Free Sinful Deeds by Samantha Holt Page A

you not?”
    His
grin widened. “How can I not be when I have saved my brother a small fortune?”
he said smugly. “Now my grumpy stick of an older brother will be indebted to
this wastrel of a rake.”
    “Dante,”
she exclaimed. “You are a tease. I did not mean it as a bad thing. Pride in
one’s successes is only human and you have much to be proud of.”
    “I will
confess to finding a sort of unique thrill in negotiating these contracts. It
is a little like gambling except I’m far more likely to win. Of course—” his
gaze locked onto hers “—I am no stranger to pride.” His fingers stroked her
back ever so lightly. It wasn’t enough for anyone to notice but the tiny hairs
on the back of her neck prickled. “Now, for example, I have the most beautiful
and talented woman in the room in my arms. And—” he leaned closer, his breath
brushing the shell of her ear “—I have tasted every inch of her.”
    She
gasped. Those inches had to be bright red by now. The way he held her now no
longer spoke of gentleness or even hard imprisonment. No, it spoke of
possession. His hand to her back, his other curled around her fingers, the
breath across her ear. They all said mine . Mine, mine, mine. And, Lord
help her, this sort of possession seemed nothing like that of a man trying to
dictate her life or that of some art connoisseur, hoping to show himself as the
cleverest of men by sponsoring an unknown female artist.
    Perhaps,
the distinction was that she wanted him to be hers just as much. Mine ,
said her fingers on his shoulder. Mine said her palm against his.
    But he
would never be hers. Not in the way she wanted or needed. Marriage, a stable
life, the opportunity to carve a career for herself without being known as that
man’s mistress. Instead she would have to be a mistress to the many men who
would help her. She might not be offering them sex, but she would be offering
her artwork, her charm, and her time.
    She let
him whirl her about the dance floor in the hopes of detangling the web of
confusion clouding her mind but it was not to be. Instead, she was more
confused than ever. Her plans had been clear when she’d left him. Gain
independence, become a renowned artist.
    None of
that had been as easy as she’d hoped.
    When
the dance finished, Dante kept a hold of her. The air thickened between them
and though they were close, the tiny distance felt impassable.
    “I miss
you,” he admitted softly, the words shattering the fog dividing them.
    At that
moment, she longed to throw her arms around him and let him have her. Let him
keep her and do whatever he would with her. That seemed the easiest option.
Give her heart back to him and be at his will. But, regardless of how hard it
might be to succeed alone or how painful it could be, she knew she had to try.
Without knowing, Josephine would not be doing either of them justice.
    “I have
to go,” she said, her voice as thin as a reed.
    Sorrow
clogged her throat. She was done dancing around him—or even with him. This had
been drawn out too long, and she was exhausted. She ripped out of his arms and
hurried from the ballroom. He called her name and people turned to watch her
go. For once in her life, she didn’t care. Let them speak of her.
    Before
he could catch up with her, she stumbled out into Trafalgar Square and managed
to signal one of the waiting cabs. She allowed herself a glance back as the
cabriolet rattled across the cobbles. Josephine didn’t know whether to be
thrilled or heartbroken that Dante was standing on the steps of the building,
watching her leave.

Chapter
Nine
    Handing over the last of the letters to
Will, Dante scrubbed a hand through his hair and realised his mistake. His
fingers were still covered in ink. Perfect. Now he’d have ink everywhere.
    “Is
that everything, my lord?”
    “Yes,
thank you. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
    “Tomorrow
is Sunday, my lord.”
    He
laughed at himself. “Of course it is. See you on Monday