Sinful Deeds Read Free Page A

early or late.
What did it matter if he slipped into her bed a little late? He ensured she had
every comfort a woman could possibly need. Really her life was quite blessed.
    Dante
uncurled a fist he hadn’t realised he’d clenched and scanned the room once
more. The bedroom appeared lifeless without her various lotions and potions
scattered around. Gone were the stockings and robes she tended to leave hanging
about. The vase that had once held a generous bouquet of flowers sat empty,
awaiting the very bunch he had abandoned in the hallway when the housekeeper
had informed him the lady was no longer in residence. The glass vase gleamed in
the sunlight filtering through the sash windows—mocking him.
    “Bloody
damn well damn her!”
    He spun
away, unable to bear looking at the empty bedroom where they had spent so many
fantastic hours. Josephine had always been his match, in bed and out. Sweet,
kind, funny but with a wicked side. He put it down to her artistic temperament.
Once he got her between the sheets, a veritable temptress awoke.
    Striding
down the corridor, he paused outside what had become her art room. The light
was the best apparently as it faced out over the garden and received the sun
during the afternoon. The room was little more than an empty bedroom, and he
had intended to use it as her dressing room but she’d asked—in her usual quiet
way—to use it for painting. In the throes of lust, he’d been more than happy to
oblige.
    Gone
were the easel and paint supplies, but one painting remained, propped against
the wall. His stomach seemed to drop to his toes. Feeling as though he was
treading on sacred land, he tiptoed into the room and knelt by the painting.
    Half-fearing
it might disappear, he touched the canvas. Though he’d known of her studying
the arts as a young girl, he hadn’t realised Josephine possessed such talent
until she’d made him sit for this. It beat any of the awful, stiff portraits
their father had commissioned of him and his brothers when they resided at
Lockwood Manor.
    Dante
glanced at the chaise on which she had made him sit for many an hour. Until, of
course, he’d persuaded her their time might be spent in more enjoyable ways. He
had to admit, however, watching her paint brought much joy. To see her
expressions and how she stuck out her tongue as she concentrated...it was no
wonder he had always been dying to tumble her after a short while.
    No. He
stood so quickly his head span a little. No, this would not do. She could not
simply walk out on him like this. Not after four years together—four fantastic
years. Why would she want to throw that all away?
    Marriage.
Damn that institution. That word put ideas of fairytales into women’s heads.
Dante knew well enough the opposite sex spent years planning the most romantic
event of their lives. He had been with enough women before Josephine to
understand that.
    He
snorted. Romance? As far as he could tell, marriage removed any chance of
romance. His brother had suffered two miserable marriages and even his one
happy one had ended badly. Now he was married to an American woman, the fool.
Julian wouldn’t be any happier with her. As nice as Viola was, that would
change soon enough.
     Marriage
only made people unhappy as near as he could tell. Why would Josephine wish to put
them through that?
    Dante
spun on his heel and strode downstairs to find Miss Smith standing in the
drawing room, ringing her hands.
    “What
is it, Miss Smith?”
    “Forgive
me, my lord.” The young woman drew her lip under her teeth. The housekeeper had
served Josephine since he had rented the house for her, and in spite of being
only twenty when she took the post, Dante had recognised her intelligence and
ambition.
    “Well?”
    “I
suppose you will no longer be needing me.” She dropped her gaze to the floor.
“Forgive me, I don’t mean to be selfish, but my siblings...”
    He
waved a hand. Miss Smith had several younger brothers and sisters—he