Lord Sin Read online

  Table of Contents

  Cover Page

  Excerpt

  Dear Reader

  Title Page

  Books by Catherine Archer

  About the Author

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Copyright

  “Why, you insufferable beast!"

  Mary took a deep breath, her hands going to her hips.

  Ian’s gaze slid down, pausing for a moment on her bosom before he looked back at her face. Only then did she recall that she had unbuttoned the neck of her dress. She knew that if she looked down there would be far more of her showing than she wished. Even as the thought swept through her mind, he smiled knowingly and she felt a deep flush of heat move down her throat and over her breasts. His next words drove all thought of retaining a pose of unconcern from her mind.

  “If you keep standing there looking so completely desirable, Miss Fulton, I just might kiss you again.”

  Her arms came up to shield her bosom from his view. “You, my Lord Sinclair, are despicable. No wonder they call you Lord Sin.”

  Dear Reader,

  Catherine Archer is fast gaining a reputation for her dramatic and emotional historical romances, and this month’s Lord Sin with its brooding hero and Gothic overtones will surely add to it. Pressured by his estranged father to marry, a rakish nobleman, in an act of defiance, marries a vicar’s daughter who is outspoken, educated and beautiful, but completely unsuitable, and gains a wife who can finally teach him the meaning of trust and love.

  In Elizabeth Mayne’s Lady of the Lake, a pagan princess surrenders her heritage and her heart to the Christian warrior who has been sent to marry her and unite their kingdoms. And Cally and the Sheriff by Cassandra Austin, is a lively Western about a Kansas sheriff who falls head over heels for the feisty young woman he’s sworn to protect, even though she wants nothing to do with him.

  Our fourth title for the month is The Marriage Mishap by Judith Stacy, the story of virtual strangers who wake up in bed together and discover they have gotten married.

  Whatever your tastes in reading, we hope you enjoy all of our books, available wherever Harlequin Historicals are sold.

  Sincerely,

  Tracy Farrell

  Senior Editor

  Please address questions and book requests to:

  Harlequin Reader Service

  U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269

  Canadian: P.O. Box 609. Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3

  Lord Sin

  Gathering Archer

  Books by Catherine Archer

  Harlequin Historicals

  Rose Among Thorns # 136

  *Velvet Bond #282

  *Velvet Touch #322

  Lady Thorn #353

  Lord Sin #379

  *Velvet Series

  CATHERINE ARCHER

  has been hooked on historical romance since reading Jane Eyre at the age of twelve. She has an avid interest in history, particularly the Medieval period. A homemaker and mother, Catherine lives with her husband, three children and dog in Alberta, Canada, where the long winters give this American transplant plenty of time to write.

  This book is dedicated to the children of my siblings

  with much love and the hope that they might each

  follow their own dreams. To Russell, Tricia, Matthew,

  Sofia, Samara, Alexander, Joseph, Jeremy, Arielle,

  Jason, Crystal and Jacob.

  I would also like to add a word of thanks to the

  members of the RW—L, for their help with research

  information and moral support.

  Lastly I must thank my editor, Karen Kosztolnyik, for

  her support and her valuable contributions to my work.

  Chapter One

  The wind tugged the hair loose from Mary Fulton’s bun and whipped it across her pale face. She did not even bother to reach up and push it from her eyes. Mary was too intent on holding tightly to the straw bonnet she clutched over her slender midriff. It was as if that plain straw hat could hold her misery inside her, keep it from rising up to completely overwhelm her. She didn’t notice the way the long, wide blue ribbon that was meant to tie the bonnet atop her head fluttered across the front of her lighter blue print dress as she walked, though she once came near to treading upon it.

  Nor did she clearly see the heather, asphodel, campion and spotted orchids that bloomed amongst the short, coarse grass of the moorland. She had no appreciation for them, or the sun that occasionally peeked from the gray haze of clouds overhead, or anything else, for that matter. Nothing could get past the swelling ache of emptiness in her heart.

  The two weeks that had passed since her father’s funeral had done little to ease her sorrow. In this, the last year of her father’s illness, she had known the end would come, had even realized it would be a release for him. Knowing this truth had not lessened the devastation of losing him. From the time of her mother’s death when she was five, Mary had taken over the care of her absentminded but brilliant parent.

  Not that Robert Fulton had completely neglected his only child. The vicar had given unstintingly of himself and his time as far as her education was concerned. The simple truth was that he had had little thought for the ordinary things such as meals and clean clothing, of offering a hug when she fell down. It had been left to Mary to direct the series of housekeepers in their duties and help them with whatever needed doing, to dust off her own scraped knees.

  Robert Fulton had spent his time in the pursuit of learning and knowledge. The bond between father and daughter had been forged on that path. Reverend Fulton had been proud of his Mary’s quick mind, gladly teaching his daughter about any subject she seemed to take an interest in. He was a learned, broad-thinking and patient man, which stood him in good stead as a teacher.

  Her father’s abilities as a teacher had led Mary to meet Victoria Thorn, whose kind offer of a home had now brought her to her present state of indecision. Her uncertainty had sent her out onto the moor, for it had always had a soothing effect on her. But she found no comfort here.

  Victoria was her dearest friend. Not long after the reverend had taken up the position of minister to the local church, Victoria’s father, the Duke of Carlisle, had asked him to see to his daughter’s education. He’d said he was impressed with Mary’s knowledge. The moment Victoria had taken her place next to Mary in the book-filled study at the vicarage, Victoria’s gray eyes had met Mary’s golden brown ones. Victoria’s gaze had been direct and curiously assessing without any of the condescension the minister’s daughter had expected from the offspring of a duke. Mary had found herself smiling, and neither of the girls had ever wavered from the friendship begun on that day.

  Unconsciously, Mary sighed, lifting her eyes to the grayness of the sky overhead. Somehow, something held her back from saying yes to Victoria’s invitation. She was infinitely aware of her friend’s own situation, the troubles she had so recently overcome.

  In spite of her vast wealth and social position, life had been difficult for Victoria. Her father and mother had died several years ago and, along with their wealth, all their responsibilities had passed to their young daughter. Mary had done what she could to help Victoria through that horrible time. And now Victoria and her husband, Jedidiah, were trying to do what they could to help Mary.

  They had invited her to come and live with them at Briarwood, their enormous mansion. Though Mary knew the offer was made from the kindest of intentions, she was not sure she could say yes—in fact, did not see how she could do so.

  Victoria and Jedidiah had been married only nine short months and were even now expecting their first child. Mary did not want to intrude on this special time between them. When the two of them had come to the vicarage yesterday afternoon to tell Mary of their invitation to live with them, she had seen the way they touched one another on the least excuse, the way their eyes met and held every few moments, the depth of passion neither could hide.

  She did not wish to intrude on that. And a further truth was that their shared intimacy served only to make her own loneliness all the more obvious and painful.

  Yet what was she to do? The new vicar and his family of six had lived in a rented house in the village since their arrival in Carlisle over a year ago. The family had a right to move into the comfortable two-story house next to the church. It was a measure of his kindness that Reverend Diller had insisted Robert Fulton stay in his own home through his illness.

  Mary knew she absolutely must vacate the rectory as soon as she could. For the hundredth time she asked herself where else she could go if she did not say yes to Victoria. She raised a trembling hand to wipe it across her forehead, unable to think of any answer to her dilemma when her heart was so heavy.

  She walked on, putting one foot in front of the other, forcing herself forward over the uneven ground, forcing herself not to look back. Yet she gained no insight, lost none of her sense of confusion.

  Lifting her eyes heavenward, she whispered, “Please, God, send me a sign? Help me to know what I should do.”

&nbs
p; As if through a haze, the sound of galloping hooves penetrated her reverie. She looked up, her gaze scanning the moor. She saw a black stallion approaching at breakneck speed, its mane and tale flowing wildly in the wind. On its back was a man in dark clothing, bent low over the muscular neck, his lean thighs pressed tightly to his mount’s sides.

  Mary stopped still, in unconscious appreciation of the untamed beauty of man and beast. Yet as she watched, her appreciation changed to uncertainty, then apprehension. Her eyes grew round and her heart rose in her throat as the horse and rider continued to bear down upon her.

  She felt frozen, incapable of moving. Something, perhaps the excesses of emotion she had experienced in the past weeks, kept her immobile, and she could only stare in growing fear. Only at the last minute did the man pull the horse up short, causing it to rear high in the air just scant feet from her. Released from her fixed state, Mary took a step backward with an involuntary gasp.

  The horse spun around in what certainly must have been a dizzying arch. To her surprise she heard what sounded like a husky and decidedly irreverent laugh escape the rider.

  Drawing herself up to her full five feet four inches, Mary put her hands on her hips. What sort of lunatic laughed at nearly running down a defenseless woman? She was just getting set to unleash her tongue on this madman when he brought the stallion around and turned to face her.

  All the things she had been going to say flew from her mind, like leaves in a breeze. A pair of dark, dark eyes surrounded by a thick fringe of black lashes focused on her in open appreciation. Her heart stopped, then started again with a lurch as he smiled, his white teeth even and strong in his lean-jawed, tanned face. He lifted a hand to rake a tousled dark brown forelock from his eyes as he said, “A good day to you, Miss…?” There was a flirtatious charm in his voice that she could not help but hear.

  Mary continued to stare up at him, wondering where this amazingly devastating man had come from, and if indeed he was some figment of her mind. For even in her distressed state Mary knew that physically this overconfident male was exactly what her fertile imagination would conjure in a man if it could do so.

  “Miss…?” he prodded.

  Suddenly Mary realized she was standing there staring like a fool. Giving herself a mental shake, she pulled the ragged ends of her dignity together. She raised her chin as she told herself that handsome features did not make a man, even while her rapidly beating pulse refused to quiet. Because of her lack of command over her own reactions, Mary spoke with more heat than she had meant to. “And why, may I ask, should I tell you who I am, sir? You have clearly displayed the fact that you are of questionable character by the way you nearly ran me down.”

  A look of complete dismay crossed his handsome face. “I? Dear lady, let me assure you that I would not have you think such a thing of me.” He ran a caressing hand over the stallion’s neck. “Balthazar is the most surefooted of mounts. He responds perfectly to the merest touch on the reins. He would never have touched you.” He arched a contrite brow, seeming suddenly more schoolboy than man, as he said, “But I must beg your forgiveness if I caused you even a moment’s concern for your safety. Please, do say you will forgive me?” The brilliant white smile he added was shocking in its power to catch her breath.

  Mary recovered herself quickly and looked at him closely, not quite sure why. but having the definite feeling that he was somehow making sport of her. Yet she could see no proof of this in either his expression or tone. She pushed the thought away, having been taught that she must believe the best of people unless they showed her otherwise. “Very well, sir. I accept your apology. I only hope you have more care in the future.”

  To her surprise he smiled again, leaning low over the horse’s back, his gaze even with her own. “You have not told me your name.”

  She swallowed, feeling warm for no apparent reason at all. “I…Mary Fulton is my name.” She raised her chin, irritated at her own hesitation. “Though it is not as if I owe you the courtesy of introducing myself when you have not done so. I would greatly appreciate it if you would be so good as to tell me to whom am I speaking, sir?”

  He laughed, and the sound slipped down her spine like a trickle of warm oil. “I am Ian Sinclair, little spitfire, on my way to Briarwood Manor.”

  She gave a start. “Lord Ian Sinclair.” This must be the Ian Sinclair. The one Victoria had told her about several months ago. The one they called “Lord Sin.” The one who had asked Victoria to marry him. Victoria had in fact come very close to doing so, believing that Jedidiah did not want her. But they had worked out their differences and Victoria had rejected Sinclair’s proposal.

  So what, then, was he doing at Carlisle now?

  He must have gained quite a bit of information from her reaction, for he seemed to scowl with chagrin for a moment before that expression of studied charm and unconcern masked the more vulnerable expression. “You seem to have me at a disadvantage, Miss Fulton. Am I to take your reaction as indication that you know of me?”

  She nodded slowly, wondering why she felt even more drawn to him after having seen that momentary glimpse of vulnerability beneath the surface of his charm. “I am well acquainted with Lady Victoria. She has mentioned you in passing,” she told him carefully. It was not precisely the truth, but for some reason Mary felt uncomfortable with having Ian Sinclair know she knew so much of his private affairs.

  An inner voice told her that the more distance she kept between herself and this man, the better.

  Blessedly unaware of her thoughts, he nodded, settling back on his horse. “Then I shall surely be seeing more of you this week while I am at Briarwood, Miss Fulton.” Again there was that oddly intimate inflection in his voice that she could not fully define. It was also apparent in his mysterious dark eyes.

  Self-consciously, she stepped backward and shrugged noncommittally. “Perhaps. Please, don’t let me keep you. I’m sure they are expecting you.”

  Ian Sinclair looked down at her, the expression in his eyes now more clear as his admiring gaze moved slowly over her. Raising a dark brow, he indicated the empty space on the saddle before him. “I am not in such a great hurry.

  I would be happy to take you wherever you might be going.”

  Unaccustomed to such attention and unsure as to how to react, Mary was unable to meet that appreciative gaze. She flushed and ran unaccountably trembling fingers over the skirt of her blue cotton dress. “No, really, I have not finished my walk.” She waved a hand to indicate the open moor before her.

  He looked at her closely. “Are you sure? You would be no trouble to me—no trouble whatsoever.” Again she heard that unexplainable something in his voice, a quality that made her think of summer nights that were too hot to lie beneath the covers.

  For a breathless moment his eyes met hers and the world tilted. Now to that image of a hot night was added an unexpected vision of his face leaning over hers, his dark eyes seeming to see right into her soul. Mary took in a breath of shock.

  He smiled, a dark, knowing smile that made her flush deepen as she blinked with disbelief at her own thoughts. “Well?” he prompted.

  Quickly she answered, refusing to acknowledge any of what was happening. “I am quite sure that I have no need of your assistance. I do very well on my own.”

  A dark brow arched high. “Do you, now? But just imagine how very well you might do with someone else.”

  She did not want to even try to contemplate why he was persisting in talking this way. But Mary had had quite enough. “Really, sir, I do not think it very good of you to make sport of me.”

  He sobered abruptly, putting a hand over his heart. “I assure you, Mary, I have no desire to make sport of you. At least, not with words.”

  She frowned, feeling more and more out of her depth, and not liking that in the least. But she tried her best to hold her own, dismissing him with as much disdain as she could muster. “That would be Miss Fulton, please. Now, good day, sir.”