A Taste of Sin Read online

  Other books by Connie Mason:

  A BREATH OF SCANDAL

  TO LOVE A STRANGER

  TO TEMPT A ROGUE

  A TOUCH SO WICKED

  A Taste

  of Sin

  CONNIE

  MASON

  To my brother-in-law John MacDonald,

  whose Scottish heritage was

  the inspiration for this book

  © 2000, 2011 Connie Mason. All rights reserved.

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  About the Author

  Prologue

  Scottish Highlands

  Glenmoor Castle, 1747

  “You know why you have to do this, don’t you, Sinjun?”

  “I know, but I don’t like it, Father,” young St.John Thornton replied.

  “We do what the king asks of us,” Roger Thornton, fourth earl of Mansfield, said.

  Fourteen-year-old St.John Thornton, marquis of Derby, looked as if he’d rather be anywhere but standing in Glenmoor Castle’s guest chamber dressed in his best velvet breeches and waistcoat.

  “Why me, Father? Julian is your heir, let him marry that wild Scottish hoyden.”

  “Come now, Sinjun, you know Julian has been betrothed to Lord Sinclair’s daughter since the day she was born. They will wed when she turns eighteen.”

  “I am fourteen, Father, and the Macdonald heiress is but seven.”

  “Think you I don’t know that?” Roger said with asperity. “We’re not talking about bedding here. You have but to marry the chit and then you may return to England until she comes of age. You can go to the university like you planned and sow your wild oats while Lady Christy is growing up. When the time comes, I trust you to do your duty by her.”

  “I can’t bring myself to like her, Father.” He wrinkled his aristocratic nose. “When we arrived, I saw her playing in the courtyard with her kinsmen and mistook her for a dirty beggar child. Her face was smeared with mud and she was barefoot.” He shuddered. “Can’t the king find someone else to marry her? She looks like a witch with her tangled red hair and white skin.”

  “‘Tis the king’s plan to demoralize rebellious Highlanders by placing their lands into the hands of loyal Englishmen. After Culloden, every one of Scotland’s orphaned aristocratic daughters were married to men of King George’s choosing. The king trusts none of the surviving Highland lairds. Old Angus Macdonald wields great power over his clan, and his granddaughter will become laird after his death.

  “Christy’s father, Gordy, as well as both her brothers, died at Culloden,” Roger continued. “And old Angus, Christy’s grandfather, became her guardian. Angus leaves no male heirs, all were slain at Culloden. Marriage will gain you both Christy and stewardship of Glenmoor into perpetuity. Through your wife you can control the clans who swore fealty to old Angus Macdonald.”

  Sinjun tossed his head of dark hair and glared sullenly at his father. “I don’t care about any of that. I like nothing about the Scottish Highlands. Tis a desolate land, fit only for wolves and savages.”

  “The king does us great honor, Sinjun,” Roger chided, exasperated at his son’s lack of gratitude. “Thomtons are loyal subjects of the crown. We have been honored by numerous titles and land grants. The Macdonald holdings are vast. Through this marriage you gain the kind of power and wealth that will make the Thornton name one to be reckoned with in England. Tis a great opportunity, Sinjun, not to mention the honor. Taxes and rents from your lands will keep you in luxury the rest of your life. You should appreciate what King George is doing for you and our family.”

  Sinjun’s full lips, which ladies one day would describe as sensual, turned downward into a scowl. “I suppose, since you put it that way, Father, I will have to marry the girl. But I will not lie, I do not like Christy Macdonald.”

  “I’m not telling you to like her. All you need do is marry her now and return briefly to Glenmoor when she is old enough to consummate the marriage. After that you can do what you like with your life. Keep in mind, however, that when Christy’s grandfather dies and she becomes laird, you will wield great power in the Highlands through your wife.”

  “What if I wish to stay in England, as far away from Christy as I can?” Sinjun asked.

  “You can hire a bailiff to oversee your Scottish estates, and your wife can remain safely sequestered at Glenmoor. But you have plenty of time to decide what you want to do.”

  Lord Mansfield regarded his son with a critical eye. The boy was tall for his age, with shoulders nearly as broad as his own. Sinjun was a handsome young devil, and he knew it, Mansfield thought. Too handsome for his own good, and far too knowledgeable in the ways of the world for his tender age. He pitied the women who would try to capture his son’s heart when he was old enough to catch their attention. And the young devil would attract women by the droves, and probably lead them a merry chase. How could women not fall under the spell of his dark, brooding eyes and dashing smile? The young maidservants at Thornton Hall were beginning to look upon him with favor, and Roger wondered if his son had already sampled what they had to offer.

  Sinjun knew exactly what he wanted to do with his life, and it did not include forsaking London and rusticating in the Highlands with a wife obviously as wild as the land she lived in. He would go to the university, of course, and embark upon life’s adventures. Even at the tender age of fourteen he’d learned to appreciate women. Polly, an upstairs maid just a few years older than he, had taken him under her wing and shown him how to enjoy himself in bed with a woman. The lessons had been fascinating, and he couldn’t wait to spread his wings and practice with other women.

  When he’d been told he was to marry a young Scotswoman, he’d rebelled, but his protests had been ignored by both his father and the king. Very well, he would marry Christy Macdonald, but he did not have to like her, nor did he have to live with her.

  Now Sinjun waited on the steps of the village kirk for his seven-year-old bride to arrive. Hanked on either side by his father and the minister, there was no escape. The Macdonalds and their allies were all present, none of whom appeared pleased with the marriage of one of their own to an Englishman. One Scotsman about his own age was particularly fierce in his disapproval, sending Sinjun menacing looks.

  A frown darkened Sinjun’s brow when he saw Christy coming down the hill with her grandfather. It appeared he wasn’t the only one reluctant to marry. Christy was digging her heels in and protesting loudly as her grandfather dragged her to the kirk. She wore the Macdonald plaid though it had been forbidden, and in the background Sinjun heard the slow dirge of bagpipes, also forbidden by order of the king after Culloden. Her flaming hair did nothing to enhance her pale complexion, and it was so wild and disorderly that Sinjun wondered if she had even tried to tame it.

  Angus Macdonald finally reached the kirk with his wildly resisting granddaughter and pushed her toward Sinjun. She stomped her little foot and glared up at Sinjun, her chin tilted pugnaciously. Sinjun nearly laughed aloud at her belligerent expression. She didn’t want to marry him any more than he wanted to marry her! Well, too bad, he thought. As far as he was concerned, this marriage was ill-con
ceived and would never amount to anything.

  The minister opened the book, cleared his throat, and began the ceremony. His words flowed over Sinjun like water. He glanced at his older brother, his father’s heir, with envy. Julian still had several years before he had to marry. Julian grinned at him, and Sinjun had the unaccountable urge to stick out his tongue. As the minister droned on, Sinjun’s mind wandered to pretty Polly, wondering if she missed him. He was brought up short when the bride-to-be kicked him hard in the shin.

  A gasp of pain escaped from between his teeth. “What did you do that for?” he hissed, pinning her with a hard look.

  “Yer an Englishman,” Christy hissed.

  “Hush!” Angus warned from somewhere behind them. “Pay attention to the ceremony.”

  Sinjun glared daggers at his pasty-faced bride, wondering what in the world he’d ever done to deserve such an unjust punishment. His stomach churned and he wanted to retch when the minister pronounced them husband and wife. He turned to his bride and was stunned by her expression. Her scorching green gaze blazed with hatred as she stuck out her tongue at him. How could his father do this to him? he lamented as he quickly turned away. Wed at fourteen to a redheaded firebrand who obviously possessed a temper to match the ugly color of her hair.

  As if to reinforce his unfavorable opinion, Christy kicked him again. He howled in outrage and made a grab for her, but she was too quick for him. She turned on her heel and fled back to Glenmoor as fast as her little legs could carry her.

  Chapter 1

  London, 1762

  A hush fell over the crowd as St.John Thornton, marquis of Derby, entered the ballroom.

  “ Tis Lord Sin,” a young man whispered in an aside to his friend. “I wonder what brings him out into such mundane company tonight.”

  His companion, Lord Seton, sniffed disdainfully. “I say, Renfrew, he must be slumming. He rarely attends public functions.”

  “The moniker Lord Sin fits him so well, you know,” Renfrew returned. “Why, there isn’t a more dissolute rake in all of England.” He sighed enviously. “His escapades with the ladies are legend. Look around you. There isn’t a lady here tonight who wouldn’t fall into his bed if he but asked.”

  “He’s married, you know,” Renfrew confided. “Since he was fourteen.”

  “So I’ve heard, but one would never know it.”

  “Tis common knowledge,” Renfrew said.

  “Where does he keep his wife hidden? The way he carries on, you’d think he was footloose and fancy free.”

  “Ha! And so he is. I had it directly from one of his confidants that he actually likes the idea of being married. Marriage places him off limits to matchmaking mamas trying to find husbands for their marriageable daughters. Or from being eyed as a prospective husband by marriage-minded young misses. His wife is safely tucked away in Scotland, don’t you know? What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her. Lord Sin takes his pleasure where and when he finds it without fear of entanglements or repercussions.”

  “Lucky bastard,” Seton said.

  Renfrew leaned close. “Believe it or not, Lord Sin hasn’t seen his Scottish wife since their marriage was ordered by George II fifteen years ago. ‘Tis rumored the marriage was never consummated. Can you imagine? The woman is laird of some wild Highlander clan.”

  Seton gave a hoot of laughter. “Lord Sin might not have consummated his marriage with his bride, but he certainly has cavorted with enough women to make up for the lack. Don’t know how his brother the earl puts up with his shameless debauchery.”

  “Lord Mansfield seems preoccupied these days. Don’t see him around much. Damn shame about his betrothed dying before their wedding.”

  “Shhh, here comes the notorious Lord Sin now,” Renfrew hissed as Sinjun and his friend, Rudolph, Viscount Blakely, approached.

  “What a crush, Sinjun!” Blakely said as he shouldered his way through the crowd. “Don’t know why you insisted on coming out tonight. I’m accustomed to your avoiding these public gatherings.

  Sinjun Thornton and his good friend headed directly for the card room. Dressed to the nines in modified riding clothes, which had recently become all the rage, Sinjun, more commonly referred to by the ton as Lord Sin, wore tight black breeches with tall boots over them, pristine white shirt and stock, purple brocade waistcoat, and black dress riding coat cut high up and double-breasted, with wide lapels in the front and long-tailed in the back.

  “Boredom, Rudy, sheer boredom,” Sinjun said, surveying the crush of people with a jaundiced eye. “So far I’ve seen nothing here to interest me.”

  “Not even the lovely Lady Violet?” Rudy asked, calling Sinjun’s attention to a striking brunette wearing a thin gauze gown with minimal stays and dampened to show her extraordinary figure to the best advantage. “Brace yourself, she’s seen you.”

  “Drat!” Sinjun muttered beneath his breath. “I was hoping to avoid her tonight”

  “Trouble in paradise?” Rudy guffawed.

  Sinjun shrugged. “Our affair has run its course.”

  “Obviously the lady doesn’t think so.”

  Sinjun nodded to his two acquaintances, Renfrew and Seton, as he pulled Rudy through the thick of the crowd. But it was not to be. Lady Violet honed in on him and finally caught him.

  “Sinjun, I hoped you’d be here tonight. What happened to you last night? I waited ever so long for you.”

  “Your husband was home, Lady Fitzhugh, or have you forgotten?”

  “Whenever did that make a difference?” Violet challenged. “Besides, Fitzhugh always finishes off a bottle of port before he goes to bed. He wouldn’t have heard a herd of elephants were they to stampede up the stairs.”

  Rudy coughed, reminding them of his presence. “I’ll leave you two to your … er … conversation. I’ll catch up with you later, Sinjun.”

  Sinjun tried to stop Rudy from leaving, but Lady Violet had other ideas. “Let him go, Sinjun. Will you come to me tomorrow night? Fitzhugh is leaving in the morning for his hunting lodge in Scotland. He expects to be gone a month or better.”

  Sinjun tried his damnedest to be polite, but Lady Violet was making it difficult. She didn’t seem to know when something was over. And as far as he was concerned, their affair had ended the night he met Lord Stanhope sneaking around to the back door as he was leaving by the front. When he took a lover he liked to think he was the only one, but now that the affair was over, it no longer mattered how many men she took to her bed. So tonight he was at loose ends, seeking new diversions.

  Sinjun was preparing to tell Violet they were through when a ripple of excitement captured his attention. Everyone seemed to be looking toward the entrance, and he followed their gaze. He inhaled sharply when he saw what, or rather who, had everyone agog. Sinjun was positive he’d never before seen the woman poised just inside the entrance, for he would have remembered her.

  “Who is she?” he asked, thoroughly intrigued by the exceptional beauty who had just graced the ballroom with her auspicious presence. “I can’t recall seeing her before.”

  “She’s new to town,” Lady Violet said coolly. “From Cornwall, I understand. No one seems to know much about her except that she’s married to some elderly viscount who conveniently remained behind in Cornwall.” She sniffed disdainfully. “She has shown up without a proper escort at three of the last four public social events. She stays a short time, then disappears. Had you attended some of those events you would have seen her. Strange,” Violet mused, “but I’d swear she is looking for someone.”

  “Her name. Tell me her name,” Sinjun demanded. “She’s a rare beauty.”

  “Her name is Lady Flora Randall.” She gave the mystery lady a disparaging glance. “Her husband must be as understanding as your wife.”

  Sinjun stared at the young beauty, struck speechless by an indefinable sensation that nagged at his memory. For the life of him he couldn’t recall ever meeting Lady Randall before. Though she could not in any sense of the word be
described as a redhead, her hair was a striking color, somewhere between cinnamon and copper, with just enough gold thrown in to make an interesting contrast.

  She was small-boned and petite but had a presence about her that made her seem taller. As she lingered near the entrance, every unattached man in the room gravitated toward her. Sinjun’s legs moved unerringly in her direction.

  “Where are you going?” Lady Violet asked shrilly.

  “To see what I’ve missed by not showing up at the other social events these past weeks,” Sinjun threw over his shoulder as he strode purposefully toward Lady Flora Randall.

  Sinjun pushed his way through the tight ring of smitten men, admiring the way the lady handled the young dandies of the ton. The young fops must have realized who was pushing them aside, for Sinjun heard someone whisper his name. Immediately a path was cleared for him, allowing him into the inner circle. Then he was standing before her, staring into the perfect oval of her flawless features.

  Her eyes were green, he noted, as green as sparkling emeralds. Her lips were full and red, her lashes long, dark wings that curled upward at the edges. Her glowing, sun-kissed complexion surprised him. Ladies of the ton religiously avoided the sun. Yet everything about the mystery woman was exquisite.

  She wore a green gauze gown that, though not dampened, revealed every curve of her lush figure. Sinjun seriously doubted she wore even light stays beneath her chemise. Though her décolletage was not severe, it revealed enough of her magnificent breasts to make staring worthwhile. And he’d wager he wasn’t the only one who thought so. Sinjun felt himself harden and was shocked to the core. Bloody hell! He wanted her and he didn’t even know her!

  “I believe this is my dance,” Sinjun said in a sensual drawl that would normally send most women into a veritable swoon.

  Slowly she raised her eyes to his, and Sinjun was struck by the strangest feeling of déjà vu. He searched his memory and came up blank.