Chapter 19

There is beauty in cruelty, dear reader. There is madness in each of us, waiting for the right moment. Will I kill again? Only time shall tell…

~fromConfessions of a Sinful Earl

"Tell me everything," Jo announced the moment they had settled in for tea.

Callie had been a married woman for almost a month. Finally, she had ventured out for the first time, realizing that she could not forever remain trapped in her new home, alternating her time between mooning over her husband and overseeing the new domestics and redecorating.

So, she had emerged into the world once more, paying her best friend a call. Her marriage had thus far been surprisingly, startlingly happy. She had spent each night in Sin's bed, learning his body in the same way he did hers. He had even selected a stool to keep at his bedside for her use. Of course, their lovemaking had not been limited to his chamber or the evening. He seemed to be on a mission to make love to her in each room of the townhome, at least once.

Her cheeks went hot. She could not very well tell Jo everything.

"What do you wish to know?" she evaded.

"You are flushing!" Jo observed. "You look ridiculously happy, dearest. The earl is not mistreating you, I take it?"

"Quite the opposite," she admitted.

"That is wonderful," her friend exclaimed, grinning.

"Perhaps too wonderful," Callie said on a rush.

All the emotions that had been building within her over the course of the last month were ready to be set free. All the longing, the fears, the desire, the need, the dread, the caring, heavens help her, the love…

Jo frowned at her. "What is the matter, Callie? I would think the earl treating you well would be a source of relief for you. Not long ago, he was your bitter enemy. Do you trust him now?"

"I do." Callie sighed, searching for the proper words to convey the confusing mix of feelings inhabiting her. "That is the problem. I trust him implicitly. I have realized I was desperately wrong to ever think him capable of hurting another. I have learned so much about him in the last month. He dotes over his hard-of-hearing, near-sighted butler. His mother's mind is frail, but instead of sending her away, he has been looking after her, seeing to her care even when he had to sell off nearly all the pictures and household possessions of value to pay his debts. Everything I have seen of him thus far is surprisingly noble and good."

Jo pressed a hand to her heart. "The butler is hard of hearing? And there is a mad mother-in-law? Please tell me she is not hiding in the attics."

Callie laughed weakly. Leave it to her friend to find some lightness in the moment. "She is ensconced in a regular chamber, and she is being looked after by a nursemaid. We have hired a replacement because Sin did not trust the previous woman in his employ, but she was all he had been able to afford. When I think of how I set out to ruin him, I feel sick."

"You were hurting, Callie. Your brother's death was unusual, and Lady Sinclair passing away on the same night was suspicious. I do not blame you for wondering and for wanting to do everything in your power to find the truth." Jo's voice was sympathetic.

Callie did not think she deserved her friend's sympathy or understanding.

"But was I trying to find the truth, or was I only seeing what I wanted to see and believing what I wanted to believe, regardless of who I hurt in the process?" Sadness cut through her. How wrong she had been.

How selfish.

How careless.

She had ruined a good man. A man who was far better than she had ever imagined. A man whose bed she slept in each night, who touched and kissed her with such tenderness that it made her ache just to think of it now, when he was nowhere in sight.

"You have a good heart, Callie," Jo said. "It looked damning. There is no denying that. And his reputation was blackened before you even wrote Confessions of a Sinful Earl."

He had indeed achieved a reputation for running with a fast set. For seducing legions of women. For being wicked. For doing whatever he wished and not giving a damn about the repercussions.

But it was increasingly difficult to reconcile the Sin she had heard about with the Sin she had come to know. The Duchess of Longleigh had told her Sin was a good man, and Callie had seen the evidence herself.

"I know all that, but he is nothing like what I expected him to be." She sighed. "Oh, Jo. What if I am falling in love with him?"

There it was, her biggest fear. Because Sin himself had told her theirs was a marriage of convenience. He had told her he did not believe in love. His last wife had left scars upon his heart, that much was undeniable.

Jo's brows rose. "In love? You think you are falling in love with the Earl of Sinclair?"

Callie gave a miserable nod. "I never expected to like him, let alone care for him. But there is something about him that makes me feel emotions I never felt before. Not even with Simon."

The last admission came with a pang of accompanying guilt. She could not help but to feel she tarnished his memory by feeling such a depth of emotion for another man, and in such a short amount of time. A man who she had not long ago considered her enemy. A man she had been determined to destroy.

"Do you think he feels the same way?" Jo queried softly, giving voice to another of Callie's fears.

"I hardly know." Her voice trembled. "He has not been forthright with his emotions."

"But he is otherwise attentive?" her friend pressed.

Quite attentive.

Deliciously so.

Her cheeks went hot all over again. She could not meet Jo's inquisitive gaze. "Yes, I dare say he is."

"Your cheeks are red as an apple," Jo accused, chuckling. "Good heavens, I never thought to see the day Lady Calliope Manning was embarrassed over something."

"Lady Sinclair now," she reminded her friend.

And herself as well.

How strange it felt, rolling off her tongue. Stranger still, how right. A month ago, she never would have countenanced it. Now, she could not deny that marrying Sin had given her a sense of purpose for the first time since Simon and Alfred had died. Aside from her work for the Lady's Suffrage Society, she had been adrift. Her life in Paris with Aunt Fanchette had been nothing but a lavish swirl of parties. Her life in London had not been much altered, aside from her devotion to her cause.

"You are the happiest I have seen you in as long as I can recall," Jo said softly, cutting into Callie's turbulent musings. "I do believe marriage suits you, my dear friend."

"It does," she agreed, the admission nevertheless laced with worry.

Her happiness had always been cut short by a death, an unexpected end. She hated to bask too much in the moment, or to allow herself to grow too complacent. Surely this contentedness, too, would be dashed upon the rocks like a ship caught in a maelstrom before too long.

"You do not sound pleased with the realization, however."

Jo was ever observant and wise. Those were some of the traits that made her such a wonderful friend. That and her loyalty and sharp-as-a-blade wit.

"I am afraid," she confided. "He has made it more than clear to me that he expects me to give him an heir, and after that time, we shall go our separate ways and lead our own lives. Part of me is convinced he is still in love with his ex-mistress. And his last marriage has left him wary. Apparently, it was quite a bitter affair on both sides. I do believe he loved her at some point."

The notion of her husband's heart having been broken by other women before her left Callie feeling both melancholy and possessive, all at once.

"Oh dear." Jo's expression was commiserating as she took a sip of her tea and then made a face. "Good heavens, the tea has grown cold. Here I am chattering on, asking you all these insufferably rude questions. Just tell me to stifle it, do. I know I am too inquisitive for my own good."

That was one of the many curious facets of Lady Jo Danvers. By all appearances, she was a shy, quiet wallflower. It was only with those she knew and trusted that her true personality came to life. Meanwhile, Callie was the opposite. She was bold and boisterous and unapologetic. Mayhap that was why she and Jo had connected as friends on such a deep level. They were each what the other was not. Together, they understood each other and flourished.

"Never mind the tea," Callie said, feeling selfish for dominating the conversation with her own troubles and feelings. After all, she had meant to visit her friend, not to fret over the budding feelings bursting to life in her treacherous heart. Surely they could be tempered, no? "I came here to visit you, and that is all. I missed you, dear friend. Forgive me for being so serious and weighing down our visit with this nonsense. You must forget it all. I fear becoming a married woman has addled my wits. Let us speak of something else, anything else!"

"I missed you as well." Jo grinned then. "You must tell me what the marriage bed is like, Callie. No one will tell me anything. I swear I shall die a spinster wallflower without ever having even been kissed."

It astounded Callie to think her friend had never been swept into a darkened alcove by a handsome lord and kissed senseless. Jo was uniquely beautiful, sweet, smart, and wittier than anyone Callie knew. She could only suppose it was fear of Jo's brother, the Earl of Ravenscroft, which kept suitors at bay. That and Jo's own retiring nature whenever she found herself in large gatherings of people.

"You will not die a spinster wallflower, never having been kissed," Callie denied. "I promise you that, Jo."

Her friend sighed. "Sometimes, it feels as if I will. I have begun a list, you know, of all the things I want to experience in my life. I have grown quite tired of watching everyone I love go on with their lives while I remain here, the same as I ever was."

Callie felt a pang of guilt all over again. "I have not gone on with my life, dear heart. You will forever be my dearest friend, and you know it. Time, marriages, titles, nothing matters. You are the sister I never had."

"But you have a sister now," Jo pointed out, quite correctly.

"Yes, but she cannot replace you," Callie said soothingly, taking a sip of her own tea at last only to find that it was disgustingly tepid. "No one can replace you, Jo. I have Isabella, and I have you."

"And your wickedly handsome husband who makes you smile like a besotted fool," her friend added.

Jo's grumbling told Callie that perhaps her friend was, at last, ready to relinquish her role as wallflower and seize her life. "No one said you cannot find a handsome husband of your own who also makes you smile like a besotted fool."

Jo sighed. "I shall have to live vicariously through you, I am afraid. There is no such handsome gentleman forthcoming. All the lords I know are empty-headed and weak-hearted and dreadfully uninteresting. Not all of us can be carried off by an earl named Sin, you know."

Callie smiled at her friend's sally. "I should hope not. If he is off abducting others, I will box his ears."

Jo took another sip of her own tea, wrinkling her nose. "This is wretched, is it not? Forgive me, darling, I will ring for a fresh pot. One that does not leak."

The teapot had, indeed, leaked. It had rendered Jo's pouring quite humorous. The two of them had collapsed into a fit of giggles over it.

"Fresh tea would be wonderful," Callie agreed. "Now tell me about this list of yours, if you please. I cannot wait to hear what is on it…"

His wife had been gone for—Sin checked his pocket watch—three hours.

Precisely.

He paced the length of his study, newly refurbished with fresh, plush Axminster. All the way to the door. He threw it open.

"Langdon!" he bellowed.

"My lord? How may I be of service?"

As if conjured, Dunlop, the younger domestic Langdon had been tasked with training in the role of butler, appeared. He was far too handsome for Sin's liking. Callie had chosen him, and Sin had eagerly foisted all the duties concerning the household off upon her. But now, he found himself regretting his decision. For Dunlop was too young as well. Sandy haired and blue eyed, with a mild manner and an easy disposition that made Sin instantly suspicious of him.

"I called for Langdon," he snapped at the butler-in-training. "Where is he?"

"He is having a nap with Eloise," Dunlop explained, his voice calm and tranquil, as if he were dealing with a recalcitrant child. "How may I help you, my lord?"

He did not want to ask this whelp for anything. Indeed, as Sin looked upon him now, he feared the blasted fellow was too pleasing of face and form. There was no paunch about the middle, no thinning hair.

All Celeste's indiscretions slammed into him in that moment. Her every betrayal. All the pain he had buried and done his damnedest to ignore. He looked at Dunlop, and he saw Callie kissing him. He saw Dunlop in Callie's bed.

Fuck.

Sin ran a hand from his jaw down his throat, feeling itchy in his own skin. Callie had never betrayed him. Nor had she given him any indication she would. But his mind was playing evil, wicked tricks upon him, returning him to the days when his wife had bedded half his staff with glee.

He told himself this was different, that Callie was nothing like his last wife. And yet, his mind would not cease. He could not stop his thoughts, tumbling over each other like the waves in a waterfall. Threatening to inundate him, to drown.

Celeste had taken great pleasure in hurting him.

So had Callie.

Curse it, was he doomed to continue repeating the same mistakes?

"My lord?" Dunlop prodded him, returning Sin to the present.

Reminding him that he was a jealous, foolish wreck. That he was a man who had been married for the span of a month, whose wife had hired a handsome young butler and then disappeared for hours.

"Has Lady Sinclair returned from paying calls?" he forced himself to ask like a normal, rational husband.

He told himself it was Celeste and her machinations that made him feel so uncertain.

That it was not Callie.

She had pledged to be true to him until she gave him an heir and spare, had she not?

"She has not yet returned, my lord," Dunlop told him. "Shall I report to you when her carriage arrives?"

"No," he snapped, feeling foolish, before thinking better of his response. What need had he to guard his pride? "On second thought, yes, Dunlop. Please do. I have a matter of urgent import to discuss with the countess."

That was a lie, of course, but the young, handsome, far-too-muscular butler did not bloody well need to know that.

"Of course, my lord," said the new domestic. "I will report to you as soon as her ladyship returns to the residence."

With a proper bow—which Sin found himself rather aggrieved he could not even offer improvement upon—Dunlop turned on his heel and disappeared. Grinding his molars, Sin watched the new servant stalking away. If the bastard even sent a lingering glance in Callie's direction…

No.

He could not forever allow himself to be entrapped by Celeste's actions. Could he? Celeste had been mad. Not like Mama, who was confused. Celeste's mind had been different. She had been wild, determined to destroy anything that was good. But Callie was…

Callie.

Different.

Unique.

Beautiful and bold and so very unlike every other female he had known. Not even Tilly had made him feel the way his new wife did. All the more reason for his concern, for his fear. Sin knew better than anyone that his past did not exactly mean that he was capable of following his heart.

His heart?

Fuck.

Sin slammed his study door and commenced pacing. There it was again, that unwanted, persistent feeling nettling him just as it had every day since he had made her his bride. Emotions were dangerous. Emotions could not be trusted. He had to cure himself of the lust fog inhabiting his brain. Surely that was all this was? Decker had been convinced of it.

One quarter of an hour later, a knock sounded.

His wife was finally home from paying all her calls. She crossed the threshold, wearing purple boots trimmed with rosettes and matching divided skirts. Her blonde-lace-adorned bodice emphasized her petite curves.

"Lady Sinclair has returned," Dunlop announced.

Sin cast the butler-in-training an irritated scowl. "As I can plainly see. That will be all, Dunlop."

Dunlop wisely made himself scarce, closing the door and leaving Sin and Callie alone. Silence reigned, broken only by the muffled sound of Callie's boots treading over the new carpets. She stood before him in half a minute, her dark gaze searching.

"Is something amiss, Sin?" she asked. "Dunlop said there was an urgent matter you needed to discuss with me."

How the hell was he supposed to concentrate when she was wearing those bloody boots? All he could think about was finding the hidden closures on her divided skirts and tearing them open.

"Sin?" she pressed.

He blinked, telling himself he could not act like a ravening beast because his wife had been gone from beneath their roof for a mere three and one quarter hours. And then he told himself he did have a reason for summoning her immediately upon her return.

But curse him if he could recall what it was.

"I do not like the replacement butler," he blurted.

There, that was true enough.

"Dunlop?" Her eyebrows rose. "But he has only been with us for two weeks. How can you find fault with him after such a short period of time?"

"He is too young." And far too handsome.

"He is older than the both of us," Callie argued, frowning. "I think we should give him more time to grow accustomed to our household before we make any decisions."

"I do not like him," he repeated, feeling childish.

But he also did not care for the manner in which his wife continued to champion the blighter.

Her brow furrowed. "Are you displeased with me?"

No, damn it all. He was displeased with himself.

He forced his whirling mind to calm. Callie was not Celeste. His rational mind understood that. But the old emotions remained. He was a wary, jaded beast. Every modicum of good sense he possessed told him his trust was not wisely placed in a woman who had done her best to destroy him.

"I am not displeased," he gritted, finding the words difficult to say. "I am merely hesitant. My last marriage did not precisely imbue me with a great deal of trust in others, particularly the fairer sex. You were gone for quite some time."

"I was visiting my friend, Lady Jo Danvers." She laid a soothing hand upon his forearm. "We had tea. We chatted for a few hours. The teapot leaked, and the tea grew cold, and we had to ring for another pot. Now I am home. I hardly think my short absence cause for concern."

Her touch seared him through his shirtsleeves. He was being an arse, and he knew it. He inhaled and then exhaled slowly, trying to calm the jumbled mess of his thoughts.

"Celeste would disappear for days." He ran his hand through his hair. "I am sorry, Callie. Forgive me. I know you are not her, but the circumstances of our marriage hardly lend themselves to trust. Not long ago, you were doing everything in your power to ruin me."

She flinched as if he had struck her, withdrawing her hand from his arm. "Do you think I was calling upon other men? Do you… Do you think I am enamored with Mr. Dunlop? Is that what you are telling me?"

Curse her.She was making him feel again. There was that rush, uncontrollable, threatening to overwhelm his good sense. He wanted to drag her into his arms and kiss her senseless. To ravish her upon his desk. He wanted her naked on his lap, his cock buried in the welcome warmth of her tight cunny.

He turned away from her and stalked to the other end of the chamber, attempting to gain control over himself. Callie brought out the best in him and the worst in him, all at once. There was no denying that.

And of course, she was chasing him down in those delicious purple boots, determined to give him a piece of her mind. When he turned to find her close enough to kiss, he was not at all surprised.

"Answer me," she demanded. "Do you not trust me?"

"It is complicated," he bit out. "I do, and I also do not. I cannot explain it."

"What have I done to make you doubt me?" she asked, her voice softening.

Her honey-and-chocolate eyes glimmered with the traces of tears.

He was a bastard for making her cry. Once, he would have enjoyed her tears. He would have adored bringing her low, making her weak. But that had been before he knew her. Before he had slept with her in his bed each night. Before he had been inside her.

"Sin," she prodded, cupping his jaw as she searched his gaze. "What did she do to you?"

He wanted to tear himself away from her touch, and yet, simultaneously, he never wanted to move. He wanted her to caress his jaw and gaze upon him with such a tender need to understand him forever. No one had ever looked at him thus.

And this, from a woman who had believed him a murderer.

"Tell me," she whispered, stroking his cheek with her thumb.

"We were young when we married," he remembered. "In love, or so I thought. But after I inherited the earldom, she changed. She became consumed by the social whirl. After our daughter was stillborn, it grew worse. She hated me, blamed me. Celeste refused to allow me to touch her, to comfort her. She pushed me away, and she threw herself back into society with a vengeance. Before I knew it, she was gambling away everything she could, disappearing for days. Once, I caught her with two of the footmen."

Callie's soft gasp cut through him, settling deep, lodging somewhere perilously near to his heart. Her eyes were luminous. "Oh, my darling. I am so sorry."

My darling.

It was the first time she had used a term of endearment for him. The effect it had upon him was furious and wild. Suddenly, the last thing he wanted was her tenderness, her sympathy. The compassion in her gaze, in her dulcet voice, threatened to crush him. He could not bear it. He had no wish to relive the dark days of his marriage with Celeste.

Rather than continue unburdening himself, he lowered his head and took his wife's lips. Her kiss was laced with tea and sweetness. Her tongue slid against his. He kissed her as if he could devour her. Because that was what he wanted to do. He wanted her naked on his desk, wearing nothing but those purple boots of hers.

Hell, he was a monster. His wife had gone for tea with her friend, and she returned to a jealous fiend who all but accused her of planning to bed the bloody butler. There was no excuse for his reaction. His feelings for Callie had him desperately confused.

He did not want to feel.

Feeling made him vulnerable.

He wanted the physical. Lust roared through him, along with the frantic need to possess her. His heart pounded. He nipped Callie's lush lower lip, then kissed away the sting. Dragged his mouth down her throat. His hands found her rump. Delicious handfuls. He ground her against his aching cockstand, letting her feel what she did to him. How badly he wanted her.

"I am an arse," he whispered against her creamy throat. "Forgive me."

He sucked on her flesh. Her exotic, floral scent invaded his senses.

"Sin," she murmured.

Her small hands were on his shoulders, caressing, holding him close. He would do penance with desire. Make her come. This was what he knew best—sensuality. All he had to do was figure out how the hell to get her out of her divided skirts.

His heart was pounding harder. Louder.

Too loud.

"Sin?" she breathed, a question in her voice. "Dunlop is knocking."

Curse the blighter.

"My lord? My lady?"

"Go to the devil," he called.

"The Duke of Westmorland is requesting an audience, my lord," said the butler-in-training. "He says he will not leave until he has seen her ladyship."

Damn it all.

His wife stiffened and extracted herself from his embrace. "Benny! Oh dear heavens, he must be returned from his honeymoon. He will be furious with me, I expect. And you as well."

The desire coursing through him died.

"Send him in, Dunlop," he called grimly.

The timing was bloody poor, but he had always known that sooner or later, Westmorland would return, and Sin would have to face his reckoning. Perhaps it was just what he needed, a means of reminding himself of all the reasons why he would be better served to forget about his maddening infatuation with his countess.