Page 30 of Sinfully Mine
The room quieted as she entered and gently shut the door behind her.
Sinclair sat at the head of the table, hair shining like well-polished leather in the candlelight. He observed her without a flicker of surprise. Only mild interest danced about in the green of his eyes. His elegant fingers drummed beside his plate in expectation.
Hester turned from him, seeking out the other three gentlemen seated at the table. The outlandishly handsome rake with golden looks that gave him the appearance of an angel had to be Worthington, if Mrs. Ebersole’s description was correct.
He met her interest with some of his own.
A barrel-chested gentleman who reminded Hester of a draft horse sat to Worthington’s right. He glanced at her but did little else, his attention completely taken by the elegant lady beside him.
The final gentleman leaned back in his chair, narrow shoulders jutting out from beneath his coat. The point of his chin jerked in her direction with a raised brow.
“Who do we have here, Sinclair?” Worthington drawled in a voice like dripping butter. “I confess I am anxious for an introduction.” He stood, as did the others.
Sinclair gave her a bored look, which did nothing but steel her determination further. He did not bother to stand.
Rude, scurrilous—
“This is Mrs. Black,” Sinclair answered Worthington. “It was her husband who bequeathed this lovely estate to me.” He gave an elegant wave, his manner more careless and self-indulged than she’d ever seen it. “Mrs. Black, join us. Please. Worth, would you mind?”
“It would be my pleasure.” The tall, golden god pulled out the chair next to him.
“Mrs. Black, this is Mr. Charles Worthington, financier, rake, and terrible player of bowls.”
“I’m not really as terrible as all that,” Worth guided her to sit. “Your sister is far worse. I’ve nearly lost a limb to her.” He inclined his head. “Mrs. Black.”
“Mr. Phalen.” Sinclair pointed at the angular gentleman with the pointed chin. “Mr. Grout,” he nodded to the human draft horse. “And lastly, Lady Downing.”
Grout bowed before he took his seat once more, smiling politely.
Lady Downing’s dark eyes slid over her with little welcome. “Oh, yes. You’re the widow.”
“I am, my lady.”
“Lovely gown,” she said as Hester took her seat. “Perfect for dining in the country.”
What Lady Downing truly meant was that Hester looked quite provincial in comparison to her London style.
“Don’t mind Lady Downing,” Worthington whispered in Hester’s ear. “She prefers to be the only beautiful woman in the room.”
Hester’s heart gave a flutter at the compliment, whether Worthington meant it or not. She settled with a grateful nod, appreciative of his kindness.
Worthington shot her a wink.
Sinclair made a sound. He was running his forefinger along the edge of his wine goblet, watching her with hooded eyes.
“Allow me, Mrs. Black.”
Worth took up the bottle of wine before him on the table, pouring out a glass of the ruby colored liquid for Hester. “A toast. To new friends, Mrs. Black. I think you’ll like the wine. It’s an excellent vintage.”
Mossy green flashed in her direction as Sinclair’s gaze lowered to the swell of Hester’s bosom. He lifted his glass at Worthington’s toast. “To new friends.”
*
Well, this wasjust bloody splendid.
Annoyance and arousal mixed unpleasantly inside Drew’s stomach, souring the wine as he watched Worth espouse admiration forhiswidow. He had only himself to blame, warning Worth ahead of time that Mrs. Black would attempt to garner support for her ridiculous plan to keep Blackbird Heath from sale and become Drew’s land manager. His friend found the idea far less absurd than Drew, which was another source of irritation. Worth pointed out that Blackbird Heathwasa prosperous piece of property, one which would make an excellent investment. People, especially those living in the great metropolis of London, needed to be fed. You could hardly expect the likes of Constance to grow her own food.
Drew conceded the point. The idea of Constance so much as pulling a carrot out of the ground was preposterous.
