herself. That had to mean they’d been spending time with some very bad people indeed. If that wine bar was anything to go by, her suspicions seemed correct.

  “Thank you for your time,” Hettie said.

  The elderly couple gave her their best wishes and continued on their walk. She flicked a glance over the river at the horses thundering down Rotten Row. Was she talking to the wrong people? Would Emma have really ended up spending time with people like that, so far above her station?

  Several cabriolets—ones so bright in colour that she winced as they blurred past—raced ahead of her. Hettie clutched her hat as wind and dust from the wheels whipped past her. She took a moment to stand aside when she saw another vehicle a way ahead coming her way, this time in a more sensible black but not going any slower than the others. Were these the sort of people she should be questioning? There was no way of catching up with them unless she wanted to throw herself under the wheels. She was beginning to think today’s venture a complete failure. Had she really thought questioning a tiny minority of London’s population a fine idea? For someone who was supposed to be the clever one in the family, she was not so bright after all.

  When another gust of wind fluttered her skirts, she came to the conclusion she had indeed been silly. She would be better off calling on Clara again and seeing if she could not press for more details. No one sensible or fashionable would be out in this breezy weather. She could only conclude the elderly couple were those hearty types who enjoyed a brisk wind to clear out the cobwebs.

  Her hat lifted from her head while she was attacked by another gust. She went to slam her hand onto it, but too late. The wind caught it like the wings of a bird and off it went before landing abruptly on the ground. She eyed the hat—her most sensible and practical one—and narrowed her gaze at it. She just knew if she went chasing after it, it would go running off again, making her look an utter fool.

  There, the wind grabbed it but no, it flopped down again. She blew out a breath. She supposed she was going to have to look a fool. Snatching her skirt, Hettie hurried after it and sure enough it went on a merry dance, tumbling along the ground while she tried to grab at it.

  “Watch out.”

  Hettie froze at the desperate shout and took a stumble back when the black vehicle came to a skidding halt. Her palms struck the ground so hard that she felt the impact rattle through her bones. And her hat—her blasted hat—was now lodged under the wheel of the carriage.

  A set of well-polished shoes entered her vision, and then a hand. She took it without thinking and the man helped her to her feet with ease. Hettie lifted her gaze and groaned aloud. She actually groaned. She didn’t think she needed to waste good manners on this man but, still, she certainly had not meant to do that.

  “Are you hurt?” Lord Jasper asked.

  She opened her mouth and shut it again before peering at her palms. They were a little dirty and scratched and she imagined her skirt was much the same. Heat filled her cheeks. What a fool she must look to him. First she was attacking men with her umbrella and now she was chasing hats about Hyde Park.

  She looked at the accessory in question. Poor hat.

  “I-I am well.”

  “You nearly got yourself killed, Miss Foster.”

  She couldn’t help but gaze into those warm brown eyes that were filled with concern. Actually, no, brown wasn’t right. More like cognac. That was where the warmth came from. They reminded her of the warm, soothing drink that her father would give her on a particularly cold night at the vicarage.

  “I am aware of that, my lord,” she bristled, feeling unkempt and frankly hideous next to his beautifully cut Norfolk jacket and pristine trousers.

  Even his dark brown hair had that marvellously unkempt look that the wind could only work wonders with, unlike hers that had been hidden under her hat and now likely looked much like a scarecrow’s.

  Straightening her shoulders, she ignored the quirk of his lips. “I must offer you my thanks,” she said, barely managing to conceal her begrudging tone. “Had it not been for your quick reaction, I may well have been killed.”

  He glanced back at the carriage where Hettie finally noticed a pretty woman was waiting. No, make that beautiful. If anyone could make her feel even more like a scarecrow it was this woman. The wind had done nothing to her perfectly coiffed hair and lacy bonnet. This was the sort of woman the artists painted with beautiful creamy skin and a lovely rosebud mouth. Hettie had never really longed for beauty. Her face was well put together and God had blessed her with a nice, healthy figure. What more did a country girl need? But at this moment, she longed to be the most beautiful woman in the world, just so she could raise her chin and not feel like a complete fool.

  “I’m afraid your hat did not survive, however.” Lord Jasper bent to tug it out from under the wheel. The floppy brown thing didn’t even resemble a hat anymore. He grinned and turned it over for inspection. “I’d ask for forgiveness but I am not sorry. In fact, I do believe I improved it.”

  Hettie let her mouth fall open before snatching it back from him. “That was my favourite hat.”

  “Lord knows why. I’ve seen dog turds that looked more attractive.”

  Her mouth fell open farther at his words. Goodness, could the man get any ruder? Flustered and hot, she was tempted to run away right this instant except her parasol was on the ground. She bent to retrieve it and Lord Jasper held up his hands in mock surrender.

  “I take it all back. It’s a wonderful hat. Please do not attack me.”

  His mocking grin only incensed her further. The titter from the woman in the carriage set the heat kindling in her cheeks to flame. She twisted away only to pause when he called her name.

  “Be careful, Miss Foster. You do seem to have a tendency to get yourself in trouble.”

  “Good day, my lord,” she said through gritted teeth and swivelled on her heel to march away from him.

  She didn’t wait to watch him climb into the cabriolet with his beautiful companion, but she did see them whip past her. An uncomfortable twisting sensation knotted her stomach. For the briefest of moments, she wondered what it would be like to be that woman. To not worry about what was right or wrong. To only think of oneself.

  To be receiving the attention of a rakishly handsome man like Lord Jasper Cynfell...

  Hettie shook her head at herself. Handsome he might be but did her father not remind her the devil disguised himself in many ways? That man was everything her father warned her about. She only hoped she never set eyes on him again.

  Chapter Three

  When Jasper slipped into the library, he released a long breath. Another grin attacked him when he thought of Miss Henrietta Foster. He’d been doing that all day. Grinning at the oddest moments. The trouble was, Constance had noticed his distraction and had not been too impressed. He suspected he would have to try that little bit harder with the woman now. She was quite the handful and thoroughly demanding.

  A little like Miss Foster really. That woman was...well he wasn’t sure what she was. He couldn’t claim to have ever come across a woman like her. But with her daggered looks and armed with a parasol, he couldn’t help but keep recalling how she’d stood in front of him, shoulders stiff—all puffed up with self-righteousness. The devilish part of him wondered what it would take to loosen her. Which bit could he pick at and release and have her completely unravel in his arms?

  Jasper settled at his desk and eyed the sheaf of papers awaiting him. He played hard, to be sure, but what most people didn’t realise was he worked hard too. He was to attend a garden party later this evening but first he had to have his correspondence done. It was only thanks to some hard work early on in his life that he lived quite so well. Certainly his living from his brother was generous but there were seven of them, after all, and quite a few had growing families now they were married. He couldn’t count on that income forever and nor did he
wish to.

  He smirked to himself. After all, charming these women wasn’t cheap. The odd trinket and bit of jewellery here, fine dining there, an elegant gown, a naughty piece of lingerie. It all added up. Not that he ever begrudged them those expenses. Part of the pleasure of seduction was showering a woman in gifts, seeing her face light up when he offered her that beautiful diamond necklace or expensive shawl. Finally getting her into bed was only part of the pleasure.

  A knock at the door signalled the arrival of tea and biscuits. He’d wait until later for alcohol and, as much as he enjoyed it, he wouldn’t overindulge. He didn’t much like having a foggy head the next day in spite of his reputation.

  A reputation that he thoroughly deserved and did not bother him one jot. Since he was a young boy, he’d discovered the quickest route to happiness was to care little for what anyone else said or did.

  The butler placed down a stack of books, and Jasper eyed the spines with satisfaction. There was one thing that brought him almost as much pleasure as a beautiful woman in bed and that was seeing his name in print. His most recent articles on astronomy should be in these journals.

  “Thank you, Fredericks.”

  Jasper flicked open the first journal until he found his article and allowed himself a small smile. Few people of his acquaintance read these, and he had no care to educate them. There was no sense in forcing information on people, he’d discovered, if they had no will to learn. Some of his brothers had declared him a complete bore when he’d begun learning about the stars. That was something no other person would consider calling him.

  Blackguard, yes. Rake, certainly. Seducer, most definitely. But never a bore. He couldn’t help admit he liked having this secret side to himself. When everything about one was up for public consumption, it was nice to have something for oneself.

  Jasper turned his attention back to his letters and vowed to check the other journals tomorrow. He also had his brother, Ash, to write to at Stourbridge House. There had been some trouble with a woman there, and Jasper wanted to ensure all was well. A blackguard he might be but his brothers would always come before women and parties.