Sinjin Read online

  Sinjin

  The Rakehells of Rochester, #1

  J.A. Templeton

  SINJIN, The Rakehells of Rochester #1 by J.A. Templeton

  Copyright © Julia Templeton 2017

  Previously published by the Penguin Group in 2008

  Revised and updated August 2017

  ISBN: 978-1-939863-21-8

  Cover Illustration by: Wicked Smart Designs

  Editing by: The Passionate Proofreader

  This book is a work of fiction. Characters and events portrayed in this book are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or actual events is entirely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  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

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Also by J.A. Templeton

  About the Author

  1

  London, England

  Sinjin and his brothers had barely crossed the threshold into Madame Darion’s Pleasure Palace, when they were welcomed by a bevy of whores in the large, smoke-filled room. Men of all ages lounged on gaudy red velvet settees and worn chairs, accompanied by alluring women who willingly offered what their wives or mistresses would not.

  “Sinjin, you are everything a man should be.”

  Sinjin looked up from the pair of immense breasts belonging to Paris, a French whore who had straddled him mere seconds before.

  Paris rotated her hips in a way that had Sinjin clenching his teeth. “And you are everything a woman should be, my dear.” He lightly bit the slope of one luscious, creamy-white globe.

  Her rouged lips curved in a coy smile. “I imagine you say that to all your women, my lord.”

  “All my women?” He placed a hand over his heart, doing his best to look hurt. “Paris, you wound me.”

  “Everyone knows your reputation, my lord. What is the nickname for you and your brothers—the Rakehells of Rochester?” She gave a low, throaty laugh. “You are a wicked one, Sin.”

  He mentally groaned at the mention of the nickname that had been whispered throughout ballrooms and brothels from Rochester to London of late. True, he and his brothers had a fierce appetite for women, but to label them all as rakehells was a bit extreme. “You should not be listening to idle gossip, Paris.”

  “Do you mean to tell me the rumors aren’t true?” She actually sounded disappointed.

  “Not a word,” he replied.

  Her lips quirked. “Somehow I doubt that.”

  Sensing that someone watched him, he glanced to the right to find a full-lipped brunette dressed in a daring gown made of cream lace staring at him with a wanton smile. Tall and long-legged, she sat on a settee in a most arousing way, showing him in one glance what she had to offer.

  Paris’s fingers brushed through his hair, her nails digging into his scalp. Ignoring the brunette for the time being, he leaned in and kissed Paris, his tongue brushing against the seam of her lips, seeking entry.

  She tasted of mint and brandy, but her technique left little to be desired—too little tongue and too much teeth.

  “What’s your pleasure, my lord?” she asked before kissing a trail to the sensitive curve of his ear.

  Blood coursed through his veins, straight to his cock. “I am up for anything.”

  Her brows lifted as she looked down between them. “Yes, you most certainly are.”

  Paris’s slender fingers slid down his chest and abdomen, past the band of his pants, to caress his cock from root to tip.

  Setting his drink on a nearby table before he toppled it, he kissed Paris again, becoming ever aware of the brunette who watched them intently. Did he have enough money for a ménage à trios? he wondered, mentally calculating the money he had in his coat pocket. If all else failed, he could always send Jeffries back to the townhouse for more.

  “Perhaps you can buy me for the entire night, my lord,” Paris whispered against his lips, her hand gripping him tighter. “I will make it worth your while, I promise.”

  “I think we can do without the formality, love. Call me Sinjin.”

  “I would rather call you Sin—because that is what you are—sinful.” She bit his lower lip and sucked on it. “I want every inch of your long, thick sex inside me.”

  Aroused by her sensual words, Sinjin could not keep the smile from his lips. “I am more than happy to oblige.”

  She lifted her skirts a little, and taking one of his hands within her own, guided him to her slick folds. “Do you feel what you do to me?”

  “You are hot, sweet Paris.”

  “I am on fire, Sin. Shall we venture up to my room?”

  He was ready to ask if the brunette could join them when his brother Victor appeared out of nowhere, a panicked expression on his face. “Mother is here.”

  Sinjin shook his head, hoping he had misunderstood. “Pardon?”

  Victor glanced nervously over his shoulder before turning back to Sinjin. “Mother is here, as we speak.”

  Sinjin laughed, but Victor did not share his amusement.

  “I am not joking, Sinjin. Mother is here. Jeffries said she has been circling the block for the past five minutes.” He brushed a hand through his dark curls, a habit he’d had since a boy, especially whenever he was anxious. “Where the hell is Rory? We have got to find him and get out of here.”

  Sinjin’s heart slammed against his chest. Dear God, he wasn’t kidding. Jeffries, their trusted valet and faithful servant, would never jest about something as serious as their mother staking out a whorehouse in Covent Garden in the dead of night. “What in God’s name is Mother doing in London?”

  “Looking for her sons, I imagine,” Victor said absently. “We must get Rory and leave by the back way, posthaste.”

  Sinjin turned to Paris. “Show us the way out.”

  Paris frowned. “You cannot stay?”

  “Not tonight, but I shall return, and when I do, I will make it up to you.”

  “Promise?” she asked, her lower lip jutting out.

  “Of course,” he said, having no such inclination. If their mother was in London, it meant his time in the fair city had come to an end.

  “There he is,” Victor said, relief in his voice as he located their youngest sibling. No surprise, Rory had a redhead up against the wall—his lower body moving in a suggestive motion. The whore’s arms were wound tight about his broad shoulders, her fingers messing his too-long hair.

  Victor tapped him on the shoulder, and Rory turned abruptly, looking none too happy about being interrupted. “Jesus Christ, Vic! Do you mind?” He glanced at Sinjin and frowned. “Bloody hell, you both look like you have seen a ghost.”

  “Even worse, I’m afraid,” Victor said, grabbing Rory’s jacket off the back of a chair and handing it to him. “Mother is here.”

  The color drained from Rory’s cheeks as his gaze skipped to something, or rather someone, just beyond Sinjin’s shoulder.

  The hair on the back of Sinjin’s neck stood on end. His worst fear was realized when his mother’
s voice rang out loud and clear from behind him. “You boys will be the death of me, I swear it!”

  * * *

  “What in heaven’s name did I ever do to deserve such grief?” Betsy Rayborne placed an age-spotted hand over her heart. “I have been a good mother to the three of you, and what do I get in return—rumors of scandalous behavior, that’s what. Do you know you have acquired a nickname?” She shook her head in disgust. “The Rakehells of Rochester! How utterly humiliating!”

  Sitting between his brothers on the only couch in their mother’s opulent hotel suite, Sinjin remained silent. A difficult feat when Betsy kept berating him for his brothers’ steady slide into a life of debauchery.

  “I cannot count the number of times I have heard that deplorable nickname in the past few weeks. And you are in London, for God’s sake! Why does all of Rochester know what you have been up to in London?”

  “Mother, perhaps you should sit down,” Victor said, concern marring his brow.

  Betsy ignored the request and leveled him with a look that made him flinch.

  “I could have perished from embarrassment last week when Lady Walbery said she had heard the three of you were servicing everyone, from a certain duke’s own sister to the lowest of servants.” Her gaze shifted to Rory. “How many times have I told you not to frolic with the help, darling? One time is all that is needed for you to regret your actions. Lord knows how many bastards you have scattered throughout England already. I do not desire a constant reminder of your insatiable lust running around one of my estates.”

  “Mother, they are mere rumors,” Rory said, only to receive a ferocious scowl for his trouble.

  “I dragged you and your brothers out of a filthy, dirty whorehouse this evening. Please do not speak to me as you would to one of your many witless mistresses.”

  Rory swallowed hard and took a sudden interest in his boots.

  None of them had a mistress at the moment, witless or otherwise, but Sinjin was not about to argue with her.

  “And what kind of an example are you setting for your brothers, Sinjin?” she asked in a high-pitched voice that had him recalling a time from his youth when he had drank his father’s vodka and refilled the bottle with water. His mother had seen to it, by way of a paddle she had nicknamed “the truth seeker,” to give him his due. He had been unable to sit for a solid week.

  “I am sorry for any distress I have caused, Mother.”

  He might have saved his breath, for she did not even hear his apology. “I honestly believed you invited Victor and Rory to London to convince them what mature, well-respected men of good breeding could accomplish with their lives. I had been so proud to hear how active you have been on the family’s behalf.”

  He did not have the heart to tell her the only reason his brothers had traded the city of Rochester for London was because Rory’s previous mistress had turned to stalking him whenever he would leave the estate. “Mother, I am—”

  “Instead, you encourage your siblings to live a hedonistic lifestyle I find absolutely appalling.”

  He glanced at the clock. They were nearing the quarter-of-an-hour mark, and she did not look at all ready to stop her tirade.

  She cleared her throat loudly and focused her attention on Victor. “When I heard rumors you had become involved with a London actress, I defended you to the end, telling all my friends how preposterous the very idea was, that you, my quiet, studious son, would never consider an actress as a love interest. However, I have recently learned how very little I know about all of my sons.” She pulled a kerchief from her sleeve and dabbed at an imaginary tear. “How could you not see through her lies, Vicky?”

  When Victor opened his mouth to defend his actions, Sinjin elbowed him, and his brother wisely pressed his lips together.

  “And what of you, Rory? True, you are handsome to be sure, as are all of my boys,” she said with a smile that did not begin to reach her eyes, “but sometimes looks can be a curse. One day there will be a woman who comes into your life—and God willing, she will bring you to your knees. Looks fade with time, my dear boy. All you have is what is here.” She pressed a hand to her heart. “This is what makes you the man you are. And start using this for a change,” she said, tapping a firm finger to his forehead.

  She paced the floor before them, arms crossed over her chest. “I always hoped you would each find the love of your lives one day. Indeed, I had hoped it would happen long before now, especially for you, Sinjin.”

  She stopped and took a deep, steadying breath.

  Sinjin straightened his shoulders, wary of her next words.

  “You are over thirty now, Sinjin, and Victor and Rory, you are not far behind.” She sighed dramatically. “I am not getting any younger, nor are the three of you. And that is why I have decided you shall all marry this summer.”

  Rory came off the couch like it had caught fire. “No!”

  Their mother’s brows lifted nearly to her hairline. “Sit down, Rory.”

  Rory sat down, albeit slowly.

  Sinjin felt Rory staring at him, no doubt hoping big brother would come to the rescue.

  When Sinjin could once again catch his breath, he sat forward. “Mother, since I am the eldest, I assume you are specifically speaking to me?”

  Betsy’s lips split into a mischievous smile. “No, my dearest. By the end of this summer, all three of you will be married and well on your way to making your father and me the happiest of parents—and, God willing, grandparents.”

  Rory ran a trembling hand down his face. “Sinjin, for Christ’s sake, do something,” he muttered under his breath.

  Taking his life in his hands, Sinjin stood. “It is rather ambitious of you to marry all of us off, wouldn’t you say, Mother?”

  She arched a brow. “You question my capabilities, dear?”

  Oh God.

  “Not at all, Mother. You are capable of anything you set your mind to.” He chose his next words carefully, knowing full well they could be his last. “But would it not cause suspicion if all three of us became engaged at the same time?”

  “Exactly!” Rory exclaimed. “The ton would think we were on the brink of ruin.”

  Betsy shrugged. “Or they would assume your parents have grown weary of your childish behavior—and finally gave you all an ultimatum that has been long in coming.”

  Sinjin tried another tactic. “The end of summer is less than four months away, Mother. Most courtships last that long and oftentimes stretch longer. Then comes the wedding itself. Therefore, perhaps you could give this little venture a bit more time.”

  “Do not think for a moment I will relent on this matter.” She pursed her lips in a way that made Sinjin nervous. “I am tired of waiting for the three of you to settle down, so I have no choice but to put your feet to the fire, so to speak. Hear me and hear me well, my dears. Each of you will marry, and you shall do so by summer’s end.”

  “Sinjin is right, Mother. This seems all rather ambitious,” Victor said, a slight edge to his voice.

  “Ambitious? Yes, perhaps it is,” she said, picking an imaginary string from her skirts. “However, I am extremely motivated.”

  Feeling the invisible noose growing tighter about his neck, Sinjin asked, “Father knows of this?”

  Betsy nodded. “Not only does he know…he encourages the plan. In fact, it was your father who came up with the ingenious idea to throw a party at Claymoore Hall to find potential brides for each of you.”

  Rory brushed his hands through his hair. “And what if we refuse?”

  Betsy gave a wicked laugh and smiled genuinely for the first time all evening. “You will lose everything.”

  2

  Katelyn Davenport watched the passing landscape out the carriage window, relieved to be away from the stuffy mansion that had been her prison these past three weeks. Not even the gray clouds overhead could dampen her spirits.

  “I am sorry to take you away from your betrothed, Katelyn. Was Lord Balliford terribly
disappointed you left Rose Alley?” Marilyn asked, twirling a lock of dark hair around her finger.

  Katelyn forced a smile. Only ten months apart in age, the two shared everything. However, for the first time in her life, she struggled with keeping the truth to herself in order to ease Marilyn’s fears about her upcoming marriage. “Ronald is so busy with his ledgers and looking after the crops, he will scarcely know I have left.”

  “How very dreadful,” Marilyn murmured, patting Katelyn’s knee. “How come you did not mention this in your letters? Here you had me believing you were happy.”

  Unable to stand the sympathy in her sister’s steady blue gaze, Katelyn looked out the window again, catching a glimpse of her reflection as she did so. Dark circles framed her green eyes, and her auburn hair made her pale skin seem even more so.

  “Katelyn, what is it?”

  Katelyn glanced at her sister. “I did not mention my unhappiness because I did not want you spending your time worrying about me.”

  “I am your sister. I will always worry about you.” Marilyn pressed her lips together. “What is life at Rose Alley really like?”

  More horrible than you could possibly imagine. “The only time I see Ronald is at dinner, which I suppose can be a godsend.”

  “Why is that?”

  “I am under the impression that he cares little for me. He hands out few compliments and always finds something wrong in my appearance.”

  “Such as?”

  Katelyn shrugged. “Such as…the neckline of my gown is far too low to be considered ladylike, or I am not sitting up straight enough. He says I am too thin, and yet when I put more than one lump of sugar in my tea, he warns me that I do not want to grow fat.”