A Sense of Sin Read Online Free PDF

edges of dance floors, wherever there were two or three of them gathered. Wagering was part of their way of life.
    Celia had never held more than five pounds in her hand at one time. And now she was to get three hundred. It seemed impossible. What little allowance she had of her own she spent on paints and heavy paper. Her mama paid the few tradespeople from whom she bought materials for dresses out of her own funds set aside for the purpose. Her only assets were her clothing and jewelry, but she knew from Bains that castoffs had good value at the rag traders down near the quay. It was another good start. In the morning she would confer with Bains and see which of her clothes they might part with most easily.
    The thought of taking action steadied her somewhat.
    Celia looked at the letter again, worrying and chewing on her lip, until the paper was covered in shadow.

    Del climbed through the window, only to find himself enveloped in scent. Not the comfortable rich tones of paper and leather bindings, but a garden full of summer jasmine and citrus with something else uniquely the scent of woman.
    Somehow, he knew before he saw her. Celia Burke.
    “Oh!” She jumped up—quite literally, jumped out of her seat at the table—and in the process managed to upend a pen and an inkwell all over herself. She flailed, trying to catch the thing but then hid her ink-covered hands behind her back, looking at first frightened, and then entirely guilty. She was flushed and discomposed, with her mouth open in a horrified little o of surprise. A huge, black ink stain dripped down the front of her dress. Not at all the serene ice princess of the ballroom.
    Had she been waiting for him? Seeking him just as assiduously as he had been stalking her? Had she engineered this moment to catch him off guard?
    He was off guard, damn it to hell. Here was his first opportunity to intimidate her, though there was no audience of dancers to see his interest in her and set her reputation on its ear, and all he could think—although think was not the operative verb—was how intoxicating she smelled, even covered in ink. And how much more incredibly beautiful she was close up.
    How . . . real she appeared.
    It had been one thing to think badly of her from across the room. At a distance, she had appeared like a doll, untouched by any humanity. But up close, up close she had dark smudges under her wide, dark eyes and bruised, bitten lips. Lips that were the color of summer plums. Lips still before the full flush of ripeness. Lips that looked as though they had never been kissed.
    Del fought the urge to shake off the thought like a wet dog. Damn his eyes! He had no business looking at her lips. He had no business noting the dew-soft texture of her skin, or the dusting of freckles hovering just below the translucent surface, nor the depth of her dark, almost black eyes. Eyes the color of the stormy North Atlantic, fathoms deep.
    He had not expected her to be so beautiful and so human. He had certainly not expected his body to react so strenuously to her appearance without asking his brain for permission.
    The luminous, fey creature in front of him was the bluestocking friend of Emily’s letters, the girl he had fallen in love with, not the coldhearted woman he had conceived in the wake of the blackmail demand. He had forgotten those long-ago feelings, pushed them aside from the moment he had received the blackmail letter.
    But he would be foolish to trust her appearance. Emily had done so. Emily had thought them two peas in a pod. Until it was too late.
    He stared at her without a lucid thought in his head. Maybe the stare would work all alone. Maybe she could feel the weight of condemnation in his eyes.
    He marshaled his voice into a harsh command. “How did you get in here?”
    “ I used the door,” she answered quietly. She gestured with her ink-splotched hand, a small economical motion, but she kept her watchful eyes focused on him the way one might keep