To Sin With A Stranger Read Free

tiny garret and down two flights of stairs into the parlor.

    Sterling squinted his eyes against the brilliant light reflecting off the glistening crystal chandeliers as he peered at his sisters collected in the parlor. “Just how many candles have you lit in here?”
    Lady Priscilla, the youngest of the Sinclair siblings, flashed him a gleaming, practiced smile as she settled herself upon the silk settee beside Siusan. “Enough to show the Sinclair family hasn’t a care about money.”
    Siusan looked away from Sterling and slunk back against the tufted backrest, wrapping her arms tightly around herself.
    Grant set his hand on Sterling’s shoulder and peered at him most seriously. “Dear brother, you know full well our sisters cannot be expected to wait for their esteemed guest by the light of a single lamp. Why, Miss Hillobean might see the dark windows and then leave, thinking no one is at home.” A grin began to twitch at his lips. “And then where will we be without a connection to proper London Society?”
    Sterling chuckled softly, but could not help glancing upward, then around the room to tally the number of candles being wasted. There were four flickering atop the carved marble chimneypiece, two upon the tea table, a dozen tapers in the chandelier—
    “Sterling! Stop.” With a grimace pinching her perfect features, Ivy leaped to her feet and raced toward her brothers, her wavy red hair streaming behind her. “Don’t be so miserly, Sterling. We aren’t paupers…yet.” She slapped a hand to her heart. “But I know how wastefulness vexes you, and so I vow to extinguish every candle in the parlor within five minutes of our guest’s departure.” Suddenly she became distracted. Her gaze drifted down his coat sleeve and fixed upon his bare hand. She snatched it up and then jerked her head around toward Grant. “Siusan said you promised to convince Sterling not to fight.”
    “I didn’t promise anything,” Grant protested, “especially the impossible.” He nodded to the tea brewing in a gleaming sterling pot. “Besides, someone has to pay for
that
.”
    “Hyson tea gives the right impression,” Priscilla interjected. “It, indeed everything in this lushly resplendent parlor, is part of the grand illusion that the Sinclairs are a family of means and respectability.”
    “As long as no one ventures upstairs and learns what we’ve truly been reduced to.” Siusan shot a pointed look at Sterling and pursed her pink lips, then averted her gaze from him once more.
    The front door slammed open, sending the brass knocker tapping, and Killian stomped into the parlor. In the bright light of the chandeliers, his raven hair reflected with the same dark blue as his angry eyes. “How long will you keep me waiting on the pavers? The hackney will leave if you delay any longer—unless you wish to pay him to wait.”
    “Don’t be absurd. We’re leaving now.” Sterling bent and kissed each of his sisters on her cheek. “Wish us luck, dear ones, for if we are successful, we shall dine on roast beef on the morrow.”
    He turned to leave, just catching notice of a roll of eyes bouncing from one sister to another.
    The Pugilistic Club

No. 13 New Bond Street
    Though polished and cultured, Sterling Sinclair was a Viking of a man. And he’d prove it to all this very night. But by then it would be too late for the Fancy, who even now pushed and shoved, waving their guinea-filled purses for a chance to wager against the naïve Scottish marquess.
    The corner of his lip twitched with anticipation as he stepped to the square crudely chalked on the floor. His opponent, the Irish champion, already glistened with the sweat of eagerness. Poor soul. He hadn’t the faintest of notions what was about to happen.
    No one did.
    The seconds aligned their men across from each other on opposite sides of the square, and then took their own places as Gentleman John Jackson stepped onto the stage and signaled for the men to be