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Sebastian leaned toward her, placing one hand on her waist and drawing her against his chest. His other hand cradled the back of her head, forcing her chin up. Gazing into his eyes, she realized he was going to kiss her.
A torrent of conflicting emotions surged through Eleanor. Being in Sebastian’s arms made her feel like someone she wasn’t—daring, almost wicked.
And she liked it.
A half smile played on Sebastian’s full, sensual lips. “I’m going to kiss you now, Eleanor.”
She felt her body tighten, her gaze roving over his face. His expression told her the truth—he was indeed about to kiss her. Her heart skipped in anticipation, certain that his kiss would be as possessive and hungry as the intense gleam darkening his eyes …
HIS WICKED EMBRACE
HIS NOBLE PROMISE
TO WED A VISCOUNT
TO PROTECT AN HEIRESS
TO TEMPT A ROGUE
THE WEDDING DECEPTION
THE CHRISTMAS HEIRESS
HIGHLAND VAMPIRE
HOW TO ENJOY A SCANDAL
NATURE OF THE BEAST
THE CHRISTMAS COUNTESS
HOW TO SEDUCE A SINNER
A LITTLE BIT SINFUL
Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation
A Little Bit SINFUL
ADRIENNE BASSO
ZEBRA BOOKS are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp.
119 West 40th Street
New York, NY 10018
Copyright © 2011 by Adrienne Basso
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Zebra and the Z logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.
eISBN-13: 978-1-4201-2250-3
eISBN-10: 1-4201-2250-9
First Printing: January 2011
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Printed in the United States of America
Dedicated with love to Ann White Braun
From the girls we were, to the women we have become, our friendship has not only endured, but grown stronger. I will always treasure the years of memories, Annie—the joys, sorrows, laughter, and tears—and look forward to many, many more.
CONTENTS
A LITTLE BIT SINFUL
Books by Adrienne Basso
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
Epilogue
Chaswick Manor, Kent, England, early spring, 1819
“Everyone, please gather closer.”
The minister’s voice, deep and solemn, echoed among the well-dressed group, shattering the stillness. Jaw clenched, eyes dry, Sebastian Dodd, Viscount Benton, took a step forward, swaying slightly as the bright sunshine momentarily blinded him. Following his lead, the sparse crowd of mourners standing behind him also moved, yet kept a respectful distance.
How very wrong it all feels, Sebastian thought, shifting his stance to block the sun’s rays from his eyes. The weather should be chilly and damp and gray, with raindrops pelting their faces, the ground beneath their feet soaked and muddy. Instead there was warmth and sunshine, with a sky as blue as a robin’s egg, solid, thick green grass, and a profusion of exuberant spring wildflowers.
Though he stood alone, Sebastian was mindful of the people gathered behind him. A few distant relatives, whom he wished had not bothered to make the journey, and an even smaller group of friends, whose presence made him feel a profound sense of gratitude.
“The Countess of Marchdale was a noble woman, possessing a strong character and a charitable heart. She was a pillar of the community, a shining example of a fine and genteel female,” the minister proclaimed. “Heaven will most assuredly welcome this good lady with open arms.”
Sebastian could not hold back his smile. His grandmother had been a feisty, opinionated woman who had ruffled more than her share of feathers, especially in the later years of her life. She would have laughed out loud upon hearing the minister’s words, and then rapped his knuckles sharply before scolding him for exaggerating. The countess was never one to suffer false praise. Even at her own funeral.
As for her heavenly ascent, well, if such a place did exist, the countess’s admittance was hardly guaranteed. She had not led an angelic life, nor a particularly pious one. She had enjoyed fully the excesses and privileges of her rank and wealth as well as—Sebastian always suspected—the delights of the flesh. After all, she had buried three husbands, each younger than her.
If, by some divine miracle, his grandmother did pass through the gates of St. Peter, Sebastian was