The Art of Sinning by Sabrina Jeffries

Edwin wouldn’t budge, he returned to London. Meanwhile I was relegated to the schoolroom until she died.”
    â€œAnd that bothers you?”
    â€œI would have liked to stay with her. It’s not as if I learned much anyway, sitting up here trying not to think about Mama coughing away downstairs.”
    â€œBut your brother was right. It was no sight for a child of ten. And where was your brother Samuel in all this?”
    â€œStill at school. Edwin and I were the only ones here. He spent his days in Mama’s bedchamber, repairing automatons, and his nights trying to comfort me.”
    â€œWhich your father should have been doing.”
    Anger flared in her eyes. “Papa said he hated sickrooms. So we didn’t see him until the funeral.”
    Now she looked tragic. So tragic that he could hardly bear to put the image to paper. God rot her father. What sort of man abandoned his children at such a time?
    â€œEdwin made excuses for him,” she went on, “said that Papa couldn’t handle the loss of Mama, but I always knew there was more to it than that. Because it seemed to me that he handled it perfectly well. He went off to London and never gave it another thought.” She glanced at Jeremy. “Rather like you, abandoning your sister.”
    The attack took him off guard. He could understand how she might look at it that way, especially since it was uncomfortably close to the truth.
    Unfortunately, defending his actions would meanrevealing some of his darkest secrets, and he wasn’t about to do that. Not with her, not with anyone. He could barely stand to think about the past, much less talk of it.
    Best just to let her believe him being as irresponsible as her father.
    So, as always when the conversation veered out of his control, he changed the subject.

Seven
    â€œSpeaking of London,” Mr. Keane said, “I’ve arranged for our brothel visit. I should have told you before, but I forgot.”
    â€œYou forgot ?” Yvette was cold and sore and growing more annoyed by the moment with sitting for the artist.
    â€œIf you’ll recall, when you first came up here you were a bit . . . unsettled.”
    â€œOh. True.” Until this afternoon, she hadn’t been in their schoolroom in years, and the idea of spending her nights in here with him had made her uncomfortable.
    Little had she guessed it would end up being nothing to the discomfort of lying sideways on a hard wooden table, wearing hardly anything, with her arm resting across her face. No wonder he’d asked repeatedly about her well-being earlier. Her left foot was going to sleep. So was her right hand.
    And he was still only sketching her. She hadn’tseen him pick up a paintbrush yet. For that matter, she didn’t see any brushes or paints at all.
    â€œAnyway,” he said, “I’m telling you now.”
    Telling her what? Oh, yes. That he’d arranged for their brothel visit. “However did you manage it?”
    â€œI engaged the help of my cousin Zoe.”
    Yvette stared at him in horror. “You told her I wanted to visit a bawdy house?”
    â€œDon’t be absurd.” He chose another charcoal. “I told her I needed her to throw a masquerade ball as soon as possible. She was more than happy to oblige, since she owes me a favor.”
    â€œThat must be some favor.”
    â€œYou have no idea,” he muttered. “In any case, the ball is at the end of next week. You and your brother should receive the invitation tomorrow.”
    â€œOh, dear.”
    He shot her a sharp glance over the top of the canvas. “What?”
    â€œEdwin hates masquerades.”
    â€œYour brother appears to hate everything.”
    She bit back a smile. “It does seem that way, doesn’t it? But honestly, he can be very winning when I can coax him out of himself. He broods too much.”
    â€œI noticed.”
    â€œDon’t