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  A LITTLE BIT SINFUL

  Sebastian leaned toward her, placing one hand on her waist and drawing her against his chest. His other hand cradled the back of her head, forcing her chin up. Gazing into his eyes, she realized he was going to kiss her.

  A torrent of conflicting emotions surged through Eleanor. Being in Sebastian’s arms made her feel like someone she wasn’t—daring, almost wicked.

  And she liked it.

  A half smile played on Sebastian’s full, sensual lips. “I’m going to kiss you now, Eleanor.”

  She felt her body tighten, her gaze roving over his face. His expression told her the truth—he was indeed about to kiss her. Her heart skipped in anticipation, certain that his kiss would be as possessive and hungry as the intense gleam darkening his eyes …

  Books by Adrienne Basso

  HIS WICKED EMBRACE

  HIS NOBLE PROMISE

  TO WED A VISCOUNT

  TO PROTECT AN HEIRESS

  TO TEMPT A ROGUE

  THE WEDDING DECEPTION

  THE CHRISTMAS HEIRESS

  HIGHLAND VAMPIRE

  HOW TO ENJOY A SCANDAL

  NATURE OF THE BEAST

  THE CHRISTMAS COUNTESS

  HOW TO SEDUCE A SINNER

  A LITTLE BIT SINFUL

  Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation

  A Little Bit

  SINFUL

  ADRIENNE BASSO

  ZEBRA BOOKS are published by

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  119 West 40th Street

  New York, NY 10018

  Copyright © 2011 by Adrienne Basso

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

  If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the Publisher and neither the Author nor the Publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”

  All Kensington titles, imprints, and distributed lines are available at special quantity discounts for bulk purchases for sales promotion, premiums, fund-raising, educational, or institutional use.

  Special book excerpts or customized printings can also be created to fit specific needs. For details, write or phone the office of the Kensington Special Sales Manager: Attn. Special Sales Department. Kensington Publishing Corp., 119 West 40th Street, New York, NY 10018. Phone: 1-800-221-2647.

  Zebra and the Z logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.

  eISBN-13: 978-1-4201-2250-3

  eISBN-10: 1-4201-2250-9

  First Printing: January 2011

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  Printed in the United States of America

  Dedicated with love to Ann White Braun

  From the girls we were, to the women we have become, our friendship has not only endured, but grown stronger.

  I will always treasure the years of memories, Annie—the joys, sorrows, laughter, and tears—and look forward to many, many more.

  CONTENTS

  A LITTLE BIT SINFUL

  Books by Adrienne Basso

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Epilogue

  Chapter 1

  Chaswick Manor, Kent, England, early spring, 1819

  “Everyone, please gather closer.”

  The minister’s voice, deep and solemn, echoed among the well-dressed group, shattering the stillness. Jaw clenched, eyes dry, Sebastian Dodd, Viscount Benton, took a step forward, swaying slightly as the bright sunshine momentarily blinded him. Following his lead, the sparse crowd of mourners standing behind him also moved, yet kept a respectful distance.

  How very wrong it all feels, Sebastian thought, shifting his stance to block the sun’s rays from his eyes. The weather should be chilly and damp and gray, with raindrops pelting their faces, the ground beneath their feet soaked and muddy. Instead there was warmth and sunshine, with a sky as blue as a robin’s egg, solid, thick green grass, and a profusion of exuberant spring wildflowers.

  Though he stood alone, Sebastian was mindful of the people gathered behind him. A few distant relatives, whom he wished had not bothered to make the journey, and an even smaller group of friends, whose presence made him feel a profound sense of gratitude.

  “The Countess of Marchdale was a noble woman, possessing a strong character and a charitable heart. She was a pillar of the community, a shining example of a fine and genteel female,” the minister proclaimed. “Heaven will most assuredly welcome this good lady with open arms.”

  Sebastian could not hold back his smile. His grandmother had been a feisty, opinionated woman who had ruffled more than her share of feathers, especially in the later years of her life. She would have laughed out loud upon hearing the minister’s words, and then rapped his knuckles sharply before scolding him for exaggerating. The countess was never one to suffer false praise. Even at her own funeral.

  As for her heavenly ascent, well, if such a place did exist, the countess’s admittance was hardly guaranteed. She had not led an angelic life, nor a particularly pious one. She had enjoyed fully the excesses and privileges of her rank and wealth as well as—Sebastian always suspected—the delights of the flesh. After all, she had buried three husbands, each younger than her.

  If, by some divine miracle, his grandmother did pass through the gates of St. Peter, Sebastian was confident that within minutes of arriving she would be expressing her opinion on how things could be improved in that world. And this one, too.

  “Let us pray,” the minister commanded.

  Behind him, a soft chorus of voices blended together. The familiar words sprang from Sebas-tian’s lips as he joined in, marveling at the power of memory, for it had been a very long time since he had spoken any words of prayer. At the conclusion, Sebastian lifted his bowed head and for the first time looked into the deep, dark hole that had been dug in the ground.

  A shudder rippled through him. It seemed impossible to imagine his grandmother spending eternity in that darkness, cut off from everything she had once loved.

  At the minister’s command, four burly workmen took up their positions and began lowering the casket. Farewell. Sebastian voiced his final good-bye silently, yet the moment the thought solidified, a wave of sorrow rose from deep within his chest, catching him unawares. He had never been a man who allowed sincere emotions to easily flow. The tragedies of his life had taught him that true feelings were meant to be private. It was best to hold them close and keep them hidden.

  The countess’s death had not been unexpected. She was an elderly woman whose normally robust health had been compromised by a persistent winter illness. The day before she died she had told him that she was weary of feeling unwell and melancholy over the loss of her active, buoyant lifestyle. She confessed she was at last ready to leave this earth and begin her final adventure.

  Sebastian took a deep breath. She might have been ready to depart, but he wasn’t prepared to see her go. She had pestered and plagued him all of his adult life, attempting to dictate everything from the meals he ate to the clothes he wore, from the items on which he spent his money to the company he kept. She was quick to find fault and even quicker
to express her displeasure.

  But the countess had also protected her only grandchild with a maternal tenacity that had no equal. Her loyalty was unmatched, her love always given lavishly. Accepting the finality of her death was difficult and thus Sebastian forced himself to stare at the casket as it was slowly lowered into the ground.

  It seemed to take forever.

  Sebastian heard a sob, then a loud sniffle. One of the female mourners was crying, most likely his grandmother’s cousin Sarah. She was a self-proclaimed delicate woman who never missed an opportunity to showcase her sensitive nature. He wondered idly if she attended many funerals, since clearly that would be the best venue to demonstrate her frail constitution.

  The sobbing grew louder. Though he dismissed it in his mind as pure artifice, the mournful sound struck a chord. Sebastian felt the tightening in his chest increase. A combination of grief, coupled with the need to suppress it, he decided. He scowled, wanting desperately to turn and walk away, but that would be unpardonably rude. He owed it to his grandmother’s memory to act as she would have wished, with dignity and decorum. Two qualities she often lamented he lacked in sufficient quantity.

  As he fought to capture and tame his rioting emotions, Sebastian became aware of someone standing very near. Apparently one of the mourners had broken ranks and approached him. Who would dare to be so brave?

  Please, dear Lord, let it not be cousin Sarah.

  Sebastian inhaled and gritted his teeth. Yet before he could turn and face this unknown individual, he felt the gentle brush of feminine fingertips against his gloved hand, then caught a whiff of fresh lemons. Emma. The tightness twisting in his chest eased.

  Dearest Emma. She was such a compassionate girl. He imagined she had spent the entire service with her eyes trained upon him, waiting for the precise moment when he faltered, ever at the ready to come to his aid when he needed her most. Heedless of the proprieties, Sebastian accepted Emma’s comfort, intimately entwining his fingers with hers.

  Strange how such a small, dainty hand could instill such strength inside him, letting him know that he was not entirely alone. At least not for the moment.

  Cousin Sarah’s lusty sobs abruptly ceased, her sniffles replaced by an indignant gasp. Apparently the scandal of holding a woman’s hand—an unmarried woman, to whom he was not engaged—was enough to shock the sorrow from Sarah’s breast and replace it with horror. Sebastian felt Emma sway slightly and realized she too had heard that gasp of disapproval.

  Fearing Emma might pull away, he squeezed her fingers. Without hesitation she returned the gesture. His breathing once again grew steady and he felt a profound sense of relief that Emma was not easily intimidated by the rigid rules of society.

  Under the minister’s direction, they recited one final prayer and then it was over. In a daze, Sebastian turned swiftly, facing the group of mourners, his hand still tightly clutching Emma’s.

  “Thank you all for coming this morning. Though it is more modest to say that the countess would have been humbled by this show of respect and affection, those of us who knew and loved her know the truth of the matter.” He halted, swallowing back the lump of grief that had risen up in his throat. “Cook has prepared an enormous luncheon. Please, let us all retire to the manor and partake of this hearty fare.”

  The majority of mourners obediently turned and headed toward the carriages. The family plot where the countess had been laid to rest was in a picturesque spot bordering the estate’s great woods. Though Sebastian would have preferred walking the mile to the manor house, it was unthinkable to expect his older relations to do the same.

  “Would you like to ride in my coach, Benton? There’s plenty of room.”

  Sebastian paused, then shook his head at the man who had spoken. Carter Grayson, Marquess of Atwood, was one of only two men on this earth he respected utterly, trusted completely, and genuinely liked. They had attended Eaton and later Oxford together, forging a friendship as boys that had deepened and strengthened as they became men.

  They shared similar viewpoints on most matters and enjoyed a vigorous debate when their opinions clashed. Atwood’s marriage last year to Dorothea Ellingham had done little to diminish this male bond, though he was starting to develop what Sebastian regarded as an unhealthy obsession with propriety. Alas, marriage and respectability could do that to even the most hedonistic of men.

  The marquess was also Emma’s brother-in-law.

  “If you’d rather not go with Atwood and Lady Dorothea, you can ride with me,” Peter Dawson suggested.

  Dawson had also been a classmate and was the only other man Sebastian considered a true friend. Possessing a quiet, cerebral personality, Dawson was the levelheaded, thoughtful balance in the trio of friends, the one who had kept them all from total disgrace. Yet he still knew how to have fun.

  “My coachman has instructions to return for me after he has delivered my relations safely to the manor’s front door,” Sebastian replied. “I’ll wait for him.”

  “I’ll wait too,” Emma quickly volunteered.

  “Really, Emma, you should come with us,” Lady Dorothea admonished in a soft voice. “I’m sure the viscount would appreciate a few minutes of privacy.”

  “Oh, goodness. I hadn’t realized,” Emma replied.

  Sebastian felt her stiffen and he panicked, thinking she would pull away. “I would prefer that Emma stay with me. If you don’t object?”

  Sebastian looked directly at Lady Dorothea as he spoke, but the question was obviously intended for both her and her husband. Emma might be Dorothea’s younger sister, but it was the marquess who protected her. Still, if Lady Dorothea disapproved, Sebastian knew Emma would be gone in the blink of an eye.

  Lady Dorothea took a deep breath as if striving for patience and understanding. She was a kind woman and he knew she cared about him, knew she was sincerely sympathetic over the death of his grandmother. Yet his roguish reputation and scandalous deeds made her leery about leaving her seventeen-year-old sister alone with him in so isolated a location. Smart woman.

  Lady Dorothea turned toward her husband. Atwood grimaced, then deliberately glanced down at the hand in which Sebastian held Emma’s. Tightening his grip, Sebastian tucked it closer to his chest. Atwood’s brow rose in a disapproving manner, but he said nothing.

  “We will see you both shortly?” Atwood finally asked.

  It was more of a command than a question. Sebastian nodded.

  It was quiet after they left. Hand in hand, Sebastian and Emma walked through the small cemetery, passing his ancestors’ well-tended graves.

  “‘Tis a pretty spot,” Emma remarked.

  “Yes, all things considered.” Sebastian gazed into the distance, taking note of the sea of blue wildflowers dotting the landscape, their vibrant color a sharp foil to the rich, green grass. Funny, his grandmother had always had a particular fondness for any shade of blue.

  “You know, Sebastian, you might feel better if you cried,” Emma said. “There is no shame in feeling such deep sorrow at your loss. I vow, I sobbed for weeks when my parents died.”

  “You were five years old.”

  Emma grunted. For the first time that day, Sebastian laughed. He knew she wanted to argue with him, to press her point, but her kind heart would not allow her to challenge him on such a sad day.

  He swung their clasped hands up to his face, pressing her gloved knuckles against his cheek. Then he lowered his arm and tucked her hand in the crook of his elbow, making it all proper and correct between them. Well, except for the lack of a chaperone.

  “Did you know that I saw the countess the day before she died?” Emma asked.

  Sebastian nodded. “She spoke briefly of your visit. It was kind of you to think of her. Not many bothered to call on a sick old woman.”

  “In addition to my visit, I delivered something. Since you haven’t said anything about it, I assume your grandmother didn’t speak of it.”

  “She only told me that you had called.
”

  Emma’s brows knit together with uncertainty. “I know she wanted to show it to you, but I imagine she lacked the strength.” Emma paused. “I brought her your portrait.”

  “You finished it?”

  “Yes. The main portion had been completed for several weeks. I was worried about rushing the finishing touches, but I knew the countess did not have much longer to live. Thankfully, having a shortened deadline did not hinder my work. I believe she was very pleased with the final result,” Emma concluded modestly.

  Sebastian felt a tug of wistfulness. He was glad that the countess had seen the work finished, yet felt sorry that they had not had the chance to view the portrait together, especially since it had been his grandmother’s idea.

  Though she was young, and a female, Emma’s artistic talent had impressed the countess. Without hesitation, and over Sebastian’s protests, his grandmother had commissioned the portrait. But his initial grumbling quickly faded. Emma was not a giggling, spoiled debutante who dabbled with her brushes and colors. She was a serious artist with a phenomenal talent.

  Spending time sitting for the painting had given Sebastian a rare gift. A friendship with Emma, his first with a member of the opposite sex. It was something he valued greatly.

  “Tell me, do I look impossibly handsome in my portrait?” he asked.

  “I am an artist, Sebastian, not a magician.”

  “You are a cheeky brat,” he stated emphatically.

  Emma tugged insistently on his arm. “And you are far too vain. Impossibly handsome, indeed. I painted you as you are, though the countess thought I might have embellished the width of your shoulders and the firmness of your jaw.”

  “Ah, so the women will be impressed?”

  “Yes, they shall be swooning in alarming numbers when they gaze upon the splendor of your male beauty.”

  “Rendered speechless, perhaps?”

  “Struck dumb,” Emma insisted.

  “Alas, that is hardly difficult for many a young lady in society.”