Chapter 10

The Duke of W. deserved to die, dear reader. I knew it the moment I pushed him on those stairs. I watched him fall. I felt nothing.

~fromConfessions of a Sinful Earl

"You met Lord Sinclair's mistress?" Jo asked, sotto voce, as she and Callie made their way through the Westmorland House orangery the next afternoon, under the guise of Callie showing off their newest pineapples.

Aunt Fanchette was blessedly easy to avoid, especially since she was drinking champagne and plotting Callie's hasty wedding with inebriated glee.

"His former mistress," Callie corrected grimly as they reached a row of strawberry plants bursting with ripe, red fruits, which needed to be collected soon.

She did not know why she bothered to make the distinction. Perhaps because she had seen how beautiful the duchess was. Perhaps because she had taken note of the glances the earl and the duchess had exchanged. They cared for each other, and that much was certain, in spite of his vehement declaration that love was naught but a chimera. Callie could not help but to wonder, with a bitterness that did her no credit, whether or not every woman in the Earl of Sinclair's life had been a golden-haired goddess. She had never been more aware of her dark hair and eyes.

"Former mistress, then," Jo corrected, waving a hand as if it were neither here nor there.

Perhaps it was. Certainly, it ought not to matter to Callie. Even if the Earl of Sinclair had not killed his wife or Alfred, she still had no reason to feel anything for him other than resentment and hatred. He had abducted her, and he was forcing her into a marriage that was unacceptable and unwanted.

"I met her, yes," Callie agreed, biting her lip as she moved toward the lemon trees. Fat, yellow fruits hung in abundance.

The late-spring day was warm, the sun piercing the thick London fog overhead to beat through the leaden panes of the glass-domed roof. Everything in the orangery was green and lush, so very alive. Blossoming, the air perfumed with the sweet scents of blooms and exotic fruits. Filled with promise. Of all the rooms in Westmorland House, the orangery would always be one of her favorites.

She would miss it here, she realized with a sudden, stricken pang. In less than a week's time, Westmorland House would no longer be her home. Instead, she would find herself inhabiting the threadbare townhome of the Earl of Sinclair.

"And what happened when you met her, Callie?" Jo asked, dragging her from her desolate ruminations.

"She supported what Sinclair claimed," Callie conceded grudgingly.

If she were honest with herself, she would admit that her call upon the Duchess of Longleigh had left her more conflicted and confused than she had been prior to their brief interlude. She had wanted, so desperately, to be right about Sinclair. Because if she was wrong about him, then she had been so blinded by her grief over Alfred's death that she had ruined an innocent man. But the duchess, who had been gracious and welcoming despite the unprecedented awkwardness of the situation, had seemed ingenuous.

"Do you believe her?" Jo asked, eyes wide, concern evident in her expression.

There was sympathy, also.

They both knew Callie was facing a lifetime of misery in a loveless marriage.

She closed her eyes for a moment, shaking her head to banish the image of the duchess, so serene and beautiful, a veritable Madonna, in her green gown with her growing belly on display. The earl had denied the child was his. But depending upon the timing of the dissolution of their arrangement, there was every possibility he was the father. The knowledge lent another layer of sorrow to her predicament.

Her eyes fluttered open again to the stark brightness of the sun and her friend's worried visage. "I think I do believe her, Jo. She seemed honest. She certainly has no reason to lie, particularly if their association is truly at an end, as he claims."

Jo raised a brow. "Who is she?"

Callie shook her head. For although she trusted Jo implicitly, she had promised secrecy to the Duchess of Longleigh. Or Tilly, as the earl had called her. The reminder of the intimate manner in which he had addressed his mistress—former mistress—still nettled. However, she intended to hold true to her promise.

"I am not at liberty to divulge her name," Callie explained. "I promised her I would not tell a soul. All I can say is she was not any of the names on the list we compiled. He was discreet with her."

Speaking that observation aloud sent another unsettling emotion through her. She refused to believe it was jealousy. It was nothing of the kind. Most assuredly not. All she could say for certain was that Sinclair was very protective of the Duchess of Longleigh.

There was that stab of something decidedly unwanted once more.

She tamped it down. Forced it to go away. Ignored it.

"I understand," Jo said easily. "Think nothing of it. What I care most about is that you are not about to tie yourself to a murderer."

Not long ago, she had been absolutely certain. Convinced of the suspicious timing of the deaths. Of Sinclair's motive—the man who had been cuckolding him, the wife who had. One by one.

And yet, she was increasingly conflicted.

Increasingly unsure.

She wet her suddenly dry lips. "God help me, Jo, I do not know. Part of me wants to go on believing what I always have. The facts have not changed. Alfred died in the midst of the night in a fall down the stairs. The earl was one of the last people to see him alive, and they argued. Lady Sinclair died suddenly afterward. It makes sense that he was responsible for both deaths, and yet…"

She allowed her words to trail off.

"And yet," Jo prompted softly.

"And yet, the d—his former mistress, told me that Lady Sinclair intentionally drank poison, that she was unwell," Callie said, correcting herself before she revealed more than she intended. "Her death was not sudden in the sense I had supposed, nor inexplicable. If she died by her own hand, the earl could not have been responsible."

Because of her brother, Benny's, close ties to Scotland Yard, she had been able to discuss her suspicions with a detective. However, as far as she knew, the case had never been pursued. She had been told repeatedly that the fall had been an accident. She had assumed it had been because Sinclair was a peer of the realm. However, now, she was no longer so sure.

What if he had never been investigated because his wife had truly ended her life at her own hand? What if the previous Lady Sinclair had indeed been mad? And what if Alfred's death had really been an accident? He could have been walking in his sleep. Or perhaps inebriated, though it was rare that he imbibed…

"But even if Lady Sinclair took her own life, the earl still could have pushed your brother down the stairs that night," Jo pointed out, frowning.

"He could have, yes." Callie paused for a moment while she gathered her thoughts. "His former mistress vouched for his presence there with her for the entire night, however. She does not strike me as the sort of woman who would lie about such a thing. Indeed, lying to me would serve her no purpose now."

That was what bothered Callie the most. The duchess had no reason to protect Sinclair. Indeed, it hardly seemed that admitting what she had to Callie yesterday had been worth the risk for her. The other woman's reluctance had been almost palpable. It was that hesitation, more than anything else, which suggested she told the truth.

"Do you believe he is innocent, Callie?"

Jo's question was the very same one which had been churning endlessly in her own mind since the day before.

"I do not want to," she admitted. "Because if he is, it means I ruined him for no reason. It means I was wrong, and that I must beg his forgiveness. That I must somehow make amends for what I have done."

"Marrying him would certainly make amends," Jo observed grimly. "Do not forget the man abducted you, spirited you away from London, and refused to return you to your home until you agreed to become his wife. To say nothing of his reputation. There is a reason why he is known as Sin."

Jo shuddered.

A frisson went down Callie's spine. Again, she thought of his kiss. His touch.

She swallowed hard. "What would you do, Jo, if you were me? No matter what I choose, I am doomed. I cannot bear for this to become Benny's problem. He and Isabella have been through so much. And it is possible that I owe Lord Sinclair."

"You have to do whatever you feel is right, deep in your heart." Jo sighed. "Oh, Callie. I do wish you were not in such a dreadful position. I beg of you, contact your brother. Ask for his help."

Callie was not going to make her problem Benny's problem. She loved him far too much for that.

"I have already promised myself to the earl," she said, resolute. "I must be a woman of my word."

And hope for the best.

Young intruded upon their tête-à-tête suddenly then, his expression pained as he appeared at the threshold of the orangery, visible at the end of the row of persimmon and lemon trees. "I beg your pardon for the intrusion, Lady Calliope. However, the Earl of Sinclair has arrived. I did tell him you were not at home, but he refuses to leave."

He was here.

The air fled her lungs.

"Shall I speak to him for you?" Jo whispered. "I would be more than happy to box his ears. Or punch him in the nose."

Her friend's staunch support won a reluctant smile from Callie. "No, dearest. But I do thank you for always championing me. I am afraid this particular monster is one I must slay on my own." To the butler, she added in a louder voice, "See him to the private library, if you please, Young, and ask him to await me there."

Sin was not a patient man.

Which was why being told his betrothed was not at home left him infuriated. When the supercilious butler finally returned, wearing a pained expression of dislike, and escorted him to a small library to await Lady Calliope, he had gritted his teeth with so much force his jaw ached. Now, having paced the length of the chamber at least two dozen times, his strides eating up the luxurious carpets, he was more than annoyed.

He was irritated.

Infuriated.

Angrier than a hive of bees which had just been prodded with an unforgiving stick.

He reached into his waistcoat and extracted his pocket watch to consult the time yet again. She had kept him waiting for half a bloody hour already. How much longer would she force him to stand here like a vassal awaiting his queen?

Devil take Lady Calliope Manning. She was an asp dressed in silken skirts. And occasionally silken divided skirts, as she had informed him.

"Trousers," he muttered to himself, nettled that his own mind even seemed to be kowtowing to the vexing creature.

The reason for his call was simple. He was not convinced he had allayed Lady Calliope's fears with their visit to Tilly the previous day. And whilst he hardly desired to play the role of dutiful swain and see her once more, it was necessary.

But the cursed woman had yet to materialize.

Biting off a curse, he stalked toward the closed library door, incensed and determined to find her hiding place and haul her from it. By God, she would cease playing games with him. Yesterday, she had made him cool his heels for half an hour. Today, she was up to more of the same nonsense.

No more, he vowed.

The library door opened when he was within three strides of reaching it. Lady Calliope hovered on the threshold, ridiculously fetching in a day gown of plum and mauve with pale-pink roses trimming the bodice and a flounce of blonde lace on her skirts. She looked like a bloody queen, regal and perfect, her dark hair piled high on her crown and curling tendrils framing her face.

As with every time he laid eyes upon her, Sin felt as if a fist landed firmly in his gut. And then his prick instantly twitched to life. More reasons to resent her.

Damn her beautiful hide.Why did he have to want her the way he did?

He forced himself to bow, recalling that he must maintain civility. At least until she was his in name and deed. "Lady Calliope."

She, however, refused to curtsy. Instead, she swept into the library, all elegant poise. She looked upon him as if he were beneath her. As if he were a puddle that had ruined the hem of her gown.

He would ruin far more than her gown before they were through.

"Lord Sinclair." She moved past him in a swish of skirts and the decadent, sweet scent of lavender and tuberose.

She had left the door ajar. As an ode to propriety? Hardly, he thought. Aunt Featherhead would not even care if he were to throw Lady Calliope over his shoulder and take her home. More likely because Lady Calliope did not trust him.

Fair enough. He hardly trusted her, either.

Sin stalked toward the offending portal and snapped it shut before turning on his heel to face the woman who would become his countess in a few days' time. "You are not pleased to see me, darling beloved? I cannot fathom why not."

"I was not expecting you, my lord," she gritted.

He moved toward her, drawn by more than an urge to unsettle her. Drawn to her for her, damn it all. She was the opposite of every woman he had known before her, and somehow, it heightened his desire.

"Do you need to expect me?" he asked. "I am, after all, your betrothed, am I not? A few short days from now, you will take my name and become mine."

He would be lying if he said the prospect did not bring his cock to a raging state of awareness. He was the hardest he had been since he had awoke pressed against her at Helston Hall.

Her defiance was on full display now, her shoulders back, chin up. "I will never be yours, my lord. I will always be my own person, even in the event of our marriage."

In the event, she had said, as if their nuptials were not a foregone conclusion.

As if they were a possibility instead of an absolute.

"Are you suggesting we will not wed?" he asked carefully, noting the manner in which she withdrew from him.

For each step he took forward, she took one in retreat. The trouble with her strategy was that in another few feet, she would reach a wall. For a moment, he thought about capturing her there. Pressing his body to hers, pinning her to the dark damask and taking her mouth, then lifting her skirts…

No.

He had not come here to seduce her. He had come here to make certain, once and for all, that she would become his bride. He had met with Westmorland's solicitor earlier that morning. Lady Calliope had reached her majority, as he had already made certain. She could marry without her brother's approval. Her dowry was unimpeachable.

And soon, it would be his salvation.

First, he had to make certain she would not attempt to thwart him.

"I am not suggesting we will not wed," she denied, sounding breathless, her eyes wide.

He had been so caught up in his turbulent thoughts he had failed to realize they had indeed reached the end of the room. There was nowhere else for her to flee. Her back hit the wall.

Perfect.

He stalked nearer. "Then what were you suggesting, princess?"

She licked her lips. "I was suggesting that I am my own person. Now. Always. You will not own me."

He knew he should have mercy for her, but he had none. He moved closer still. Until his body was aligned with hers. Until her petticoats and skirts surged into his legs. Until he was so near to her that her warm breath fanned over his lips in the prelude to a kiss.

A kiss he wanted to take. A kiss he had to take.

Right bloody now.

He dipped his head and claimed her lips for his own. Her mouth was soft and supple, giving and hot, so hot. Hotter than the fire in his blood, raging with the need to possess her. She did not resist. Instead, she sighed into his mouth, and her hands settled on his shoulders. Not pushing him away. Her fingers dug into him, spurring him on.

Everything about her was fierce. Each time they kissed, it was feral. Elemental. They were two wild creatures, madly clashing. He thought of the first time he had taken her lips, of how she had bitten his tongue until she had drawn blood. Oddly, the memory only heightened his driving need.

His cock pressed against the fall of his trousers with painful insistence, and his ballocks ached. His body cried out with the need to raise that gown and plunge inside her. But he would not do it. Not yet.

For now, he would mollify his ravenous lust with her mouth.

He sucked on her lower lip, taking his time, consuming her. She tasted sweet, like chocolate. When he caught that fullness between his teeth and nipped, she made a small mewl. Sin took her face in his hands, holding her still for his onslaught. Her skin was smoother than silk. Her pulse beat a wild pattern.

She wanted him as much as he wanted her. He was certain of it. What a pair they were—two enemies who despised each other. Together, they were combustible. Who would have thought? Perhaps their marriage bed would not be a cold place after all.

Still taking his time, Sin kissed the corners of her lips, then the perfectly formed upper bow. Her mouth was gorgeous. Made for sinning. Made for kisses. It was the color of crushed berries and just as succulent. He wondered how it would feel, wrapped around his aching cockstand.

Groaning, Sin deepened the kiss. His tongue swept inside her mouth slowly. He explored her, running his tongue against hers, the velvet recesses beyond. She tasted even sweeter, even more delicious. And her lips were moving against his. Her tongue slid into his mouth, too. One quick foray. A silken glide.

Fuck.

He had not anticipated the surge of overwhelming desire that little flick of her tongue sent through him. He had never expected to want her this much. Her response made an answering pulse of need throb to life. His fingers sank into the sleek upsweep of her dark hair, finding pins and plucking.

The need to dismantle her careful toilette hit him, full-force.

He wanted to mark her. To claim her in every way. He wanted her to see her reflection later, in the glass, and remember he was the one who had kissed her senseless, let down her hair. To remember she would be his.

And soon.

Not soon enough.

Pins were dropping, and her hair was falling around her shoulders in thick, luxurious curls. He bit her lip gently and then forced himself to break the kiss. Instead, he kissed her chin, her jaw. He found her wildly flitting pulse, opened his mouth over the creamy skin of her throat. He nipped and sucked, wanting her to see that mark, as well. The evidence he had touched and kissed her, that she had liked it. He scraped her sensitive skin with his teeth.

She purred like a cat.

Damn, but that sound nearly undid him. He wanted to hear her make it again and again. He wanted her to cry out his name as he thrust into her. He wanted…

"Ahem."

The loud, pointed clearing of a feminine throat dashed his thoughts of what he wanted. His blood roared in his ears, his heart thundering, lust coursing through him like a flooded river.

But there was an intruder, and he had gone too far.

Sin lifted his head and stepped away from Lady Calliope, whose eyes were dazed and so dark they were almost obsidian. Her lips were swollen from his kisses, her hair a tangle of brunette curls around her face, and the creamy flesh of her throat was pink from the abrasion of his whiskers. The roaring in his ears continued. He liked the way she looked, thoroughly ravished and utterly his.

Turning away from her required summoning all the control he had. But they had an audience, and even a man with a reputation as depraved as his knew he could not make love to his betrothed against a wall whilst someone else looked on.

Well, he could…

Grinding his jaw against the wicked thought, Sin turned, taking care to block Lady Calliope from view with his larger body. The aunt stood there, her eyes wide.

"Mademoiselle Beaulieu," he greeted, just barely keeping himself from calling her Aunt Feather-wit.

He offered her as courtly a bow as he could manage whilst sporting a determined cockstand.

"Lord Sinclair," she returned, dipping into an abbreviated curtsy. "Forgive me for the interruption. However, it would appear it was rather timely, n'est-ce pas?"

He raised a brow, attempting to look shame-faced. In truth, he was well-pleased by those kisses. "I am sorry. There is no excuse for my behavior. My sole defense is that I cannot wait to make my betrothed my countess. Pardon me for my lapse in judgment, I beg you."

"I understand young hearts all too well," said the aunt. "I had one, once, long ago now."

He took a moment to study her, truly. She had the same dark hair and eyes as Lady Calliope, but that was where the similarities ended. Still, she was a handsome enough woman.

Lady Calliope emerged from hiding then, frowning as her fingers fumbled to restore her coiffure to its previous state, to no avail. "Forgive us, Tante Fanchette. It was remiss of me to meet Lord Sinclair alone."

"Just a few more days, and then the two of you will have the rest of your lives together," said the aunt, her tone cautioning. "I have already been remiss in my duties. Westmorland will never forgive me if there are any further lapses in propriety, and nor will I forgive myself."

"Lord Sinclair was just about to take his leave, Tante Fanchette," Lady Calliope said, casting him a furtive glance of warning.

Actually, it was more glare than warning. The virago was angry with him. Likely, she was probably angry with herself as well for having responded to him in the manner she had. Such glorious fire. He could scarcely wait to bed her.

"Do not be silly," said her aunt, waving a dismissive hand in the air. "Tea is ready, and of course his lordship must join us. I insist. We are to be family soon, after all. I must have time to better acquaint myself with him before my darling niece becomes his bride."

"He cannot stay," Lady Calliope said.

Sin grinned. "It would be my honor to join you both for tea."

If looks could kill, his betrothed would have slit his throat. "I distinctly recall you saying you had other engagements for the afternoon."

Did she truly think she could be rid of him that easily, particularly if his remaining would nettle her as much as he supposed? Foolish Lady Ruthless. He was made of sterner stuff than that.

"Nothing could be more important than spending time with my beloved betrothed and her aunt," he returned with false gallantry.

"It is settled," said the aunt decisively. "Do come with me, the two of you. No more nonsense!"

Lady Calliope's lips pinched. Sin's grin deepened.

Oh, yes. The wedding night was going to be one delicious clash indeed.