Read To Sin With A Stranger for Free Online

drink.” Isobel glanced at the fighter again, this time with a little compassion and understanding.
    Christiana squeezed Isobel’s arm, forcing her attention back to the story she was telling. “There is more. As the Sinclair children grew older, they seemed to embrace the sins Society had labeled them with. Sterling, the Marquess of Blackburn, is cursed with greed.” Christiana turned her eyes toward the fighter, and Isobel followed her gaze. “Lady Siusan epitomizes sloth, and Lady Ivy, the copper-haired beauty, envy.”
    “This is nonsense.”
    “Is it?” Christiana continued. “Lord Lachlan is a wicked rake. No wonder his weakness is lust. Lord Grant, the one with the lace cuffs, is said to have a taste for luxury and indulgence. His sin is gluttony. The twins are said to be the worst of all.” She feigned a shudder.
    “Why do you say that?” Isobel pinned her friend with her gaze. “What are their supposed sins?”
    Christiana raised her nose toward the Sinclair with a sheath of hair so dark that it almost appeared a deep blue. “Lord Killian’s sin is wrath. Whispers suggest that he is the true fighter in the family, but his anger is too quick and fierce. Why, there is even one rumor that claims that he actually killed a man who merely looked at his twin sister! That’s her, there. Lady Priscilla. Just look at her with her haughty chin turned toward the chandelier—here, in a room full of nobility! Her sin is, quite clearly, pride.”
    “Nonsense! I do not believe it,” Isobel countered. “I do not believe any of the story. The tale is naught but idle gossip.”
    “I believe it.” Christiana set her one hand on her hip and waved the other in the air as she spoke. “Why else would they have come to London, if not to leave their sinful reputations behind in Scotland?”
    “I am sure I do not know.” Isobel saw Christiana’s jaw drop, and then felt the presence of someone behind her.
    “Perhaps I have come to London to ask you to dance with me, lassie.” His rich Scottish brogue resonated in her ears, making her vibrate with his every word.
    Isobel whirled around and stared up into the grinning face of none other than the marquess.
    “I apologize, I would address you by name, but alas, I don’t know what it is. Only that you are easily the most beautiful woman in this assembly room.” Before she could blink, he reached a bare hand toward her, startling her. He saw her staring at it and was compelled to explain. “I beg your pardon.” He moved his hands away, but held his right fist before her as though he meant it as proof of his coming assertion. “My hands are too swollen and injured to fit into gloves. The patronesses understand my lack of gloves has nothing to do with lack of respect.” He chuckled softly. “And there are some advantages to forgoing gloves.” Within an instant, he raised his knuckles, stitched with black threads, and brushed the backs of his fingers across her cheek—just as he’d done at the club. He sucked in a surprised breath. “English lasses don’t stir me the way you do. You must be a wee bit Scottish.”
    Isobel gasped, drew back her own hand, and gave his cheek a stinging slap. “My lord, you overstep!”
    “I only wished to ask you to dance.”
    “Dance?
To dance? You caressed my cheek. You humiliated me, made light of my charity and my attempts to help widows and orphans of war. Why would I ever agree to dance with an ill-mannered rogue like you?”
    “Because I asked, and I saw the way you were looking at me when I entered the assembly rooms.” He lifted an eyebrow teasingly, bringing to the surface a rage Isobel could not rein in. She slapped his face again with such force that his head wrenched to the left.
    He raised his hand to his cheek. “Not bad. Have you thought about pugilism as a profession?” He grinned at her again.
    Isobel stepped around Sterling Sinclair, the beast of Blackburn, and started for her father. But the minister was