Chapter 22

I will never forget the expression on her face when realization dawned upon her, like the sun illuminating the morning sky, chasing away the shadows and darkness of night. It was in that moment, dear reader, when she realized she had never known me at all.

~fromConfessions of a Sinful Earl

"She does not want to see you, Sinclair."

The cold pronouncement of the Duke of Westmorland cut through the silence of the salon where Sin had been awaiting his wife. For the second day in a row, he had returned to Westmorland House, determined to gain an audience with Callie.

This time, he had not been turned away at the door by the disapproving butler. Mayhap because Sin had finally threatened to plant him a facer if he did not at least allow him inside the sprawling castle where his wife had chosen to hide herself. Regardless, this was not the interview he had been hoping to achieve after suffering through the longest night of his life.

Two nights in a row without her in his bed.

It had been fucking torture, and he was at fault for both.

"She is my wife," he told his forbidding brother-in-law. "I have every right to see her and to speak with her."

"You do not deserve an audience with her," Westmorland snarled. "After what you have done, you are damned fortunate I do not shoot you where you stand."

Sin returned the duke's glare with one of his own. "As far as I am aware, murder is still a crime, Westmorland."

"So is what you have put my sister through." Westmorland stalked toward him, menace in his step. "First, you blackmailed her into marrying you whilst I was on my honeymoon because you are lacking even a modicum of honor. Then, she discovered she was carrying your child, and you spent all night getting soused at a depraved club. After which you promptly made love to your mistress in your study, in plain view of the servants."

Sin's ears went hot, but he refused to retreat. "I will own that I blackmailed her into this marriage, and that I drowned myself in whisky that night, but the Duchess of Longleigh is not my mistress, and nor was I making love to her in my study."

When he had belatedly learned, after Tilly's departure, that Callie had returned from her call to her brother, only to suddenly leave once more, he had instantly known what she must have seen and the conclusions she had reached. Once again, his own actions looked damning. The fault for that was his, and he would own it. But he had hastened to Westmorland House only to be denied entrance. That Callie would hide from him for an entire night and not even allow him the chance to explain felt like a betrayal.

"Why should anyone believe what you say, Sinclair?" the duke bit out. "You are a known and admitted liar."

"All I want is the opportunity to speak with my wife," he returned, undaunted.

"Callie does not want to speak with you," his brother-in-law snapped. "You have done enough damage. When she is ready to see you, she will let you know."

Sin was tired of waiting.

He wanted his wife back.

He wanted the woman he loved. It had taken her leaving him to force the realization that he was not just falling in love with Callie. He had fallen a long bloody time ago. Perhaps even the moment she had smashed that worthless piece of pottery over his head back at Helston Hall. When she had demonstrated all her stubborn fire and fearlessness. He could not choose the exact second the balance had shifted. Nor how it had happened. All he did know was that he loved her. And like the sun rising each morning, that love was constant and true.

"I am not leaving until I see her," he countered evenly.

Westmorland raised a brow. "Then I suggest you enjoy bedding down on the carpets like the mongrel you are."

His brother-in-law did not like him. Whilst Sin was pleased Callie's brother was so loyal and protective, he would have preferred a bit less unadulterated hatred being directed toward him. He could admit it was not entirely undeserved.

"All I want is to see her, speak with her, and to give her some things that belong to her," he said simply, unwavering.

"I will see him, Benny."

Callie's voice cut through the thick mutual enmity inhabiting the salon. Sin turned to find her standing on the threshold. A jolt of awareness went through him when their stares met and held. He wanted to run to her, to take her in his arms, to beg her never to leave him alone for another night again.

But he remained where he was, tempering himself. The manuscript in his hands rendered such an action impossible anyway.

Instead, he bowed. "Callie."

My love. My beautiful, stubborn, delicious woman.

"You do not have to see him," Westmorland addressed his sister. "If you are not comfortable with this, Callie, I will send him on his way."

"No." She shook her head, her gaze still lingering upon Sin. "Thank you, Benny, but I want to speak with my husband. Alone."

"I am not sure that is wise," the duke countered, his voice stern.

"What do you think I am going to do to her, Westmorland?" he demanded, nettled.

"Please, Benny," Callie said, her voice gentling. "I promise you, I will be fine."

Westmorland sent Sin a vicious glare. "If you hurt her in any fashion, I will break off both your arms and beat you with them. And then I will cut off your ballocks and stuff them down your throat."

"Gruesome bastard, aren't you?" Sin muttered.

His brother-in-law merely raised a brow. "Try me, Sinclair."

"Benny," Callie said pointedly.

Thankfully, the duke at long last took his leave, but not before sending one more threatening glance in Sin's direction. When he was gone, Sin and Callie stood alone, facing each other.

"How are you feeling today?" he asked on a rush. "Any dizziness? You have not swooned again, have you? Perhaps we ought to sit. Are you too warm? Too cool? Have you eaten enough?"

As the last question fled him, he understood how foolish he sounded. But it could not be helped.

"I am as well as can be expected," she answered, her voice taut. Controlled. Distinctly unlike his fiery countess. "And I do not need to sit. I am perfectly capable of standing. I am not so fragile."

He nodded, drinking in the sight of her. She was bloody ravishing. Her dark eyes were doing the same to him, he realized. But her expression remained guarded. They were eying each other like two prize-fighters attempting to determine which of them would land the first blow.

"You look well," he observed, deciding it would be him. "Indeed, you look better than well. You are so damned beautiful, it hurts to look at you."

Her cheeks went pink. She caught her berry-red lower lip in her teeth. "Thank you. I could say the same of you."

He did not believe that for a moment. He looked like a man who had scarcely slept the night before. Who had paced the freshly replaced Axminster in his chamber, searching his mind for ways he could make amends with the woman he loved.

He itched to touch her, but there was still the matter of the manuscript in his hands. He thrust it toward her. "This is for you."

She took it from him, their fingers brushing in the exchange, and Sin felt the shock of that touch—so simple—so innocent—in an electric pulse that shot up his elbow and landed in an ache in his ballocks.

Callie glanced down at the manuscript. "This is the last installment of Confessions of a Sinful Earl," she noted, sounding surprised.

He nodded. "It is. Your former publisher returned it to me, at my request. But I want you to have it."

Her brow furrowed. "Why?"

"Because it is yours."

She gazed back up at him. "But why now?"

"It was wrong of me to keep it from you, just as it was wrong of me to get sotted at my club and spend the night at Decker's townhome." He paused, struggling for his words. Everything he had rehearsed on the carriage ride here dissipated in the wake of her glorious presence. "It was also wrong of me to abduct you. Wrong of me to blackmail you into becoming my wife. Hell, Callie, I have committed a great deal of wrongs in my life. But one I swear I have not committed against you—and never would, for that matter—is adultery. Whatever you think you saw between myself and the Duchess of Longleigh was purely friendship. Nothing more."

"You were embracing her," Callie said. "Holding her in your arms as if she were made of finest porcelain. Telling her you would always care for her and be there in whatever she needs. And this, after you were so protective of her. After you revealed to me that she had once been your mistress, and lest we forget, you had just spent the night carousing. Tell me, Sin, what was I to think?"

"You were to think that I spoke vows and intend to uphold them," he countered.

"For how long?" she asked bitterly. "You were more than clear with your expectations. You told me you would bed me until I provided you with an heir, and then we could live our lives separately, however we wished. As soon as I was pregnant, you were gone all night long, and then I caught you in the arms of the duchess, making promises to her."

Tilly's story was complicated. He had promised her his utter discretion, but he could not keep the truth from Callie. Not when doing so could cost him his wife.

"Longleigh is a despicably cruel man," he said, struggling to give voice to the ugliness Tilly had revealed to him yesterday. "He is unable to perform his husbandly duties, but he requires an heir. There was a time when he allowed Tilly to live as she wished, to discreetly take lovers. However, he decided he was no longer willing to take the chance that she would, as he phrased it, birth him a bastard that was not of his stock. He forced her into bed with one of his nephews."

Callie gasped. "Are you saying he allowed his nephew to rape his own wife?"

"That is what it was to have been, yes," Sin said grimly. "However, at some point before their affair began, it became something more for the two of them, and they fell in love. Now, the nephew is suddenly, inexplicably missing, and Tilly is convinced Longleigh had something to do with it. She asked me for assistance in finding him. That is what you saw. She is worried over her lover, the father of her child. Terrified what Longleigh has done to him, and worse, what he may do to her. I was doing my best to reassure her, and to promise her that I will aid her in whatever fashion I can."

"That is despicable," Callie said, her voice hushed with shock, her countenance reflecting the same disgust swirling in his own gut. "I feel so badly for her. You are going to help her however you can, are you not, Sin? We can also speak with Benny about it—given all his connections at Scotland Yard, no one would be more capable of looking into the disappearance of Longleigh's nephew."

"It is indeed despicable," he agreed. "I have promised to do what I can in that regard. I am, however, quite certain your brother does not hold me in the highest esteem at the moment."

That was rather an understatement, he thought wryly. Westmorland had been eying him like an executioner ready to start sharpening his blade.

"Benny is exceedingly protective, but when I explain everything to him, he will see reason. Believe me." Callie paused, then worried her lip again. "I feel so foolish now. I was terrified that you had chosen her. That you would no longer want me now that I am pregnant."

Her confession slayed him. It required every modicum of restraint Sin possessed not to groan and cover that much-abused lip with his. There was far too much at stake to lose himself in kisses just yet. Later, there would be time for that. He hoped.

"Never, sweet. I will always, only choose you." He flashed her his best attempt at a smile. "Forever. And I want you now more than I ever have."

"I had thought for certain you were still in love with her."

He held his wife's stare, willing her to read the sincerity in his. He had never meant anything more than what he was about to say. "I promise you there is only one woman I love."

Callie stilled, her gaze searching his. "Sin?"

He moved forward, closing the remaining distance keeping them apart. Her scent filled his senses, her wide eyes all he saw. That sooty fringe of impossibly long lashes. The flecks of honey in the dark-brown depths.

"You, Callie," he said softly. "You are the only woman I love."

"You…love me?" Her eyes glistened. The manuscript fell from her fingers, fluttering all over the floor around their feet.

She did not remove her gaze from his.

He took her hand in his and held it over his madly thudding heart so she could feel how she affected him. "I did not just bring the manuscript back to you. This belongs to you also. My heart."

Her fingers curled in the fabric of his coat. "Sin…"

"I never wanted to fall in love with you," he continued, praying she would not reject him. That she would believe him. That she would trust him. "From the start, I was determined to hate you. I told myself I was using you, that you were a means to an end. That I was only marrying you to solve my problems. But from the moment I first kissed you, I knew that was a bloody lie. I thought I was marrying a treacherous witch, that this marriage would be no different than my last, and similarly doomed to misery. It did not take me long to realize how wrong I was and how right we are, together."

"Oh, darling." Tears clung to her lashes, slid down her cheeks.

"I love you, Callie," he continued, his own eyes stinging. "I love your stubbornness, your loyalty, your compassion. I love your passion and your caring. I love the kindness you showed my mother, the way you tirelessly pursue what is right. I love going to sleep each night with you in my bed and waking up each morning with your face the first thing I see. I love the way you taste, the way you smell, and I bloody well love the way you kiss. I love everything about you."

He would have said more, but he stopped, afraid he had revealed too much. Afraid he had not revealed enough.

She cupped his face. "I love you, too."

He lost the ability to think. Or speak.

Instead, he could only act. Sin hauled Callie into his arms and took her lips with his. No kiss had ever been sweeter. She surrendered to him with a breathy sigh, her arms going around his neck as she rose on tiptoes to return his kiss with all the ferocity he had come to expect from her.

Their mouths sealed in perfect union, and never in his life had any kiss felt better. It was a kiss of reunion, of relief, of love. So much love. They kissed and kissed and kissed, until they were breathless. Until his next thought was that he was going to drag her to the bloody carpet and take her on a bed of the scattered pages of her unpublished manuscript.

Before he could do something so foolhardy, he tore his lips from hers.

For a moment, they stared at each other, two lost souls inexplicably found. And then she traced her finger down his cheek, trailing wetness he had not realized had been there before over his skin. Tears. His.

Fucking hell.

This woman had him in tatters.

This woman made him whole. She picked up the jagged shards of the man he had once been and sewed him back together into a new man. One who not only loved her, but one who was worthy of her love in return.

"I love you so much it hurts," she told him, a sentiment he knew all too well. "Do you forgive me for doubting you, for letting my fears get the best of me?"

"I forgive you anything," he vowed. "Come home with me, sweet. Come home where you and our babe belong."

Her smile hit him in the heart. "There is nowhere I would rather be."

Fate had an odd way of taking the worst of life—the heartbreaks, the losses, the ugliness—and fashioning them into something unbearably good, Callie had discovered. Sometimes, the road to redemption was long, winding, and perilous.

Sometimes, fate stole into your carriage and made you his captive. Sometimes, fate was named Sin, and he was wickedly handsome, and his kisses turned your knees to pudding, and he made you fall in love with him and all his battle scars.

Sometimes, you had to suffer to appreciate that goodness when it finally arrived.

Callie snuggled against her beloved husband's chest. She could not help but to feel, this night, a new sense of rightness. A sense that she was exactly where she was meant to be, where she had always been meant to be.

In her husband's big, tall bed. The one where he had first made love to her.

The one where he had made love to her again, with exquisite tenderness, not long ago. His heart was a reassuring hammer beneath her ear, the musky, citrus scent of him invading her senses. The smattering of crisp, dark hair on his chest was soft against her cheek.

She kissed his bare skin, inhaling deeply. His fingers stroked through her unbound hair. Callie hated to halt the sweet simplicity of the moment, but she had a question for him, one which had been troubling her ever since he had thrust the pages of her work into her hands earlier that day at Westmorland House.

"Why did you truly give me back the unpublished installment of Confessions of a Sinful Earl?" She tilted her head back to see his face as she posed her question.

From this angle, she was treated to the sight of his strong jaw and proud chin, shaded in whiskers. His full, sensual mouth, those wickedly sculpted lips that brought her so much pleasure, were swollen from their kisses and glistening in the lamplight. He was still and silent for so long she wondered if he had heard her.

But then, at last, the deep rumble of his baritone emerged.

"Because they are your words. You are an incredibly talented writer, sweet." He paused, swallowing, and she greedily tracked the subtle dip of his Adam's apple. "I had been keeping it since your publisher returned it to me. But the story is yours. If you want to complete it, publish the final volume of the serial, I will not object. Lord knows all London is awaiting it."

Her husband was willing to allow her to further trample his reputation into the mud, and for no reason other than that he loved her. She absorbed that knowledge. And if she did not fall in love with him even more in that instant, the stars did not shine in the night sky, and nor did the sun rise in the east each morning.

How wrong she had been about him. She had believed him a heartless, dangerous villain. A man capable of anything. Instead, she had discovered a man who was sweet and compassionate, who would sacrifice anything for those he loved.

Even himself.

"I do not want to publish it, Sin." Her fingers trailed over the hard plane of his abdomen. "I never want to hurt you again."

He lifted a hank of her hair, allowing the strands to fall onto her bare back, ever so slowly. "Then never leave me. I need you here with me, princess. At my side, in my bed, in my arms."

"I am here to stay." She kissed his chest once more.

"Promise?" His hand swept beneath her hair, following the line of her spine in a gentle caress.

"Promise." She flicked her tongue over his flat nipple, feeling wicked. "I love you." She nipped him lightly. "Do you promise you will never leave me?"

"Hell yes," he growled. "You are quite stuck with me forever, love."

"Good." She kissed down his chest, taking her time to marvel at him. "There is no one else I would rather be stuck with, darling."

Her lips traveled lower. Her hands, too. He was so beautiful, masculine strength at her mercy. She wanted to worship his body the way he did hers. His skin was warm, his muscles rippling beneath her touch. He inhaled sharply when she kissed down his ribs, over his abdomen.

His hand fisted in her hair. "Callie, what are you doing?"

"Loving you." She settled herself between his legs, where his cock was already hard again, standing stiff and proud. "Tell me what to do, Sin."

He was watching her with a heavy-lidded gaze. "Damnation, woman." But even as he bit out the words, he gripped his thick length, holding it out to her like an offering. "Take me in your mouth."

Callie did not hesitate. She sucked the tip of him, reveling in the way he tasted—salty, musky, like both of them mingled together. She swirled her tongue around him, gratified at his low groan of approval. Callie glanced up his body, meeting his intense, dark stare.

"More?" she asked.

He swallowed. "More. Take me in your throat, princess."

Sin removed his hand, giving her free reign over him. She lowered her head, taking as much of him as she could, and gripping the base of his shaft with her hand. His fingers tangled in her hair, guiding her, showing her what he wanted.

Up and down, in and out. He surged into the back of her throat, huge and demanding.

"Yes," he rasped. "Let me fuck your mouth."

Oh.

His vulgar demand made her pearl pulse and an aching wetness blossom between her thighs. She understood what he wanted, and she wanted it, too. Wanted him. Was ravenous for him. Callie moved her lips up and down his shaft, alternating between bringing him deep into her throat—so deep she almost gagged—and then retreating to lavish attention upon his cockhead.

A drop of his seed leaked from the slit at the tip, and she licked it up, savoring every drop of him she could get. Then she lowered her head again. The thick slide of his manhood over her tongue, down her throat, was intoxicating. His hips were pumping beneath her, and each moan she wrung from his perfect lips felt like a victory. His cock was so beautiful, as beautiful as the rest of him. She could not get enough of him. She wanted his seed in her mouth, wanted to swallow it down.

Wanted to make him lose control.

But her husband had other ideas.

Sin tugged on her hair, pulling her head back until he slid from her lips.

"I was not finished yet," she protested.

"If you do not finish, I will be finished," he growled, hauling her up his body and rolling them as one so she was pinned beneath him, legs spread. "And the first time was far too fast. I want to go slowly this time. To enjoy you properly."

Her aching cunny was perfectly aligned with his big, wet cock. She writhed beneath him, wanting to get him inside her.

"Enjoy me, then," she urged, desperate.

"I will." The grin he gave her was full of wicked promise.

The bud of her sex pulsed. Sucking him had left her desperately hungry for him. She was drenched. But he was not doing what she wanted. Instead, he was reaching for something…

His discarded neck cloth, she realized.

"Give me your wrists, sweet."

She would give him anything.

Callie did as he asked, and he tied a knot around both wrists, then secured them over her head. She was tied to his bed, as she had been on the day he had taken her from London, but this time, everything between them was different.

So very, wonderfully different.

He grinned down at her. "I like having you at my mercy, little wife."

"I like being at your mercy," she confessed on a gasp when he dipped his head to suck her nipple into his mouth.

The hot, silken suction was exquisite. He palmed her other breast, working his thumb over the pebbled peak. When he rasped his teeth over her, Callie's core clenched.

"What will I do with you?" he asked.

"Anything you want," she said, breathless.

His tongue licked a tormenting circle around her nipple, then flicked over it. She bucked from the bed, trying to bring him nearer, wanting his cock to fill her, stretch her. But he retreated, the only part of him touching her his mouth and his knowing fingers. He lapped at her breasts, long leisurely strokes over first one nipple, then another. When she swore she could bear no more of his torture, he sucked.

His fingers traced over her belly, lingering there, where their child grew.

"I love you," Sin said against her skin.

"And I love you." The words, now that she had spoken them once, were easy to say. Easy to embrace.

Just as Sin was easy to love.

He dragged his light touch lower. To where she was on fire for him. Long fingers stroked her slit, then parted her. He circled her aching bud with slow, light strokes. Not enough pressure. Callie thrust into his hand. He gave her what she wanted, sucking her nipples and stimulating her at the same time.

And then he kissed down her body, spread her thighs wider, and settled his mouth on her. He sucked her pearl, the wet sound echoing through the chamber, along with her ragged breathing.

She moaned. There was something delectably erotic about being tied to his bed. About not being able to touch him. About being completely his. About the sight of him pleasuring her, his handsome face buried in her mound.

He groaned as he suckled her, then ran his tongue over her in firm, wet strokes that had her on the edge. After their first round of lovemaking, all her senses were heightened. The needy ache in her sex turned into a crescendo of pure bliss. She cried out, jerking against his lashing tongue, against the bonds on her wrist. Warmth blossomed from her core as she spent. She quivered beneath his masterful tongue as he stayed where he was, prolonging the pleasure with steady pulses and the abrasion of his teeth.

Sated, limp, mindless, she struggled to catch her breath as her husband kissed her inner thigh and met her gaze. His lips glistened with the evidence of her desire. She wondered if she would taste herself on his lips, or if she would taste the both of them, mingling, blending, becoming one.

He kissed his way back up her body, and she had her answer when he claimed her mouth. Deep, soul-baring kisses. His tongue in her mouth. She sucked. Both of them, that was what she tasted—the blended saltiness and musk of their union. The hope and the joy and the love.

Us.

Yes, that was it. Us. They were one, now and forever.

He rubbed his cock up and down her folds, coating himself in her wetness, then found the nub he had just so thoroughly pleasured and toyed with her some more. She mewled into his kiss, writhed against him. Her hard nipples grazed his chest.

The weight of him atop her was delicious.

He raised his head, his dark gaze glittering with intensity. "Tell me what you want, sweet. Make those pretty lips say dirty things."

"I want your cock inside me, filling me, stretching me." She licked her lips, finding her courage. "I want you deep in me, Sin. I want you fast and hard and wild."

"Good little wife," he praised, notching his cock to her slick core. "I have no choice but to give you what you want, do I?"

"No you don't," she agreed, lifting her head to seal their mouths in another slow, carnal kiss before letting her head drop back onto the pillow. "Make me come. Fuck me, Sin."

The naughty words fled her lips. She did not even know where they emerged from, only that he had taught them to her. He had shown her what they meant, had brought her to shattering heights of pleasure. And now, he was going to give her even more.

On a guttural groan, he thrust into her, gliding through her wetness and planting himself as far as he could. She was gloriously filled. He moved, withdrawing from her, only to slam his cock back into her again.

He took her lips in another drugging kiss, biting her lower lip as his rhythm turned frantic. In and out he drove, hips pumping, bed shaking. She wrapped her legs around him, meeting him thrust for thrust. And though she longed to touch him, to run her fingers over his back, to sift through his hair, the inability somehow heightened the potency of her desire. She loved being tied to his bed.

Loved him inside her.

Atop her.

Taking her to the edge of that dangerous cliff of desire.

In and out. Faster. Harder. More.

He caught her bottom in his hands and angled her so he could plunge even deeper into her. Callie lost all control. The knot of desire grew tighter. Her heart was pounding, the slide of him in her cunny making her feel as if sparks were raining down on her.

"Come for me, sweet," he murmured against her lips.

One more frantic slam of his hips into hers, and she did.

She clenched on him, her entire body seizing as a burst of pleasure exploded, radiating outward. Tremors rocked her. She gasped his name. In the next breath, he stiffened, the warm rush of his seed making her tremble.

He collapsed against her, breathing heavy, his heart pounding against her breast, his face buried in her hair. She came down from her cloud slowly, gasping for breaths, reveling in the intensity of their lovemaking.

After a few moments, he stirred, then untied the knots on her wrists.

She wasted no time in wrapping her arms around him. He gathered her in his embrace, drawing her against his chest once more. They clung to each other as if they were each other's only chance of surviving the raging waters of a flood. And that was what it felt like, this bond between them.

They were each other's. Simple as that.

He pressed a kiss to the crown of her head.

Callie smiled. "Sin?"

"Yes, sweet?" His baritone was lazy. Sated. Happy.

Her smile deepened. "That was a vast improvement upon the last time you tied me to a bed."

Her husband chuckled, then stroked her hair. "If you thought that was good, my love, wait until the next time."

Callie was feeling saucy. "Is that a threat or a promise, darling?"

"For you, Callie mine, everything is a promise."