Sinful Liaisons (Cynfell Brothers Book 3) Read online

  And he seemed to be in a pickle. Perhaps he didn’t deserve any charity, perhaps he was simply a greedy, reckless rake. She’d find out soon enough. Marrying young and owning the title of duchess for over eighteen years certainly taught her a thing or two about people, and she would be able to get to the bottom of this intriguing man soon enough.

  Sucking in a breath, she put a hand to her stomach and opened the door in a swift motion before closing it rapidly, but quietly, behind her. He sat in the tub with his back to her, his head resting on the towel draped over the end of it. His dark locks were wild and wet. She liked that too. Pierce Cynfell had a sort of untamed look to him, a daring in his eyes that marked him out from other men of her acquaintance.

  She released the breath she’d been holding slowly, lest it give her away. The men she knew were far removed from this man. Most were not second, third or fourth or whatever he was sons. They owned land and titles. The majority were land rich and cash poor, however, and had far too great an opinion of themselves in spite of their reduced state. They saw her as a fine prize—a wealthy one too. It was amusing how she had gone from being wanted for her looks and ability to bear children to being wanted for the wealth her husband had left her.

  Not that she could not bear anymore children but most of the men who approached her had their heirs and spares. No, she was simply a fat purse to be won.

  “Have you come to scrub my back?”

  Her heart gave a little skip. He didn’t know it was her, he couldn’t possibly. Had he intended to seduce one of her maids? Perhaps. She let her lips twist. Evelyn shouldn’t like his brashness, but she could hardly claim to be the most of retiring of women herself. His open manner appealed more and more with each passing moment.

  Evelyn took a step forward. Her heart thudded against her bodice. Bold she might be, but she didn’t make a habit of sneaking up on naked men.

  “Sit up then,” she commanded, pleased that no tremor in her voice gave away her trepidation.

  He bolted upright. “Bollocks.” He twisted to view her. “Your Grace....”

  She waved a hand, dismissing the forthcoming apology, and strolled around the tub to stand at the side of the bath. Letting her gaze linger on his wet chest, she admired the flex of his muscles and the way droplets ran down the bumps and dips of his body. He lifted a brow and a tilted grin curved his lips. Snatching the cloth from behind his head, he laid it over his hips and put both hands behind his head to take up his relaxed position once more.

  “There is no need to be bashful, Cynfell. I did see everything only hours ago.”

  A flash of teeth signalled his amusement. “I was merely thinking of your sensibilities, Evelyn.”

  “I am a woman of five and thirty with an adult son. I am no delicate debutante, I can assure you.”

  “Five and thirty, surely not?”

  “I was a young bride. You need not flatter me.”

  “I don’t intend to. I am truly surprised, and it takes a lot to surprise me.”

  “Apparently, I managed.”

  He chuckled. “I had thought you were the maid coming to steal a look.”

  Evelyn stole a look. She stole a long one. If the maid had, she couldn’t have blamed her. Pierce Cynfell was a fine specimen of a man. A long, slow pulse that seemed to run from her head to her toes told her how much she appreciated him and just how long it had been since she’d had a man in her life.

  “You must have a high opinion of yourself if you think all my servants are desperate for a look at you.”

  “And yet, you are here.” His green gaze pierced her, intelligent and knowing.

  “I am.” She let the words linger in the air. There was no use in denying it. Curiosity burned through her. She couldn’t wait until dinner to learn more of this man. If he were truly a wastrel, then she would send him on his way. But if there was more to him...

  “I’m sorry our facilities are a little outdated at Fairchester. Modernising an old house like this is a costly business. No doubt you are used to better in London.”

  There, she had put it out there. Now let him tell her more of his life.

  “My brother’s manor house is much the same though his wife is intending to have indoor plumbing installed. But you did not need to apologise. You saved me from further embarrassment. Had you lived in a humble cottage I still would have been grateful for your charity.”

  She didn’t point out that most people would have been embarrassed by the duchess visiting them while they bathed. Apparently this man didn’t embarrass easily.

  The temptation to test as much urged her forward.

  “Am I to scrub your back then?”

  Both brows rose this time. “I think it doubtful you have ever scrubbed a man’s back.”

  “You profess to know me after so short a time?”

  Pierce pushed a hand through his damp hair. “You are in my bedchamber, Your Grace, and I am entirely naked. We might not know one another but I think I am allowed to make some assumptions. I cannot imagine a more intimate situation.”

  His eyes dared her. The nonchalant way he lounged back as if he had not a care in the world begged her to challenge him.

  “I can,” she mused.

  Pierce’s eyes darkened and his nostrils flared. She managed to suppress a triumphant smile. She had shocked this bold man. He wasn’t the first man she’d shocked—he certainly wouldn’t be the last—but he was the first man she’d wanted to shock.

  But there was a shift in the air. A thickening. The scent of the bath oils filled her lungs more deeply and steam clung to her skin. Suddenly she wanted that fan again.

  Pierce moved. Water sloshed. He rose, the towel slipping from his nether regions. Evelyn might have caught glimpses of everything already, but it didn’t prepare her for the sight of water running rivulets down his body like a stream finding its way down the gulley of a mountain. Her mouth dried as she followed one of those drips until it hung in the dark curls—

  She snapped her gaze back up, feeling heat fill her face. He smirked and held out a hand. For a heart-stopping moment, she thought he wanted her. Her legs were fixed like great roots digging into the earth. She couldn’t, for the life of her, move.

  “A towel, if you please.”

  “Yes.” Her voice came out husky and thin. “Yes, of course.” She whirled and found the towel hanging over the dressing screen.

  She should look away. She wanted to. But at the same time, she couldn’t give him the satisfaction, and she had to admit, the brazen part of her that so often ruled her head wanted to see more. Tonight, when she took to her bed, she wanted to close her eyes and recall the firm ridges of his stomach and imagine how his skin would taste. How would he react if she simply stepped forward and stroked her tongue over his flat abdomen?

  She met his gaze. It was hard to tell. He certainly didn’t seem the sort of man to turn down a tumble, but with a duchess? There were few men who were up to the task. Complications would inevitably arise with any of the men she knew—mostly because they would be hoping for marriage. And marriage was something she could not do. Not again.

  But a brief moment of pleasure? She was tempted indeed.

  Evelyn thrust out the towel and he took it slowly, as though he had not a care in the world. As though he was not naked and beautiful in front of her.

  Their fingers grazed, and she fought the need to recoil her hand in shock when a tingling sensation bolted through her. It was the first time they’d touched.

  A smile teased her lips at her own foolishness. She’d now seen this man naked twice, yet a mere brush of fingertips excited her beyond comprehension.

  “I hope I do not amuse you.”

  She swallowed. “No, I amuse myself.”

  “Pity.”

  She swallowed again. What did he mean by that? That it was a pity she had to see to her own amusement? Was there a deeper meaning here or was she simply reading too much into the situation? She couldn’t be sure. Being around his naked
body addled her wits somewhat.

  However, as addled as they were, she wouldn’t turn and flee. She feared little, save from going through such grief ever again. But the loss of her husband had taught her to grab interesting moments with both hands.

  That smile threatened to grow. She could hardly grab him with both hands, however.

  Pierce stepped from the bath, leaving wet footprints on the pale blue carpet. As he shifted to dry himself off, she eyed the large, manly print of his foot. It had been a long time since there had been anything manly in this house. Her son had been studying in Europe since he was sixteen, and he certainly hadn’t been a man before then. Really, he was still a boy to her, in spite of being eighteen. He always would be, she suspected.

  Thoughts of her son flew from her mind when Pierce began rubbing the towel across his body. He eyed her, daring her to run. She wasn’t sure if she could. Her legs were as useful as a carriage without wheels. And nor did she wish to. Evelyn let her tongue dart out over her bottom lip, and she saw him watch the movement. When she glanced down, she realised he’d grown hard. He desired her.

  Any remaining playfulness—not that there was much—vanished in a puff of smoke.

  He finished drying his chest and slung the towel around his waist. She bit back a disappointed sigh. That same sigh trapped in her throat when he stalked forward, pausing a mere pace away from her. She lifted her chin and met his bold gaze. She might be clothed but she felt stripped bare under that look.

  “Have you seen all you need to see?” he asked, his voice gruff.

  She shook her head. “No.”

  Evelyn almost expected amusement to crinkle his eyes but apparently she could not yet read this man. His face remained deadly serious. Breathing grew difficult, and she pressed a hand to her bodice.

  “The lady isn’t pleased?”

  No. No, she wasn’t. She had wanted to see more. To feel more. To taste more. At present, all she could think on was what it might feel like to have that wet body pressed against hers and to feel his firm lips over her own.

  “My pleasure is your concern?” she asked.

  Oh, she wanted it to be. She’d been alone for so long. She couldn’t even remember the last time a person other than her son had given her some affection. To have someone care for her body was mightily tempting.

  Those appealing lips lifted in one corner. “As your guest, you would think it would be the other way around.”

  Her lips dropped open. Oh, he was bold indeed. Did he expect that she, the lady of the house, should drop to her knees and bring him pleasure? She suspected he didn’t really but he enjoyed toying with her.

  Well, she was not so easily toyed with.

  “Need I remind you I found you in a vulnerable position?”

  “A position of which you could take advantage.”

  “But I did not.”

  “You are in my bedchamber, are you not?”

  “I have done nothing.”

  “Yet.”

  The word drifted about the air. Yet. It held the promise of more. Evelyn fought to find something wrong with this state of affairs. It wasn’t the first time she’d been in an inappropriate situation. It wouldn’t be the last. She certainly hoped it wouldn’t. This man had lit something inside her that had remained dulled for so very long. And he wanted her, did he not?

  His mossy gaze travelled over her body, lingering on the curves of her breasts before coming back up and locking with hers. She eyed the whiskers on his jaw and wondered what they’d feel like against her skin. Her fingers itched to press into the slight dip in his chin then between his lips to feel the warmth in there.

  Breaths heavy, she lifted her chin and kept her gaze on his.

  “Evelyn,” he murmured, the word a seduction in itself.

  Kiss me, her mind begged. It didn’t matter that she hardly knew the man. Her body knew what it wanted. It strained against her corsets to get to him.

  You kiss me, his gaze seemed to say.

  And so they were at an impasse. She couldn’t say for how many more minutes they remained like that, the quiet tick of the mantel clock reminding her of the passing of time. All she knew was that by the time someone knocked on the door, jolting her, she had memorised every fleck of brown in those green eyes and knew beyond all doubt this man would be her match in the bedroom, and perhaps in other ways.

  It was risky.

  “Yes?” she called out, her voice but a harsh shadow of itself. She realised her mistake when her maid answered in stammering tones.

  “I-I brought some...”

  Evelyn chuckled. “Betsy will no doubt have some of my late husband’s clothes for you. He was about your size. I hope you do not find it morbid.”

  “Beggars can’t be choosers.”

  “You are far from a beggar, Cynfell.”

  Indeed, a man like himself likely never had to beg for anything. Women would take one look at him—as she had—and offer him everything. She’d have to remain cautious. It wouldn’t do to let herself be vulnerable around him.

  She turned to put her hand to the door and a strong set of fingers curled around her upper arm. “I’m willing to wager you can make a man beg.”

  She eyed him over her shoulder. “Perhaps.”

  Was this him begging? Did he feel the same heat curling between them? He had to. It was impossible to miss. But whether he had any thoughts of pursuing it, she didn’t know.

  “Dinner is at eight. Please explore at your leisure,” she told him in an attempt to put them back on a formal footing. For the moment at least.

  Evelyn needed some time away from his naked body to straighten her thoughts, and she had no concerns of him finding her in her favourite spot in the house.

  “Good day, Your Grace.”

  Somehow those four words felt like the most seductive and beautiful words she’d ever heard. Her stomach twisted itself into knots that would never be undone. She pulled open the door to find an astonished Betsy, trying to look as though there was nothing unusual about her mistress occupying a room with a naked stranger.

  Evelyn didn’t say anything to the maid. She didn’t even feel like offering explanations. What explanation was there? She was curious, and she didn’t think her curiosity had been fully satisfied yet.

  She strolled down the hallway. There was time, however.

  Chapter Three

  “So what exactly was this wager that caused you to end up losing your clothes, Cynfell?”

  Pierce paused, leaving his fork halfway up to his mouth before he lowered it. He eyed the woman at the head of the long table, her fiery hair gilded by the lights. She fit the room perfectly. Bold, like the gold and red damask wallpaper. Beautiful like the elegant arrangement of whatever these flowers in front of him were. Curvaceous like the exquisitely made furnishings. And yet, she did not fade amongst these decadent surroundings. No, instead they only seemed to work to draw his gaze to her. He suspected she knew it well if her performance in his bedchamber was anything to go by.

  “You are a curious creature.”

  “I have a right to be, do I not? I have brought you, a stranger, into my home. For all I know you could be a dangerous highwayman simply using the Cynfell name as a cover.”

  “I doubt there would be many criminals careless enough to masquerade as one of us. Our reputations precede us and few could live up to it.”

  “And yet, I know nothing of you. Does that disappoint?”

  He lowered his fork completely, giving up his hopes of continuing his enjoyment of the succulent pheasant. But, the truth was, he’d far rather speak with this woman who intrigued him so. She wasn’t intimidated by him—a rarity. He might not have the rank of his eldest brother but he had a reputation, and as far as anyone but those he owed money to knew, he had wealth. It left most women nervous around him. Of course, he knew well enough how to soothe those nerves but still, it was refreshing.

  “It does not. It simply means none of my sins have yet reached your ears
and therefore I can start afresh.”

  “And that appeals does it? Starting afresh?”

  God, yes. More than she knew. If he could go back and never place that first wager. If he could never have that first taste of a win. Never believe that the next hand would be the making of him. Yes, starting afresh sounded appealing indeed.

  “I can’t think of many people who would not like to go back and ensure they didn’t make the same mistakes again, can you?”

  “It’s our mistakes that make us who we are.”

  He wondered at that. He wondered at her. Her confidence, her boldness. Was it simply because she was five and thirty or was it something else? Now he thought about it, he could see her age. Not in her face—she still appeared not much older than him to his mind—but in the way she carried herself.

  “Have you made many?” He reached for the glass of wine to his right and took a slow sip of the rich merlot.

  “Hundreds.” She too took a sip of wine and smiled at him over the rim of the glass. “I intend to make many more, Cynfell.”

  Pierce also wondered at the use of his surname. His friends called him Cynfell or Cyn. Most of his brothers were called similarly. It often got confusing when they spent time together in London, but thankfully Julian and Dante spent most of their time in the country and Gideon hated London society. That left him with only three other brothers to compete with. However, no woman had ever called them Cynfell. Until now.

  “Would it not be better to learn from your mistakes?”

  “Oh, I never make the same mistake twice, but one is not really living if one is too cautious.”

  He couldn’t help but agree, although that same notion was what had put him in debt to most of the gambling dens in London. What was the harm? He’d say. Was this life not short? Shouldn’t he enjoy every moment while he still could?

  “You talk a good game, Evelyn,” he said instead of admitting to his doubts, “but I don’t believe you make every decision in your life without some caution.”

  Or else she might have done more than simply slip into his bedchamber. She desired him. Perhaps as much as he desired her. He could think of nothing he’d wanted more than to pull her close and strip her bare. This woman heated his blood in a way he couldn’t remember many others doing.