How To Seduce A Sinner

brand-new husband. Now there would be servants to gawk at her.

When they reached the manor, Atwood himself assisted her down from the carriage. He introduced her to the upper house servants, the butler, housekeeper, cook, and head footman, then turned to lead her away. But Dorothea tugged gently on his arm. “I should like to meet all the staff, if you please.”

A corner of his mouth edged upward and his eyes glittered with an emotion she could not identify. It might have been an annoyance, but frankly Dorothea didn’t care. No doubt the staff had been standing outside for at least an hour, perhaps longer. She felt it was her duty to acknowledge them with a personal greeting and a smile.

Dorothea fully expected the butler, or housekeeper, to take over at that point, but again she was surprised. Carter continued down one row and up the next, calling each servant by name. Dorothea was vastly relieved to find so many kind eyes and shy smiles as the staff bowed or bobbed a curtsy.

“It has been a long journey and a most tiring day,” Carter said as the staff began to file inside the manor. “I’ll have Mrs. Simpson show you to your rooms. I’m sure you would like to rest before supper.”

Dorothea struggled to contain her shock. They had just arrived and once again he was planning to leave her on her own?

“Naturally I should like to freshen up, but I doubt I will nap,” she answered.

He smiled charmingly. “Nevertheless, I’m certain the rest will do you good. Mrs. Simpson.” He made a motion with his left hand and the housekeeper materialized at Dorothea’s side. She had not even realized the woman was so near. “Please show Lady Atwood to her chambers. I will see you at dinner.”

And with that settled, he left. Dorothea felt almost too shocked to have a reaction. It had been such an extraordinary day, fraught with excessive emotions. Exhaustion lay just beneath the surface, yet Dorothea knew that sleep was an impossibility. So what precisely was she going to do for the remainder of the afternoon?

She turned to the waiting Mrs. Simpson and gave her a brave smile. “Could I possibly impose upon you for a tour of the house?”

“’Tis a very large residence, my lady. Seeing everything will take hours.”

“Well, perhaps just the first floor today,” Dorothea countered, starting to feel an edge of desperation.

Mrs. Simpson arched her brow, hesitated, then answered, “I shall be honored, my lady.”

They started with the numerous formal rooms, all grandly and expensively furnished. After seeing the duke’s London home, Dorothea expected nothing less, but there was a comforting quality to these quarters that was lacking in London. Ravenswood felt more like a home and less like a showpiece, though it was grand enough to qualify as one. The clear difference buoyed Dorothea’s spirits.

All it took was a few words of praise at the excellent condition in which she found everything and Mrs. Simpson’s formal attitude faded. Dorothea was vastly relieved. They concluded the tour in Dorothea’s rooms, a pleasant, large suite that included a well-furnished sitting room and a spectacular view of the gardens.

As predicted, once she was alone, Dorothea was unable to sleep. Instead, she lay on her back beneath the soft sheets that smelled pleasantly of fresh lavender, staring at the elaborate silk bed hangings, wondering when it would be time to dress for dinner.

When someone finally arrived at her suite, Dorothea was delighted to see it was Mrs. Simpson.

“I thought it might be best if I assist you this evening, since your maid hasn’t yet arrived,” the housekeeper said. “I have some skill with arranging hair.”

“I’ve yet to hire a personal maid and would very much appreciate your advice. By any chance is there a local girl who might suit?”

Mrs. Simpson bit her lower lip thoughtfully. “Sarah Mallory has a bit of experience and I know her family would be grateful for the income. She was widowed last year and forced to return home. I don’t think she wants to remarry and there are nine other siblings in the household to feed.”

“She sounds perfect. Can you arrange an interview later this week?”

“I’d be delighted.”

Grinning with satisfaction at making her first decision as mistress of her own home, Dorothea felt herself relax. Mrs. Simpson had not exaggerated her expertise with hair. She pinned Dorothea’s blonde curls in an elegant upsweep that showcased the long line of her throat and the creamy perfection of her chest, so elegantly exposed by her daring decolletage.

“You look stunning, my lady.” Mrs. Simpson smiled. “Lord Atwood won’t be able to keep his eyes off you.”

Or his hands. The raucous thought popped unbidden into Dorothea’s head. But wasn’t that what she wanted? To beguile and bewitch her husband?

On less than steady legs, Dorothea followed the housekeeper downstairs to the drawing room, still pondering that thought.

Carter was waiting for her. He had changed from his wedding finery into more casual attire. His hair was still damp from a recent bath and his jaw was freshly shaved. They walked into the dining room and took their seats and again spoke of their wedding and the festivities that followed.

“At least my father did not make a scene,” Carter said as the second course was served.

“The duke is not the most congenial of men, yet I find myself respecting him for his honesty,” Dorothea replied. “He did not approve of our marriage initially but seems to have accepted it. I felt when he wished us well, he truly meant it.”

Carter’s mouth drew tight for a moment. “You seemed pleased to have your younger sister attend the ceremony.”

Dorothea felt her face warm. “Yes. It was delightful to be with Emma again. I had not realized how much I missed her.”

“Ah, is that not so often the case? We rarely appreciate the real blessings in our life until they are gone.” He took a sip of wine and stared at her over the rim. “After we are settled back in Town, you must invite Emma to visit.”

“Nothing would please me more. She is entertaining company, well, that is, when one can drag her away from her easel.”

His brow rose in confusion. Dorothea explained. “Emma paints. She is extremely talented. Jason has arranged for a private instructor, and her progress under his able tutelage is nothing short of remarkable.”

“If you wish, we can commission her to do your portrait.”

“Honestly? ’Tis a very generous offer. I would be delighted.”

He shrugged. “Well, if it’s dreadful, we can always hang it in the kitchen.”

“You will do no such thing, sir. Emma will produce a beautiful portrait, one that you will be proud to display beside these ancestral portraits done by some of the art world’s greatest masters,” Dorothea insisted, fully believing in Emma’s work.

“Her task shall be made far easier with such a beautiful female as her subject.”

He regarded her through hooded eyes, saying nothing else. She took a bite of her chicken and slowly chewed, barely tasting it. “You’re making me nervous,” she finally blurted out.

“I am?” He began drumming his fingers on the arm of his chair. “How?”

“You are silent. And staring very intently.”

“’Tis a husband’s prerogative to appreciate his wife’s beauty and grace.”

A flood of deep color entered Dorothea’s face. She did not like the way he said the word wife. As if she were his possession, his property. Flustered, she picked up her wine goblet and took a large gulp. The sharp, pungent, full-bodied flavor rolled over her tongue, warming her body as it glided down her throat.

“I find that I am quite full. Shall we ask for dessert to be served?” she inquired after setting her nearly empty goblet back on the white linen cloth.

He leaned in very close. “You are the only sweet I want on this night, my dear. Shall we?”

He extended his hand. Dorothea glanced down at it, for a moment feeling vaguely lost.

“I thought it might be easier if we started out together,” he added. “Unless you prefer to go to your chambers and wait for me there?”

“Like some medieval sacrificial virgin awaiting her lord and master,” Dorothea muttered.

“Lord and master?” Carter laughed. “Oh, my dear, ’tis comments like that which make me very glad we are married.”

Still smiling, he stood, walked around to her chair, then leaned down and whispered in her ear, so none of the