The Darkest Sin Read Online Free PDF Page A

lesson about the siren call of desire. One more complicating factor, he realized, when it came to the fate of Rowena Woolcott.
    She was watching him, calibrating his response, as any young woman would, trapped as she was alone in a man’s bedchamber late at night. “I read about the Cruikshank murders,” she said. “How you spent days and weeks collecting evidence and hunting down the felon,” she continued in a low whisper, as though recounting tales of knightly deeds. “Those poor women about whom no one cared, other than you, sir.”
    Rushford scrubbed a hand down his face, groaning inwardly, the burn of stubble against his palm somehow welcome. “Is that what you believe, Miss? Madam? Forgive me, but I don’t even know your name.”
    She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. For now.”
    â€œAh yes. More mystery.” A deadly joke, of which only he was aware.
    â€œBut I know you can help me.” There was a stubbornness in her tone. “As you helped them.”
    â€œFlattery doesn’t go nearly as far as one might wish. I am not the helpful sort, believe me.” If the past three years didn’t prove that point, nothing would. Ridding himself of Rowena Woolcott would be in her best interests, although she might not appreciate the fact at the moment. It dawned upon him then how simple it could be to be done with her. To frighten her. Drive her off. It was mere coincidence, as opposed to fate or poetic justice, that had delivered her once more into his hands. Thank God. “May I pour you a brandy before I see you on your way?” he asked with no solicitousness in his voice.
    Rowena’s head jerked up, causing a thick strand of hair, the color of deep burgundy, to fall loose from her chignon over one shoulder. “But I haven’t explained. Everything.”
    Rushford moved over to the bedside table and poured a healthy measure of brandy into a heavy lead crystal glass. “No need.” He picked up the drink and strode directly opposite her. A faint scent of soap and something else, achingly familiar, slammed his senses. He shut down the memories, thrusting the glass into her slender hand. Challenging himself to touch her, to see if he dared, he closed her cold fingers around the glass. “I don’t need to hear details. Because I am not for hire, madam.”
    â€œBut I have money,” she persisted. “Not much but some.” Her fingers tightened momentarily around his, and to his surprise, she raised the glass to her lips and took a sip, closing her eyes as the warmth slipped down her slender throat. Send her on her way . The words pulsed in his brain. As he should have done that first time.
    â€œI cannot help you,” he said simply. Decisively. Any other woman might have implored, begged, or wept, but Rowena Woolcott stared at him with a tensile strength that would have shaken a lesser man.
    Her hand on his arm was surprisingly strong, the fingers long and elegant and he’d wager, accustomed to handling a horse’s reins with ease. There was a wildness about Rowena Woolcott, he noted not for the first time, a willfulness that refused constraints. She had scaled his town house, broken into his bedchamber, confronted him—he stopped the flow of thoughts, the cool of her hand penetrating the sleeve of his shirt. Most of all, Rowena Woolcott had survived —as though he could ever forget.
    She removed her hand, taking a few steps away from him, needing the safety of distance to collect her thoughts, to marshal her argument. “At least allow me to tell you of the circumstances—of my circumstances,” she amended, getting the facts out brusquely. “This is all about two sisters and their aunt. And a man who wants them to suffer in the worst possible way.”
    Rushford made his face granite. “Not my problem, alas. I am not a detective, as you seem to believe. The Cruikshank situation