His Sinful Touch

She had goggled yesterday at Megan’s breezy assurance that none of the Moreland women believed in wearing a corset. The duchess, she said, considered them a symbol of all that was wrong with women’s current place in the world, designed to render them mere ornaments incapable of performing any useful task.

Sabrina studied herself in the mirror. Though the lack of a corset made her waist less waspish than was fashionable, there was a certain grace and fluidity that was lacking with a stiff corset. Best of all, she could breathe deeply. That had been one of the most pleasant aspects about wearing male clothing.

The lines of Megan’s skirts were narrower, which, along with the smaller number of petticoats, made getting around much easier. Her clothes were also more versatile. Sabrina could wear the tailored skirt with only the cotton shirtwaist, or she could don a feminine version of a man’s jacket, one that nipped in at the waist and puffed out on the sleeves. Either way, the ensemble looked crisp and modern and somehow professional, as if the woman who wore it was capable of doing things.

It was so much better than the frilly things young girls had to wear. Sabrina considered that thought and what it meant about the void of her past life. Clearly she liked this streamlined look, so that was another thing she now knew about herself. And, given the distinct tinge of resentment in her thought, Sabrina suspected she had had to wear the ruffles and bows she disliked.

That was a curious thing. She was a grown woman, nearly twenty-one if their guess about the date on her locket was correct. Surely she would have been in charge of her own wardrobe. Sabrina frowned. Had she been so under the dominance of a husband or parents? Or, not having met the Moreland women, had she simply been unaware that the difference existed? Neither, she thought, spoke very highly for her own strength of character.

Shrugging aside the thought, she headed downstairs. The dining room at first glance was such a blur of noise and people that for a panicked moment Sabrina thought of turning around and going back to her room. There seemed to be a veritable army of children, as well as several adults, some sitting, some standing, getting food from the sideboard, reaching down to grab up a running child, gesturing—and all of them talking at once.

Alex, standing at the sideboard chatting with another dark-haired man, saw her and exclaimed, “Sabrina.”

At his word, all conversation ceased, and every eye in the place turned to Sabrina. She froze like a rabbit in the sight of a wolf. Alex set down his plate and came over to her, taking her arm and nudging her inside. “Kyria, this is Sabrina, whom I was telling you about.”

A tall, red-haired woman who could only be the duchess’s daughter kissed the child she was holding and set her down, smiling as she crossed the floor to Sabrina. Up close, Sabrina could see the faint lines beside her eyes, so Sabrina knew she must not be as young as she first appeared, but there was no gray in her vivid red hair and she was a stunning woman.

“Sabrina, this is my sister the Lady—”

“Just plain Kyria,” the elegant woman said cheerfully, reaching out to shake Sabrina’s hand. “As you can see, we don’t stand on formality here.” She waved a hand toward the table. “Don’t be alarmed by all the children. It’s mostly my brood. When they found out I was going out with Megan and Mother this morning, they insisted on coming over to ‘look after Athena and Brigid’—though it’s my opinion that they were seizing the opportunity to have a yard to play in.”

Sabrina could see now that, aside from Megan’s toddlers, there were actually only four young people, all of them with various shades of red or blond hair.

“Miss Davenport,” Kyria addressed the plainly dressed woman sitting against the far wall. “I think it’s probably time for the children to go back to the schoolroom.”

The other woman curtsied and began to round up the children and shepherd them toward the door. As this took all the children bidding each of their relatives goodbye, as well as chasing down the elusive Brigid, it was a protracted process.

“Now, dear...” Kyria turned to Sabrina. “Alex told me about your problem. Such a curious thing. I do wish I could help.” She studied Sabrina for a long moment, then sighed. “I’m sorry, but I don’t recognize you at all.” She turned toward her brother. “She’s not one of the current crop of young girls making their come-out or any from the last several years.” She held up a finger when Alex started to speak. “It’s no use arguing. Trust me, Sabrina is far too lovely for me not to remember her.”

“Then you think she’s not from London?”

“I’m sure I wouldn’t move in the same circle as Lady Kyria,” Sabrina ventured.

“Oh, I have a very wide circle—or perhaps I should say a large number of them.” Kyria smiled. “Still, you’re right, I can scarcely know every young gentlewoman in London. But you mustn’t worry, dear. Alex will help you straighten it out.”

“There are one or two avenues still to explore,” Alex assured her. “Megan asked some fellow reporters yesterday, but she hasn’t even started on her various contacts. If there’s gossip in the taverns, Tom will find it.”

Kyria linked her arm through Sabrina’s and steered her toward the table. “Now, you must put it out of your mind. You know, when you stop thinking about where something is, you find it right off. Give it a little time. Have you met Theo yet?”

Theo, it turned out, was the black-haired man Sabrina had seen talking to Alex when she first walked in. It wasn’t hard to see he was kin to Alex. Though obviously several years older than Alex and a little more fleshed out, his eyes were the same leaf green, and his hair was as thick and dark. There was about him a more rough-and-tumble look than she would have expected in a future duke.

“Come, let me introduce you to my husband, Rafe.” Kyria led Sabrina toward a blond-haired man chatting with Uncle Bellard. Sabrina was surprised to see the diminutive, hunch-shouldered Bellard talking so volubly to anyone.

As if sensing her thoughts, Kyria said, “Rafe and Uncle Bellard are good friends. People are always surprised. They assume that Rafe’s so handsome and charming that he’s empty-headed, or that because he’s an American, he’s rather primitive—of course, that could also be because he has a sad tendency to settle things with his fists. But he and Uncle share a love of history.” She smiled fondly. “Don’t get caught in one of their conversations or you’ll soon be struggling to keep your eyes open.”

Both men stood as Kyria and Sabrina approached, Rafe’s gaze resting on his wife with such warmth and love it was almost too intimate for company. It was easy to see why he was labeled handsome and charming. The sprinkling of gray in his hair mingled unobtrusively with the pale gold strands, and his eyes were a bright blue. A neatly trimmed Vandyke beard kept his even features from being too perfect.

When Kyria introduced him, McIntyre gave Sabrina a slow smile that lit his face, then he bowed gracefully over her hand and said, “Pleasure to meet you, ma’am.”

His voice was rich and thick, like honey, with a faint slur that made it as lazy and warm as his smile. Sabrina imagined that a good number of women would not look past the charm to see the intelligence beneath. But Sabrina caught the shrewd expression in those vivid eyes, as wary as Megan’s had been, and she knew that he, too, was suspicious of her.

“Sit down and eat,” Kyria said, tugging Sabrina down into the seat beside her. “Alex, get the girl some breakfast.”

“I can do it,” Sabrina began, starting to rise.

“No, no, let Alex,” Kyria said lightly, placing a hand on her arm, and though she smiled, Sabrina wondered if Kyria, too, held some suspicions about her. “I’m so eager to chat with you, and Mother and Megan and I must be leaving soon.”

“You are going shopping?” Sabrina asked. Surely it was too early for making calls.

“Shopping?” Kyria laughed, exchanging a glance with Megan, who also seemed amused. “No. We’re going to a gathering in Downing Street.”

“Gathering?”

“Yes, it’s a little impromptu demonstration that we’ve been planning for days.” Kyria’s eyes twinkled.

“What are you demonstrating?”

“Our support for women’s suffrage,” the duchess declared. “We want to show the prime minister that we will not be put off. No matter how long it takes, we will continue to fight.”

“Mother is hoping we’ll get arrested.”

“Arrested?” Rafe turned to his wife with alarm. “You’re going to jail? Kyria... No. You can’t.”

“I can’t?” Kyria cocked an eyebrow at him.

He changed tactics, his voice turning to a wheedling tone. “Be reasonable, darling. I can’t let you rot in a cell. I’d have to break you out, and then I’d wind up there myself. What are our children going to do with two prisoners for parents?”

Kyria chuckled and patted his arm. “Don’t worry, they won’t arrest us.”

“The prime minister is terrified of the duchess,” Megan explained.

“Salisbury,” the duchess said, her mouth turning down in disgust. “That dreadful man. His beard is bigger than his brain. And his spirit is smaller than either.”

“You’ll never sway Salisbury,” Uncle Bellard told her, shaking his head. “He didn’t even want to give workingmen the vote.”

“No, of course not.” She sighed. “Still, one has to forge ahead. Someday we’ll manage to get their attention.”

“Don’t fret, Emmeline.” The duke smiled benignly at his wife and reached over to pat her hand. “I’m certain you’ll get arrested one of these days.”

The duchess laid her hand on his. “Thank you, dear.”

The conversation continued in the way Sabrina soon learned was the normal course in the Moreland household—the room was lively and noisy and filled with laughter, as there was talking across the table and down it, multiple conversations with the participants switching from one conversation to another and topics wandering all about.

At one point, Megan, across the table from Sabrina, leaned forward and said confidingly, “Yes, it’s always like this. You’ll get used to it after a while. The first few days I was here, I was surprised. It was more like my family’s mealtimes, not what I expected from the British aristocracy.”

“It’s quite...wonderful, I think.” Sabrina grinned. “I have the feeling, though, that it’s not what I’m accustomed to.”

“Still no glimmer of memory?”

“No.” Sabrina went on to tell her of her dream the night before, carefully expurgating what followed afterward with Alex. “So I wonder if I might have fallen.” She shrugged. “That seemed important information last night. Now I don’t know if that’s really any help.”

“It’s a new bit of knowledge—it’s bound to help. I promise, as soon as we’re done at the Women’s Franchise League, I’ll start making the rounds of my contacts.”

The meal wore down and the women left, with Rafe and Theo offering to escort them to their destination. Alex rose and turned to Sabrina. “Ready to investigate?”

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