Free A Sense of Sin by Elizabeth Essex

before she looked him in the eye. “But I begin to see the advantage.”
    He pulled his body back from its natural inclination to lean towards her. “Indeed? Well, I am glad you did act impulsively. It was very good of you to speak to me of my sister.”
    Her brittle confidence seemed to ebb. “My lord, you must not praise me for common decency. I was longing to speak to you.” Then she added with a little hesitation, “O-of her. Of Emily.”
    Interesting, the little stammer. Very effective. “Thank you. I think perhaps decency is becoming less and less common, which must account for my astonishment when you spoke to me so kindly. I have been too little among people of . . . open sensibilities.”
    “Indeed?” Her brows rose again as she regarded him minutely, looking, he reckoned, for some sign of sarcasm. “I am very happy for a chance to speak about Emily. Your sister was very dear to me. As dear as a sister. I mourn her loss.”
    It was more difficult than he had anticipated, to have Emily spoken of by this woman. He needed to remind himself that while Miss Burke was not the ice princess he had made her out to be upon first sight, she had nevertheless betrayed Emily and her friendship and devotion. Del had read Emily’s last letter again just that morning, so it would be fresh in his mind. He hardened his resolve anew.
    “I thank you. Perhaps you would care to walk with me for a moment?”
    She looked for a moment for her friend, who had disappeared. But she did not demure. “Yes.”
    “I am glad. I should like a chance to set things right. May I start again? Miss Burke”—he bowed correctly—“it is an honor to make your acquaintance. Rupert Delacorte, Viscount Darling, at your service. Am I making you uneasy, speaking so openly like this? But I should like to . . . further our acquaintance, if I may be so bold.”
    Miss Burke looked towards the dance floor.
    God’s balls. He could not stomach dancing with her. It was one thing to tarnish her reputation and ruin her by association, but he did not want what would amount to a public, legitimate announcement of interest in her, should he take her onto the dance floor. And he did not want to touch her. It was a strange, almost physical aversion. His gut clenched up tight as a grenade at the thought. No dancing.
    “I am sorry, but I do not dance. My apologies. Perhaps we can walk, or you might meet me somewhere where we might exchange . . . a few words without the fear of being overheard. Or noticed. I fear being seen with me will do your reputation no good. But I should very much like the chance to talk to you about Emily.” It was a useful little conceit, his concern for her reputation.
    “Yes.” She took the bait straightaway. She must feel very guilty indeed. “We must talk. But . . .”
    She hesitated again. Indeed, she seemed full of hesitation, constantly appearing on the verge of stammering shyness. Emily’s letters had never mentioned anything of the kind. They had been full of Miss Burke’s eloquence and perfect way of addressing herself. The letters had sung her praises until—far from home and missing its half-forgotten comforts after years of rough living aboard ship—Del had imagined that he was in love with Celia Burke. He had been in love with what she represented: the open hearts of young English women who would not have to be paid in coin for their affection. She had been his ideal, his waking dream. Perhaps that was why he had felt her betrayal just as keenly as Emily. What a perfect little actress she was.
    “My cousin’s garden is very fine, with an arbor walk. It will be a more private place to talk, if that would suit. But we cannot be seen leaving together. If you would not mind going first, I shall follow in a few minutes. Should you like that?”
    How sweet she seemed with all her deference.
    He bowed deeply to take his leave. “I should like that very much indeed.”

C HAPTER 6
    D el got himself a drink and went