Page 1 of Midnight Rendezvous (Sins & Sensibilities #4)

CHAPTER 1

P enny had made a dreadful mistake.

Tonight was one of her first proper balls of the season—one hosted by a high-society hostess and not the tedious confines of Almack's. Her brother, Thomas, Viscount Caldwell, often said these soirées were far more enjoyable. Penny believed he told the truth... and also lied.

The gowns were indeed more decadent, the colors bolder than the insipid pastels imposed upon Almack's debutantes. And yes, the waltz had been played. But Penny had not had a partner. She had lingered hopefully, gloved hands fidgeting at her sides, while all the young bucks sought partners with more flirtatious smiles and daring décolletage. She'd even spotted her brother across the room and brightened, certain he would ask her to dance out of duty or perhaps affection.

But instead of making his way to her, Thomas had slipped out to the terrace. Curious—and perhaps a bit cross—Penny had followed him. Now, she stood frozen just beyond the hedges, her dancing slippers sinking into the damp grass, heat blooming across her face. Her brother was decidedly not admiring the garden. He was standing beneath the arbor, holding a lady against his chest in an embrace that could only be described as scandalous.

The lady moaned his name.

Penny's cheeks flamed. Oh heavens . She should not be seeing this. She began to back away slowly, praying the shadows would conceal her retreat. But then—footsteps.

No .

Someone was coming. Possibly another couple eager for privacy, or worse, someone who knew them. Mortified, she glanced around, searching for somewhere to hide. A large tree loomed a few yards away, its branches thick and heavy with foliage.

Clutching her skirts, Penny dashed toward the tree and attempted to climb. The trunk was wider than it looked, and her slippers made the task impossible. She toed them off, feeling the cold earth beneath her stockinged feet, and tried again.

This time, she made it halfway up.

Just as she began to slide back down, a hand appeared from above, startling her.

"Here," a voice drawled, deep and low, the kind of voice that suggested amusement at her expense. "Allow me."

Penny barely smothered a shriek as she was hauled up into the leaves. Her heart thudded wildly as she found herself tucked into the crook of a sturdy branch, her breath mingling with the scent of bark and male cologne.

She twisted around. It was too dark to see clearly, but she could make out the vague shape of a man sitting lazily in the tree beside her, one leg braced against the trunk, the other swinging idly.

"Goodness," she whispered breathlessly. "Why are you hiding in a tree?"

"Hiding?" he repeated, sounding almost offended. "It was the perfect vantage point to observe something rather... decadent."

Her brow furrowed, and she followed the angle of his gaze. Through a gap in the leaves, a parlor window glowed with golden candlelight. Inside, another couple was locked in a passionate embrace—more exposed than her brother and far more determined.

Penny gasped, pressing a hand to her chest. "You are all rogues."

"Possibly." His voice was maddeningly nonchalant. "But tell me, what does that make you?"

She turned to him sharply. "Excuse me?"

"You climbed up here quite eagerly," he murmured, his voice a lazy drawl that curled along her skin like smoke. "Stockings and all. Never say you thought it was a gentleman waiting for you?"

Visions of ruination, rakes, and libertines—the kind her mother warned about with dramatic flair—flashed through her mind like a Shakespearean warning. Penny scowled. "I was escaping," she hissed. "From something very awkward and potentially scarring. And you hauled me up before I could collect my scattered wits."

"Your brother and Lady Finchley?"

He sounded amused.

Penny groaned, burying her face in her hands. "You saw?"

"He's doing quite well for himself," he said blandly, as if her brother's imminent downfall into scandal was a matter of idle amusement. "Ah...a friend is joining."

Her hands slipped from her face as she glared at him. "This is mortifying . How can you so casually watch someone's... someone's intimate moment?"

"Ah," he said with that same maddening nonchalance. "There is a wicked thrill in watching. Remove your fingers and see."

She gasped, scandalized. "You're vile."

"And you're delightfully dramatic."

"I ought to quote something Shakespearean about libertines, but I fear even the Bard could not describe your level of depravity."

"I daresay he'd admire my form."

Her mouth parted in disbelief. "Are you always this provoking?"

"Only when I'm hiding in trees with ladies who smell like sun-ripe peaches and poor decisions."

She blushed furiously. "You are insufferable."

He leaned in just enough for her to feel the faint whisper of his breath. "And yet, you're still here."

Her pulse stuttered, not from the climb, but from his nearness—the intimacy of the moment that shouldn't feel as breathless as it did. "I'm Penelope. Thomas's sister."

"I know," he replied easily. "Thomas has spoken about you with all the sufferation of a brother hounded by his younger sister. I'm quite sure he never imagined you would follow him straight into debauchery."

"Hardly. I climbed into a tree to avoid it."

"And landed in the lap of it instead."

His grin curved, slow and wicked. "Alexander Sutton. The Earl of Bainbridge, at your service."

Her breath caught. So this was her brother's elusive friend from university—the one who never accepted an invitation to the countryside. She stared at him, trying to make out the lines of his face hidden in the shadows.

"Hmm. He might win the bet," he mused.

She blinked. "What bet?"

"I believe there is a wager concerning who shall prove the more inventive lover," he said with unbearable calm. "I am to be the examiner and offer my worldly critique."

Shocked, she twisted toward him, her skirts tangling around her legs. "My brother would never be so wicked!"

"Ah, but the ladies are part of the wager," he murmured, gaze slipping back to the window.

Penny followed his line of sight—just in time to see the gentleman's head disappear beneath the lady's skirts.

"Oh my—!"

In her shock, she slipped. A gasp tore from her throat, but before she could fall, a strong arm snagged her waist and pulled her tight against a solid chest.

She froze. His scent wrapped around her—clean, spiced with something dark and expensive—and his breath ghosted warm against her temple. No gloves. No distance. His hand pressed to her side, anchoring her, his thigh braced against hers to steady them both. She became acutely aware of everything: the strength in his arms, the hard press of his body, and the alarming sense that she fit against him with shocking ease.

A peculiar shiver ran through her.

"How interesting," he said softly. "You are not swooning."

She gasped and tried to shift away. "You are impossible."

"Be careful," he murmured, his voice low and dangerous. "I won't be able to explain your broken body to Thomas if you tumble from this branch."

"Let me go," she hissed.

"You might fall from the shock of seeing what your brother is doing now."

She tilted her chin, defiant. "You are enjoying this far too much, my lord."

"Immensely," he drawled. "There's nothing quite as thrilling as corrupting sweet innocence."

"How fortunate for me, then," she said sweetly, "that my brother taught me how to handle corruptors."

And with a deft twist, she slid closer, her knee lifting to hover a breath from his manhood.

His low laugh rippled over her skin. "I am terrified. Truly."

What alarmed Penny most was that she felt... invigorated, not frightened. The heat of his body, the scent of clean linen and dark cologne, the dangerous proximity—it awakened something she didn't recognize but couldn't resist.

A light flared on from the upper level of the house, and for the first time, she saw his face fully. The glow caught the storm of his eyes—gray rimmed with that startling blue at the center, like glacial water just before it cracked. High, sharp cheekbones. Arrogant nose. Unforgivably long lashes.

"You're pretty," she said accusingly. "How unfair for those poor innocents who must swoon in your wretched arms."

His mouth quirked. "Alas, I do not seduce innocents. Not unless they understand I promise nothing but..."

He stopped, something flickering behind his gaze—less wicked, more restrained.

"Nothing but...?" she prompted, suddenly wanting to know the end of that sentence more than anything.

The light above extinguished, plunging them back into the hush and shadow beneath the branches.

"Ah, but you're Thomas's sister, so that means you are also my sister. I cannot say."

She sputtered. "I am not your sister. And a gentleman would not hold his sister so—so indecently!"

"Even to save her life?" he said mildly, then released the arm still banded around her waist.

His knuckles brushed the tip of her nose. "You're my good friend's sister, which makes you mine, in a way. Hence, I'll behave. A model of gentlemanly restraint. Be sure to tell Thomas I was the very picture of brotherly virtue, hmm?"

Penny blinked at him. "Strange. There's no lightning scything through the tree."

He laughed, a warm, low sound that made her lips curve before she could stop them.

"Now that they've taken their pleasures elsewhere," he murmured, "allow me to help you down."

She flushed and did not protest when he helped her descend—gracefully, without dismounting himself. She wondered why he remained hidden in the tree but didn't ask. Instead, she adjusted her skirts, retrieved her slippers, and turned to leave.

She didn't bid him farewell. But she stumbled slightly when his murmur floated down through the leaves, quiet as the wind:

"It's you who's pretty."

Penny fled into the night barefoot, heart pounding.