Chapter 21

Be warned, dear reader. I ruin everything I touch. Sooner or later, I will ruin you, if you let me.

~fromConfessions of a Sinful Earl

Sin was sotted.

So sotted, the walls of the Black Souls club were swirling around him. Churning, dancing, taunting him. The ceiling was a whirling blur. His ears rang with the sounds of his fellow club members laughing and talking. Occasionally, the dulcet giggle of a woman, a smooth voice, joined the din.

He blinked and struggled to focus his gaze upon Decker, who was dressed all in black this evening, from his shirt to his neck cloth, waistcoat, and coat. He looked like he had been torn from the bowels of Hades.

Ironic, that. Sin felt as if he had been torn from the bowels of Hades as well.

He struggled to recall why he was here, within four walls he had not inhabited in months. And then it all came rushing back to him in one befuddled mess. His argument with Callie, facing an irate Westmorland, her sudden swoon and the fear it incited, the doctor's unexpected announcement, Callie pushing him away… Always, always, back to her.

And the babe growing within her womb.

His child.

God, he was elated and terrified and weak in the knees, even though he was sitting down. He was sitting down, was he not? Sin glanced down to confirm, lest he fall on his arse.

"I am going to be a father," he announced, slamming his glass on the table before him.

Closing one eye, he peered into the empty vessel. He supposed he had drained it. Again.

Blast.

"So you have said, and so I have offered my felicitations," Decker said. "No less than five times now. Would you care for another whisky? Or perhaps you would prefer another form of distraction?"

Even as soused as he was, Sin bloody well knew what another form of distraction was at the Black Souls. He had not forgotten. A woman, for his pleasure. Warm, soft lips on his cock. Or something more. Bindings. Birches. Once upon a time, he had experienced all the depravities this club had to offer.

Why the devil was he here now?

Ah, yes. He had been looking for Decker in the wake of the realization his wife was going to have his child. He had been in need of support. Commiseration. Hell, anything. But Decker had not been at home. Instead, he had been at the club—one of the many businesses Decker owned.

And so, Sin had come here. Because he had been lost in a vast sea. Because he had not known where else to go. Because discovering his wife was carrying his child had rocked him, shaken him. Dinner had been a bleak affair as she had still been feeling unwell. She had gone to sleep in her own bed for the first time since their marriage had begun.

Alone.

At her request.

And no matter how much he told himself he should not mind, that his objective had been achieved, that he could now carry on his life as he once had, he could not deny the truth: he did not want to.

"Sin?" Decker prodded, breaking up his whirling thoughts. "Another whisky? Some quim?"

"Do I look like I need more whisky?" he asked his friend. "Or anything else, for that matter?"

"You look like shite," Decker told him, unrepentant. "But you have been a boring, married chap, shagging your wife silly every night. If you are here at the Black Souls, especially after receiving such happy news, I can only assume you have come to your senses and you are once more ready to throw yourself into my den of iniquity."

"No petticoats," Sin grumbled, for the notion did nothing for him. Not even a twitch of his cock. Rather, it made his stomach churn and bile rise in his throat. "And do not speak of my wife, lest I be forced to plant you a facer."

There was only one woman for him now.

What ifshe no longer wants you?

He told the insidious voice to go to the devil and banished it.

"I ought to call for the books and memorialize this occasion, the Earl of Sinclair turning down a tumble," Decker said, grinning.

"Go to the devil," he returned. But, if he were honest, he would admit the nettling brought to life his old demons, mingling with the new.

Even in his inebriated state, Sin knew his friend's mockery was well-intentioned. It was a joke, a lark, not at all biting. Not meant to cut him to the marrow. And yet, it did. He had read every word of Confessions of a Sinful Earl. And each one of them returned to him now. All the ugly accusations, the hideous representation of himself. What if that was what his wife still believed of him? His reputation had been wicked before she had started her serials, and there was no denying it. Not without reason.

An endless onslaught of questions rained down upon him.

What if, now that she was possibly carrying his heir, she intended to put up a wall between them? What if tonight was just the beginning? What if their child was stillborn? What if Callie died in childbirth?

The thought of a life without his fiery, beautiful, dark-haired wife with the honey-and-chocolate eyes was impossible. Unacceptable. He could not bear to lose her, now that he had her. Over the course of the last month, everything he had never believed possible of changing…had.

And so had Sin, along with it.

"Why are you here, old chap?" Decker asked, his tone softening, marked with concern.

Decker rarely showed emotion. But he was the closest Sin had to a brother. Their friendship was old and deep. It spanned years. They were both pariahs in their own way. Always had been. Perhaps, even, always would be.

Sin sighed and blurted the words that had been doing their damnedest to escape him all night. The whisky he had consumed finally made it easier. "I think I am in love with her."

Decker whistled. "Good God, I was right. You have read the serials, have you not?"

He rubbed his jaw. "Of course I have."

"And you do know she is a wrongheaded, vindictive bitch? One who believed you capable of committing murder and made certain the rest of the world did as well?"

Sin winced. "She was wrong about me, but I cannot entirely blame her. I hardly have the reputation of an angel. Be fair warned, however. If you ever dare to refer to her thus again, I will beat you to a fucking pulp, Decker."

"Not in your current state," his friend pointed out.

True.

Sin was not entirely certain he could stand. But he could still throw a punch. Could he not? Yes, he decided, he damn well could.

"Shall we test it?" he asked, raising a brow.

"I would prefer not to have an altercation with my oldest, best friend." Decker's voice was stinging. "Especially not over a woman who did her utmost to destroy you."

"She is not what you think," Sin found himself defending Callie as his whisky glass was miraculously refilled. "She loved her brother. Her devotion to him is…"

Something he envied.

As was her devotion to her dead former betrothed.

Because Sin wanted it for himself, curse her.

"Her devotion to him is enough to make her mad?" Decker guessed. "Because from where I stand, madness is the only excuse for what she did to you, Sin. She almost decimated you. How can you love such a treacherous?—"

"Enough," Sin bit out, scowling at his friend, who was becoming more blurry by the moment. It was a distinct possibility there were two Deckers. At least, according to his eyesight. "I will not hear another ill word about her, and that is final."

"Fair enough." Decker inclined his head, his gaze searching. "But answer me this, Sin. If she is such a bloody angel, why are you here tonight? Why are you not at home, reveling in the marriage bed, reciting poetry to each other, that sort of tripe?"

Salient questions. Sin could not deny that, even if he hated them.

"She does not want me there," he admitted. "She was ill tonight, and she wanted her bloody lady's maid to attend her."

Instead of him.

That still hurt.

Fucking hell, how was his glass empty once more?

"Another whisky?" Decker asked him.

Sin ought to say no.

"Yes," he said instead. He was not ready to return home.

Home to his wife who had been…strangely withdrawn in the wake of the news she was carrying his child. Home to his wife who had been pale and quiet. Home to the realization that everything between them was about to change. Home to the fears that had not ceased to torment him ever since bloody Dr. Gilmore had made his announcement that Callie was carrying his child.

Thoughts of his daughter, stillborn, returned.

The realization he could lose another child, and that he could lose Callie too, slammed into him with the force of a fist.

His glass was full once more. He took a long, steady draught. The burn down to his gut was not enough to make him forget. But it was enough to distract.

For now.

She was going to be a mother.

How impossible it seemed.

Alone in the sitting room of her apartments, Callie rested her hand upon her belly. The chamber was eastward facing, which meant that whenever it was in abundance, rich sunlight spilled into the room, bathing it in warmth. On ordinary days, she adored this cheerful room. She spent time in here reading. Once, Sin had surprised her and made love to her on the divan. Another occasion, upon the newly replaced carpets.

But the joy she ordinarily found in this chamber was nowhere to be found today, and those memories of lovemaking haunted her like bitter ghosts.

It was still so much to comprehend, Dr. Gilmore's shocking proclamation the day before, that she was pregnant. Initially, she had been stunned. Utterly flabbergasted. For all that she and Sin had been making love at every opportunity, she had somehow foolishly believed that growing a child in her womb would take time. That it would not happen immediately.

However, fate had proven her wrong.

When Sin had come to her, she had been in shock. She had been dizzied, tired, and terrified. She still was tired. Still terrified. But now, she was also plagued by another painful truth: her husband had not returned home last night. He had left her as she had asked, and he had never come back.

The hour was nearing two o'clock in the afternoon.

Each tick of the arms on the ormolu mocked her. Like everything else in this newly decorated room, she had chosen the ornate bronze clock with a warrior as its focal point. The pictures on the walls, including one of Moreau's, filled her with bitter sadness. In the last month, she had made changes upon this home. It had begun, gradually, to feel like a place where she belonged.

As had Sin.

Where was he? And why? Had he decided that, having secured the possibility of an heir, he no longer needed to share her bed? Had he gone to his club? To another lover? To the ethereally beautiful Duchess of Longleigh?

At long last, she detected a flurry of motion in the hall. Footsteps. Voices. A door opening and closing. Callie knew what those sounds meant. Sin was back.

She rose to her feet and made her way through the door adjoining their apartments with all haste. When she saw him, she wished she had not, for the evidence of what he had spent the night doing was all over his handsome, dissolute form.

He was wearing yesterday's clothes. His hair was disheveled, his eyes bloodshot. His neck tie was missing, and his trousers were rumpled.

"Callie," he said, scrubbing a hand over his jaw.

She did not have the capacity to exchange greetings. A rush of raw fury made her tremble. "Where were you?"

"At my club," he said, moving toward her. "And after that, I bedded down at my friend's house."

She flinched away from his touch when he reached for her. "A friend's house?"

"Yes." His jaw hardened as his gaze searched hers. "A friend. Forgive me for not sending word. Yesterday's news left me surprised. I am afraid I did not handle it well."

"Were you with a paramour?" she asked, hating herself for the need to ask.

Fearing the answer and what it would mean even more.

"No." He shook his head. "Christ, no, Callie. I drank too much bloody whisky. My friend Decker took me to his townhome to sleep it off. That is all."

Fear had already sunk its talons into her heart. So, too, had doubt. Yesterday, he had been the one with doubts. Today, it was her turn.

She wanted to believe him. But part of her said she would be a fool if she did.

"Yesterday, I took tea with my friend, and when I returned, you all but accused me of plotting an affair with Dunlop," she reminded him.

"Forgive me, Callie." He raked his long, elegant fingers—those fingers that knew every inch of her skin so well—through his hair. "There is no excuse for my behavior, save that I am hopelessly flawed. I am trying to be better, for you."

Another swift rush of outrage surged over her.

She gestured toward him, encompassing his disheveled state. "This does not look like trying, Sin. This looks like surrendering."

"I should have come home to you last night," he said on a sigh. "Forgive me, please."

She was not ready to forgive him with such ease. "Why did you go? Why get yourself so thoroughly inebriated that you could not return home until the next afternoon? Imagine how you would feel, had I been gone all night without word."

"I am an arse." He reached for her again, capturing her hand and tangling their fingers together. "And I am sorry."

How easy it would be to fall into his arms, into his bed. But that was what she had been doing for the last month, and look where it had landed her: she had fallen in love with a man she scarcely knew. She was carrying his child in her womb. And on the day she made the discovery, he had run off to drown himself in drink.

Benny's words of warning returned to her, then, and the doubts she had been entertaining yesterday, all last night, and every minute of his absence, blossomed.

You scarcely even know him.

He is the last sort of man I would ever wish to see married to my beloved sister.

I wonder what else your new husband is keeping from you.

She withdrew her hand from Sin's grasp. "I am going to pay a call to my brother and sister-in-law at Westmorland House. I do not like the manner in which we left things yesterday."

"Of course." He clenched his jaw, studying her. "Allow me to dress, and I will accompany you."

"No." She could not give in to him. Not now. She needed time to sort out her feelings. To make sense of this wretched muddle. "I will go alone."

"Alone?" he asked, his voice grim.

"Yes. Alone."

He inclined his head. "As you wish, Callie."

It was not what she wished, but Callie did not bother to say it. Instead, she walked away.

"Her Grace, the Duchess of Longleigh," Dunlop announced.

Sin scowled at the butler-in-training. From bad to worse, it would seem. His head was still aching, his mouth felt as if it had been stuffed with cotton, and no amount of tea he had consumed since his ignominious return a few hours ago could cure what ailed him.

Mostly, he was filled with self-loathing.

And now, Tilly was here.

Tempting though it was, he knew he could not send her away. If she had sought him out, there was every possibility she was in need of aid. Moreover, she had been gracious to him, agreeing to meet with Callie, when the risk to her had not been worth the reward.

"See her in," he relented even as he knew Tilly paying him a call was the last complication he needed to add to this carriage wreck of a day.

He stood when Tilly entered, offering her a bow.

She was beautiful as ever, the drapery of her gown cleverly constructed to hide her pregnancy. Her mien was grave. She smiled, but it did not reach her eyes.

"Thank you for seeing me, Sin," she said softly.

"Of course," he told her easily. "For you, I always have time. What is the matter, my dear? Is it Longleigh?"

Her smile fled. "Is it not always Longleigh?"

Sin cursed. "You never should have married that bastard."

But he did not follow the statement he had oft made to her over the years with the additional accompanying sentence. You should have married me.

Because he no longer felt that way. When he had been consumed by misery with Celeste, marriage to Tilly had certainly seemed the better option. Her husband was a detestable, heartless bastard and Sin's wife had been a faithless, vindictive wretch. Now, however, Sin had found something deeper and far more meaningful with Callie. They were not just friends. She completed him in a way no other woman ever had or could.

If you did not bollix everything up with your stupid bloody trip to visit Decker last night, his conscience reminded him.

"But I did marry him, did I not?" Tilly shook her head. "I, alone, am to blame for the desperate straits in which I find myself. I had believed it would be different between us, if he finally had what he wanted. But I was wrong."

"Has Longleigh hurt you?" Sin pressed.

It was not his business, he knew, but the worries which had first surfaced upon his visit to Haddon House with Callie returned, and they would not be silenced.

"He has not raised his hand against me, if that is what you are asking. He would not dare to cause harm to the babe," she said. "Afterward…I cannot say. But I have not imposed upon you today to fret over what might happen. I am here seeking your help because of what has happened."

"Come," he said, gesturing for her to have a seat on the divan Callie had selected for his study as part of her campaign to refurbish his townhome. "Have a seat."

"Thank you, Sin," she whispered, her voice tremulous. "You are a great friend to me. I have missed you."

He had a feeling this conversation was going to be long and her feet would need the rest. Sin settled himself in a chair opposite. "Tell me everything, Tilly."

Callie emerged from her visit to Benny and Isabella feeling calmer. It had been good to spend a few, unhurried hours visiting with them. The distraction had been welcome. And it had granted her some time to realize she had been hard on Sin earlier that afternoon. After all, he had shown her he was trustworthy, had he not? The wounds left behind by his first marriage were deep, and she could not forget that.

"Where is his lordship?" she asked Dunlop upon her return, determined that she would see Sin and do her utmost to resume where they had left off earlier.

"Lord Sinclair is with the Duchess of Longleigh, in his study, my lady," the butler-in-training announced helpfully.

The Duchess of Longleigh?

Callie's stomach dropped.

"Thank you, Dunlop." The words had scarcely left her lips when Callie's feet were moving.

Feeling as if she were in a dream—a nightmare—she reached the study door. It stood slightly ajar. Through the crack, she saw the duchess in her husband's arms. Saw Sin's hands tenderly stroking up and down her back.

Heard her husband's beautiful, deep voice.

It was a lover's embrace. The intimacy and familiarity were undeniable.

"I will always care for you, Tilly," he was saying. "Whatever you need…"

Callie could not bear to hear the remainder of the words. The tentative understanding and hope she had spun, delicate as a spider's web, was obliterated. Everything gone. In a moment. In the sight of the duchess in Sin's arms, watching the way she clutched him, as if she would never let him go.

Dear God, it was just as she had always suspected. There were still feelings between the two of them.

Perhaps even love.

Callie fled, the sting of tears in her eyes, and ordered the carriage brought around once more. She was going back to Westmorland House.

She was going home.