Chapter 20

I am dangerous, dear reader. I am a bad, bad man. If you see me about Town, run.

~fromConfessions of a Sinful Earl

Callie braced herself for her brother's wrath. Struggling for composure after her husband's painful revelations followed by his potent embrace, she smoothed her fingers over her hair. She probably looked as if she had been properly ravished. Then again, any time she was within close proximity to her husband, that seemed to be quite common.

Benny was going to be furious with her.

And hurt.

And confused.

"What are we going to tell him?" she asked Sin, making certain he had not dislodged any of the buttons on her bodice.

Her husband scrubbed his hand over his jaw. "The truth, I expect."

She bit her lip. "You intend to tell Benny about Confessions of a Sinful Earl?"

"No, wife." He raised a brow, his countenance uncompromising. "I expect you to tell him. You are, after all, the one responsible for the straits in which we now find ourselves."

She found herself frowning at his choice of words. Was he referring to their marriage, or to her brother's impending interrogation? She did not have the chance to seek clarification, because the study door opened and Dunlop announced their Graces, the Duke and Duchess of Westmorland.

Benny stalked into the chamber looking utterly enraged as expected. His new wife Isabella was at his side, looking fretful.

"What the devil is the meaning of this, Sinclair?" he demanded.

Callie winced, rushing forward to place herself between her husband and her brother, lest either of them come to blows. "Benny, please do not be angry," she begged.

Sin took his place at Callie's side, sliding a possessive arm around her waist. "Westmorland, Duchess. How lovely to see you both. Have you come to welcome me into the family?"

"I have come to beat you to a bloody pulp," Benny snarled.

Isabella placed a staying hand on his coat sleeve. "Darling, you promised you would be calm."

"Has he harmed you in any way?" her brother asked, his gaze searching hers. "How the devil did he coerce you into marriage? Aunt Fanchette swears the two of you are a sudden love match, but I would sooner eat my own shoe than believe such tripe."

"I have not harmed her," Sin said, exhibiting more of his signature sangfroid. "I did, however, abduct her from London and persuade her of the wisdom of saving herself from a ruined reputation by marrying me."

Isabella's eyes went wide. Benny stalked forward with a clenched fist.

"Benny, stop," Callie intervened, holding up a staying hand. "Please, listen to what I have to say before you do something you will regret."

"I will not regret planting this bastard a facer," her brother growled.

"My love, you are turning into a snarling bear," Isabella protested.

"He forced my sister into marrying him whilst I was out of London on my honeymoon," Benny accused, turning a glare upon Sin. "Do not think I have not immediately consulted my solicitor. If you coerced her…"

"He did not coerce me," Callie denied. "At least, not in the way you think."

"Perhaps we should sit down," said her husband coolly. "Ring for tea."

"Not unless you want it pitched in your face," Benny threatened.

"Only if you would care for a broken nose in return," Sin bit out.

Callie lost her patience. "Stop it, both of you! Benny, I am the author of Confessions of a Sinful Earl. Sin discovered I was behind the serials, and that I was responsible for the complete ruin of his reputation and his betrothed crying off."

"Callie." Her brother shook his head. "What the hell were you thinking?"

"I was wrong." She made the admission with utmost conviction now. "I was blinded by the pain of losing our brother and I was consumed with grief. I…I was not thinking clearly. So you see? I married Lord Sinclair to keep my secret safe, and to atone for the wrongs I visited upon him."

Some of the fight seemed to seep from her brother. "To keep your secret safe? Did you threaten her, Sinclair?"

Sin held her brother's gaze. "I did. Desperate times, desperate measures, etcetera."

"By God, I am going to trounce you, you despicable bounder!" Benny hollered, surging forward once more.

Sin was certainly not aiding their cause. She could not help but to wonder why. While she knew he was correct in being honest with her brother and sister-in-law, there were far more tactful ways of going about it. Part of her wondered if he wanted Benny to attack him.

"Benny, it is not what you think," she attempted to reassure him. "I chose to marry Lord Sinclair."

"He just said he threatened you so that you would marry him." Her brother was incredulous.

Well, that much was true. But how could she explain to her brother the incipient happiness she had found with her husband without revealing too much and embarrassing herself?

"I did," Sin said amiably.

She frowned at her husband. "You are making this worse."

He flashed her a rakish half grin. "Ah, but how can this little tragedy of ours be made to seem better than what it is? We are being honest with your brother and sister-in-law. We were both forced into marrying each other, if you must know." He turned to Benny. "Your sister left me without options. I left her without any in turn."

"You are a callous son of a bitch," Benny accused.

"Are you happy, Callie?" Isabella asked then, her worried tone stealing Callie's attention. "That is what matters the most. Your brother and I want to be assured you are content and being treated well."

"I am," she confessed.

For she was happy with Sin. Too happy, almost. What had just passed between them—the revelations of his distrust and his disastrous marriage to his first wife—lent a troubling undercurrent to that knowledge. She wondered if he would ever trust her, especially after the manner in which their union had first begun.

What cruel irony.

Her brother shook his head again. "I do not believe this, any of it. You could have waited until I returned from my honeymoon. Instead, you rushed into a marriage in secret without waiting for my blessing. You have been reckless in the past, Callie, but this, marrying a man you scarcely know—being blackmailed into marrying him—and now claiming you are happy…"

"Sin was doing his best to protect his mother," Callie said softly. "She is ill and in need of a caretaker. He is a good man, Benny. I was wrong about him, and I know that now."

"I would not say I am good, sweet," Sin said, giving her a look packed with so much intensity, it stole her breath.

But he was good. He was so much more than the sum of his reputation. So much more than she ever could have comprehended. And he was her husband, and she wasn't just falling in love with him.

She was in love with him.

Heaven help her.

The realization left her feeling giddy and lightheaded all at once, as if she would faint. How could she have fallen in love with him so quickly? So effortlessly?

And more importantly, what would she do about it now? Sin was hardly ready to accept her love or to trust her. The scars of his past had not yet healed, and she did not know if they ever would. What if he would never love her in return? What if their marriage was doomed to be one of convenience, and after he had his heir and spare, he would carry on with his life of excess and wickedness, without her in it?

"Bloody hell," grumbled Benny, "none of this makes sense. Not one whit. The least you can do is allow my duchess and I a moment alone with Callie, Sinclair. I would like to speak with her in private."

Callie expected her husband to object, but Sin inclined his head. "As you wish. Join us for dinner tonight as well, if you like. There will be no harm in two more place settings."

Benny's mouth was set in a harsh, unforgiving line. "Thank you for the invitation, Sinclair. However, only having just returned from our travels, we are tired. Nor would we wish to overstay our welcome."

"The choice is yours, Westmorland." Sin shrugged indolently, as if he did not have a care in the world. "I will leave the three of you to your familial tête-à-tête."

With a perfunctory bow, he turned and sauntered from the study.

The moment the door closed at his back, Benny descended upon her.

"What the devil were you thinking, marrying a man like the Earl of Sinclair?" her brother asked, his voice vibrating with his fury.

"My love." Isabella once more laid a staying hand on Benny's arm. "You must not be so angry with Callie. She has done nothing wrong."

"My wonderful wife is your champion, of course, because she has the patience of a saint," Benny said, still frowning ferociously at Callie.

"Of course she does," Callie could not resist teasing him. "She is married to you, after all, dearest brother."

"And now you are married as well." Benny pinched the bridge of his nose, as if he were attempting to stave off a dreadful case of the megrims. "Forgive me, Callie. I do not mean to shout, but surely you can appreciate my shock at returning after being gone a mere month to find you married. And not just to anyone, but to the Earl of Sinclair. My God, do you have any idea what sort of reputation the man has?"

Grim uncertainty stole over her, making her stomach churn. "Of course I know about his reputation. I helped to create it, if you will recall from my earlier admission."

"I knew I should have been firmer with you." Benny raked a hand through his golden hair. "You have been through so much, losing Lord Simon, then Alfred. I never should have allowed you to go to Paris with Aunt Fanchette. And I never should have left before she had arrived. By God, I hold her partially responsible for this farce."

Callie bristled at her brother's assertion that he ought to have been firmer with her. "Benny, I am my own woman. If you had been firmer with me, I would have thrown more surprise balls."

Her joke was weak, a reference to his frustration with the many entertainments she had planned without his knowledge in the last year.

Benny did not find humor in it, but her sister-in-law smiled.

"I admire your daring, Callie. I always have." Isabella's smile turned sad. "Are you truly certain you are happy, dearest?"

"Despite the unconventional beginning to our marriage, yes," she answered. Though the doubt and questions remained, swirling through her, infecting her thoughts. Dogging her with unfair persistence.

"You have only been married for a month," scoffed Benny. "You scarcely even know him. He is a member of a depraved club that is renowned for its wickedness. He is the last sort of man I would ever wish to see married to my beloved sister."

The reminder of his club hit Callie like a pail of ice water.

She had known, of course. She had mined all the scandals and rumors surrounding her husband to write Confessions of a Sinful Earl. But it was difficult indeed to reconcile what she had known about him with the man she had come to know.

"I know about the club," she said.

"He has dared to take you there?" Benny asked, outraged anew.

"Of course not," she hastened to say. "He has not spoken of it to me."

The moment the confession left her, doubt blossomed. So, too, fear. Sin had never once mentioned the club. And he had been gone for so long the day after their nuptials. He had claimed to be visiting his friend. What if he had been lying?

"I wonder what else your new husband is keeping from you," Benny said grimly, giving voice to her fears.

"Nothing, we hope," Isabella said, swatting her new husband's arm. "You promised on the carriage ride here that you would remain calm. That you would not berate her or attempt to ruin her spirits."

Benny frowned at his duchess. "I wanted her to have a love match, as we have. Callie is worth far more than some arrogant, penniless earl who has the ballocks to abduct her, force her into marrying him?—"

"I chose to marry him," Callie interrupted.

"Because he threatened to reveal you as the true author of those scandalous memoirs all of London is agog over," her brother countered. "By his own admission! My God, Calliope, I thought you were more intelligent than this. I never thought I would see the day that you would fall prey to a heartless rakehell out to destroy you."

The virulence of Benny's words sank deep into Callie's heart. They found her fears and mingled with them, until her stomach was an endless, churning sea. What if her brother was right? What if she had allowed the glimpses into Sin's softer side to blind her to the truth of the man that he was? They had only been married for a month.

She must not allow herself to forget the manner in which their marriage had begun. He had abducted her from London, bound her wrists, and even gagged her. And then, he had blackmailed her.

"Callie?" Isabella's worried voice cut through her madly spinning thoughts. "Are you well? You look dreadfully pale all of a sudden."

No, she was not well. She felt…dizzy. Sick. Overheated. Her skin was hot. The room seemed to spin. Her eyes could not find a safe place to fall. It was as if she stood still whilst everything and everyone else was whirling around.

The edges of her vision went dark. Benny and Isabella seemed suddenly too far away. Their voices were hushed and strange. And then Callie was falling, falling, falling.

Backward, into the abyss.

Darkness claimed her.

Sin paced the hall outside his wife's apartments, trying to tamp down his rage and his worry. Callie had swooned. His strong, fierce, fiery wife had bloody well fainted. It still seemed impossible to believe. He had abducted her, bound her, dragged her through the countryside, done his best to frighten her, and she had remained stalwart.

Ten minutes in the presence of her brother and sister-in-law, and she was requiring smelling salts. By the time word had reached him, she had already been awake, propped with half a dozen pillows which had been fetched from God knew where, in a chair in his study. Her pallor and the sheen of perspiration on her forehead had convinced him she was ill.

Dreadfully so.

She had told him she had a terrible megrim.

Sin had summoned a physician.

A physician who had been attending her, along with the Duchess of Westmorland, for…

He plucked his pocket watch from his waistcoat.

One whole fucking hour.

"Have you done something to her?"

The question, more snarling growl than respectable query, emerged from his wife's brother. The Duke of Westmorland had taken news of Sin's marriage to his sister worse than he had supposed. He had taken Callie's sudden fainting spell even harder.

But no harder than Sin. He had broken into a run when the news reached him, so desperate had he been to reach her.

"You believe I have somehow done my wife ill?" he asked, doing his best to quell his inner fury and failing. "What is it you think I have done to her? Have I poisoned her? Pushed her down the stairs? Good Christ, man. I was not even near her when she grew ill. If anyone should be asking questions, it should be me. I left her alone with you for scarcely any time at all, and suddenly I need to summon the physician."

Westmorland was pale. He stalked toward Sin, and Sin held his ground, remaining where he was, refusing to back down. The duke's eyes were wild, his upper lip curved into an unforgiving sneer. "Do not think I will not kill you because you are a peer, Sinclair. Or because you have somehow ingratiated yourself to my sister, and cast your spell over her. She is too kindhearted to know what manner of snake she has married."

He had never had any quarrels with the duke before now.

"What manner of snake am I, hmm?" he asked. "You seemed happy enough to receive me on prior occasions when I visited you at Westmorland House."

That was true enough, but he had known quite well that the duke was merely tolerating him, not that he liked him. Sin had been so caught up in his desire to gain proof against Callie that he had not given a damn. His call had not been a social one. Rather, it had been the means by which he had sealed Callie's fate.

And his own.

How long ago that seemed, almost a lifetime. So much had altered between then and now.

"That was before you blackmailed my sister into becoming your wife, you bastard," Westmorland growled. "You are a rakehell and a scoundrel. Do you deny being a member of the Black Souls?"

Sin refused to flinch or retreat. "No. Of course not. I have never made false claims about myself. Not to your sister, and not to anyone. I am a member of the Black Souls club. I have been for years. It hardly signifies."

The Black Souls was a private club. Their reputation for depravity and licentiousness had been well-earned by some members, it was true. But the club was not solely a bastion of sin and wicked excess as all the rumors suggested. Rather, it was also a safe haven for lords with dark souls to convene. There was no judgment within the walls of that club.

And Sin had been grateful for that. He had done some things of which he was not proud, none of which had anything to do with the Black Souls. They had rescued him from his lowest depths. He could not lay the blame for his sins upon the Black Souls. Some of his best and oldest friends were members. Men he would trust with his very life. Decker, among them, who owned the club itself.

"Everyone knows the members of the Black Souls are depraved," Westmorland insisted, his nostrils flaring as if he scented something unsavory. "If you have harmed my sister in any way, I will not hesitate to end you."

Westmorland was lethal. He had killed two Fenians. Sin did not discount the danger his new brother-in-law presented. He had no doubt that the duke meant every word he said. His devotion to Callie had been apparent, and surprisingly comforting to Sin. His loathing of Sin—that was another matter entirely.

However, he could not entirely blame Westmorland. Had their situations been reversed, Sin had to admit that he would likely feel the same.

He met his brother-in-law's gaze unflinchingly. "If I ever harm your sister in any fashion, I will end myself first. I have no intention of hurting Callie. Ever. She is my wife, and I will do everything in my power to keep her happy and well."

The duke's eyes narrowed into icy slits of disbelief. "I do not trust you, Sinclair. Not one whit."

Sin almost chuckled. Instead, he raised a brow. "I never asked you to trust me."

"Why did you marry my sister?" Westmorland asked.

"Because she owed me," he answered honestly. "She ruined me, quite intentionally. I had no recourse. I am being utterly honest with you, Westmorland. If you think I have anything to hide, you are wrong."

"Your first wife," the duke said slowly, "what happened to her?"

"Bloody hell," he muttered, disgusted. "If I had wanted to murder Celeste, I would have done so years before she took her life by her own hand. She was mad, Westmorland. I know you and Callie want to believe your sainted brother could not have been duped by her, but I am living proof, standing before you, to tell you that woman was a poison. To herself, to everyone she knew. But I would never have harmed her. And likewise, I would never harm your sister. She is my wife, my countess, the mother of my future children."

"You married her for her share of the Manning fortune," his brother-in-law accused.

He looked Westmorland in the eye. "You are damned right I did, and she married me because she had to."

Before the duke could counter his bold statement, the door to Callie's apartments opened at last. Dr. Gilmore emerged.

"Well?" Sin demanded, stalking toward the physician, his heart pounding in his chest as he forgot all about the need to defend himself against his irate brother-in-law.

"What is the matter with her, Doctor?" Westmorland asked in unison, striding forward also.

The physician looked from Sin to the duke, then back to Sin, clearly wondering which of them he ought to direct his words toward. Sin scowled at Westmorland. Damn it, he was beyond his bounds. Callie was Sin's wife now, and that bloody well took precedent over the relationship between siblings.

"How is Lady Sinclair?" Sin pressed curtly.

Westmorland pinned him with a glare.

Sin ignored him.

"Her ladyship is well and resting now," Dr. Gilmore said calmly. "You may see her if you wish."

"Resting," Sin repeated, loathing the word. He had never known Callie to rest. Or to faint.

"But what is the matter with her, Dr. Gilmore?" he snapped, out of patience. "Why would she swoon for no good reason?"

Dr. Gilmore gave him a small smile. "I do believe there was a good reason. A reason which will make itself decidedly known over the course of the next few months."

Was something dreadfully wrong with Callie? Was she ill? The thought stole the saliva from his mouth, the breath from his lungs. She was so vibrant and bold and alive. The notion of losing her, of watching her wither away, was hideous. Eviscerating.

Confusion swarmed him, mingling with the fear.

"What the devil does that mean?" he bit out, longing to shake the physician. "Cease speaking in riddles, man. Is she ill?"

"Oh dear, pray forgive me, Lord Sinclair," said the physician. "It was not my intention to worry you. Judging from my examination, she is in the finest of health. However, this is a delicate matter, and one generally best left to a discussion between a husband and wife. Why do you not go and see Lady Sinclair now? She will explain everything she and I discussed."

The answers were no clearer to Sin now than they had been before. Perhaps if he throttled the man? Planted him a facer?

"Bloody hell," Westmorland breathed, looking suddenly pale and dazed. "I am to be an uncle?"

An uncle?

His brother-in-law's words reached him as if from afar, from the opposite end of a tunnel. A babe.

Callie was already carrying his child?

It seemed impossibly soon, and yet, they had been married for nearly a month. She had not had her courses in all that time. It had scarcely concerned him, so besotted had he been with his wife. Sleeping with her in his bed each night, making love to her until they were both limp and sated, had become commonplace. He had not stopped to contemplate the possibility she could be with child so soon.

"As I said," Dr. Gilmore spoke again, piercing the haze that seemed to have settled upon Sin's mind, "it is early. But all indications suggest that you will indeed be an uncle, Your Grace. And you, Lord Sinclair, will be a father."

A.

Father.

Those two simple words nearly knocked him to his arse. The notion of an heir had been distant and removed. Indistinct. Unlikely, even. He swallowed against a knot rising in his throat. Terror and elation struck him at once, rendering him immobile and speechless. He could say nothing. Could not move. He stood there like a fool, until at last his reluctant brother-in-law broke the spell.

"You ought to go to her, Sinclair," the duke muttered. "You are her husband, after all."

Sin did not miss the bitterness lacing Westmorland's words, particularly husband. Part of Sin was pleased Callie's brother seemed to be every bit as protective of her as she was of him. The bond between brother and sister was undeniable. Ultimately, it had been what had driven Callie into Sin's arms, into his bed, had made her his wife.

He nodded, feeling as if the heavens had fallen upon his head. "Go to her. Yes. I shall."

Sin moved toward his wife's chamber, but paused, his fears still rising like the ocean's tides. "You are certain she is otherwise healthy, yes?"

"Yes," Dr. Gilmore affirmed with a nod. "Her ladyship is in excellent health."

Relief pummeled him like a fist. There was a rushing in his ears he had not experienced since the day he had seen Celeste's lifeless body, enshrouded in her coverlets, in that selfsame room. It was little wonder he wanted Callie to spend each night in his own chamber. There remained so many ghosts haunting this home, haunting him.

But there was also hope, astonishing and brilliant and equally petrifying.

He barely found the presence of mind to thank the doctor—Westmorland's personal physician, of course—before entering his wife's chambers. He found Callie seated on the chaise longue she had so recently selected. She smiled when she saw him, but the smile did not reach her eyes.

The Duchess of Westmorland rose upon his entrance, giving Callie a brief, though warm, embrace. "I shall leave you to visit with your husband. Send for us if you need anything, and visit when you are feeling well. Tante Fanchette is returning to Paris soon. You must not forget to call. She is missing you."

"I shan't," Callie reassured her sister-in-law with a grateful smile. "Thank you for sitting with me, Isabella. You are the sister I have always wanted, and I am so happy to see you and Benny together at last."

"You are the sister I have always wanted as well." The Duchess of Westmorland smiled wistfully before turning a frank stare upon Sin. "Lord Sinclair, you are, of course, most welcome to join Lady Sinclair in her visit. In fact, I insist you do."

The fierce, golden-haired duchess was not what he had expected. She was formidable. A beauty in her own right, but in spite of that, undeniably…unique. He would wager she kept Westmorland on his toes. Sin liked her. He liked that she cared for Callie. And he liked that she appeared more willing than her forbidding husband to give him a chance.

He bowed. "It would be my honor, Your Grace."

The duchess smiled. "Please, we are family now. You must call me Isabella."

Oh, yes. Far more willing to give him a chance. Thank God. "Isabella, then."

She cast a quick, questioning glance from Callie to Sin, then back to Callie. "I shall leave the two of you alone to discuss what Dr. Gilmore discovered then, shall I? Westmorland and I will see the both of you soon."

Sin waited until his new sister-in-law had excused herself from the chamber and the door had closed behind her to go to his wife. She was still pale, and she looked very much unlike herself.

He hated that.

He seated himself on the edge of her chaise longue. "How are you feeling, sweet?"

"Shaken," she admitted with a wan smile. "I had not thought enough time had passed since we wed, but Dr. Gilmore assured me that it had. You have heard the news?"

He swallowed. Nodded. "I have."

She bit her lower lip, worrying its lush fullness. Her right hand fretted with the fall of her skirts. "You are pleased, then?"

Pleased. Shocked. Panicked. Terrified. Elated.

Any of those would do.

He was going to be a father again. The notion seemed impossible and yet, he was startled by how much he wanted it. And with Callie.

"Of course, sweet." He covered the hand that had been plucking at her gown, staying her motions. "You know I am in need of an heir. I had not expected it to happen this quickly, but I am pleased. And I am relieved you are well. Are you still dizzy?"

Sin tried to resurrect memories of Celeste, when she had been carrying their daughter, and he could not. It was as if his mind had obliterated all painful recollections. He did not know what to expect. He did not recall Celeste being dizzy or swooning. But every woman was different. He could only suppose a pregnancy was different for each woman as well.

"Somewhat, yes, and tired." Her voice was subdued.

It was as if the spirit had been stolen from her.

This faded, weary, quiet version of the woman he had wed weighed down upon his chest as heavily as a stone. "Do you need to rest? A nap, perhaps?"

"Yes." She nodded, then closed her eyes. "Mayhap a nap would be best. I may have overexerted myself today in my delicate condition, without realizing it. Paying a call to Jo, facing my brother's outrage."

Callie seemed…distant. Unlike herself. He did not like it. Earlier, before Westmorland had arrived, before she had swooned and the doctor had been summoned, everything between them had been so different. Now, he could not shake the feeling that something had been severed.

"I am sorry about the scene with your brother. Had I realized you were enceinte, I would not have countenanced leaving you to an interrogation." Sin frowned. "What can I do now? Shall I ring for your lady's maid?"

"Please." Callie sighed. "Whitmore will know just what to do. She always does."

The ease with which she would dismiss him rankled. Part of him had been hoping she would ask for him to remain instead. But Sin stood, then stalked to the bell pull.

For the first time in his life, he was jealous of a bloody lady's maid.

He could not help but to wonder how Whitmore would know what to do when he had not one fucking inkling.

He was going to be a father again.

Bloody hell.