Free A Sense of Sin by Elizabeth Essex Page A

outside, into the farthest reaches of the garden’s darkness so he would not have to make polite conversation with anyone else. So he could keep talking himself into this folly that had seemed so logical, so necessary when he had set out from London. Within the confines of his mind, Celia Burke had seemed a perfect demon of a woman, an easy and necessary target for his wrath.
    But as he waited and watched from the dark arbor, he was not so sure. He had made a career out of his ability to read men, to understand who they were and why they did the things they did. But his instincts were in constant and complete disagreement about Miss Burke. He simply could not take her measure.
    Emily had been sure in her letters, and so heartbreakingly devastated over Celia Burke’s betrayal, she had taken her own life. He could not allow himself to rest until he got to the bottom of what had happened between them.
    He found the arbor walk running along the perimeter of the walled garden, and chose a spot closest to the house to wait for Miss Burke. She came out by a small door in the south wing, prudently trying to avoid notice. But she was not furtive. She walked collectedly, as if she had no hesitation in coming out to him. Foolish girl. He would have all the advantage.
    She stopped just at the edge of the arbor where the spill from the house made a division of the darkness and light. It seemed fitting—or emblematic—that she be in the light, seemingly uncorrupted by the stain of sin, while he stayed in the darkness of the arbor.
    Her simple chemise gown of pale, shining silk with a deep lace flounce around the neckline gave her an air of simple, unforced elegance and grace. Her hair was a contrasting, unadorned riot of loose curls tumbling about her face, creating a dark, glossy frame for the light porcelain of her skin and the dusty rose of her lips. The contrast between the untamed riot of the curls and the collected, restrained serenity of her face was almost shocking. It invited him to rake his hand through her hair and fist up those sinuous curls until he could pull her head back and kiss astonishment into those dark, watchful eyes and put a rush of color into those pale cheeks.
    “Viscount Darling?”
    He reminded himself he had the advantage. His eyes had already adjusted to the change from the blazing candlelight of the house to the perpetual half-dark twilight of English summer in the garden.
    “I was not sure you would come.” He did not approach her, but let his voice carry and beckon to her, and lead her deeper into the arbor.
    “Of course I came. I said I would.”
    “You are true to your word then, although I am sure you would rather be back at the ball, dancing.”
    “No, not at all.” She pulled off her gloves to pluck a leaf from the climbing vine and ease herself slowly into the deeper darkness.
    He noticed at a glance, her fingers were bitten down to the quick. Despite her serene appearance, Miss Burke was a worrier. Again, not what she appeared. And not what he expected.
    “I’d rather be away from the ball,” she continued. “I don’t care for dancing, either.”
    That had to be a piece of flummery. What young lady didn’t care for balls? Only the wallflowers, and The Ravishing Celia Burke was no wallflower. “What beautiful young woman does not care for dancing? You dance beautifully.”
    She did not make note of the fact he had been watching her. “I do like the dancing itself, sometimes, but I’m not very good with people. They’re so invariably complicated and unpredictable. And I always say or do the wrong thing. Like when I met you. I should not have introduced myself to you. You did not care to have my acquaintance forced upon you.”
    How open and artless; grateful and generous at once. He responded in kind. “It was wrong of me to be so ungentle. I apologize.” He clasped his hand over his heart and gave her his most winning smile.
    Yet she remained immune to his charm, all solemn