Lady Ruthless (Notorious Ladies of London Book 1) Page 20

  She did not smile at his gentle teasing. “Going into the mystery apartments this afternoon when you said you were in your study.”

  “Ah.” His expression hardened. “And you are suspicious of me, are you not?”

  His tone of voice and demeanor suggested she ought not to be. He sounded hurt. As if he had expected better of her. Which was ludicrous, because he was the one keeping secrets. She was the one who had every right to doubt him.

  “I have made no secret of my distrust,” she said calmly, holding his gaze.

  His jaw hardened. “Do you still think me guilty of murder?”

  Did she? Once, the answer would have been easy—a resounding yes.

  Now, she did not know for certain. And there remained the matter of his reputation. Of whether or not she could truly trust him. There was so much she needed to learn about him.

  “You have not given me reason to fear you,” she hedged.

  “How gratifying,” he snapped, stalking around the edge of the table.

  He was angry. She told herself she would not retreat, even as he crowded her with his large, powerful body.

  Callie tipped up her chin, all too aware of his greater height. “What do you want from me, my lord?”

  “Honesty.”

  “I want the same of you.” She searched his shuttered gaze, seeking answers. “Why are you keeping me from that chamber? And why did you hide yourself within it this afternoon and then lie to me?”

  He caught her chin in a grip that was tender but firm. “Tell me something, princess. How is it that you can give yourself to me so thoroughly, that you can lie beneath me crying out with your pleasure, and all the while believe me a depraved murderer?”

  His thumb traced a path of pure fire over her bottom lip as he awaited her answer.

  His touch was clouding her mind. Sending unwanted pulses of warmth between her thighs. Making her come to life for him. Drat him and the way he made her feel. Curse him and the weakness he inflicted upon her.

  She swallowed. “Why are you keeping secrets from me?”

  “Why are you watching me?” he returned. “Hmm? Am I a prisoner in my own bloody household?”

  “I was your prisoner once,” she reminded him bitterly. “It is the reason we are now trapped in this hopeless marriage.”

  “Hopeless, is it?” His voice went cold. “Need I bring forth the true reason for our marriage, princess? Your little vendetta and all the lies you were intent upon spreading about me are what landed you in this hopeless marriage. Nothing else. I would have happily married Miss Vandenberg had she not cried off.”

  Callie was certain he would have terrified the quiet, shy heiress. She and Miss Vandenberg had only met once, but Callie did not think her impression had been mistaken. Miss Vandenberg was meek as a mouse. The very notion of Sin kissing her and making love to her as he had done to Callie was…

  Untenable.

  Infuriating.

  “I would wager my dowry compares quite nicely to hers, and I would also wager that you would have terrified the poor woman. Confessions of a Sinful Earl did her a favor.”

  “Oh?” His hand moved, tracing her throat, grasping her gently, his thumb pressing to the hollow where she knew her pulse was pounding. “Is that how you justify your misdeeds, madam? Perhaps I was in love with Miss Vandenberg. Did you ever think of that?”

  His query and his anger, coupled with his hand on her neck, gave her pause.

  Of course she had not contemplated that. She had supposed he was marrying Miss Vandenberg for her fortune because he was desperately in need of one. It shamed her to realize she had been so focused upon her own need for vengeance that she had not stopped to think of who she might be hurting in the process. Or of the possibility that Sin was innocent.

  “What is the matter, wife?” he asked silkily, his fingers tightening incrementally. “Nothing to say for yourself? Tell me how it feels to be such a temple of perfection. I truly want to know.”

  “Were you in love with her?” she asked, hating herself for asking the question.

  Hating the possibility his answer would be yes even more.

  He lowered his head, until his lips were nearly grazing hers. His breath was hot. His mouth was a temptation she knew from experience she could not resist.

  “It is a bit late to ask that question,” he growled, his lip curling into a sneer. “Do you not think, princess?”

  He was attempting to intimidate her, she realized, and it was likely because he was trying to deflect her attention from the secret chamber. “That is not an answer, my lord. Were you in love with Miss Vandenberg?”

  His thumb rubbed slowly over her throat in a predatory caress that should not make her breathless and yet somehow did. “No.”

  What was wrong with her that she liked being his prey?

  The urge to touch him back could no longer be contained. She found her daring and caught his face in her hands. The fine prickle of his whiskers against her palms was welcome and yet uncomfortable all at once.

  Fitting.

  Pleasure and pain.

  “What are you hiding in that chamber?” she demanded.

  “Answer me first.” His gaze slid to her lips, but his hold remained upon her throat, part threat, part caress. “Do you think me a murderer?”

  She stared into his eyes, unable to look away, searching herself for her response. He was a confusing and complex man, the Earl of Sinclair. But even when he had abducted her, he had been concerned about her eating, about her sleeping on the floor. She had smashed a figurine over his head, and he had kissed her…

  He confused her.

  Left her flustered and aching and hopelessly muddled in the head and heart.

  “No.” Her answer left her suddenly. The moment the word fled her lips, she had to admit it was true. She did not believe he had hurt Alfred any longer. And nor did she believe he had killed his former countess. Callie had been alone with her husband enough to know she did not need to fear him. But not enough to know she could trust him. “That does not mean I accept you keeping secrets from me, however.”

  His expression shifted. The anger seemed to drain from him. In its place was, unless she was mistaken, sadness. “You do not know what you are asking of me.”

  She searched his gaze, trying to find answers that continued to elude her. “Honesty, Sin, as I said. That is all I am asking.”

  His lips thinned. He was still near enough to kiss. A tip of her head, a push forward onto her toes, and his mouth would be upon hers. She told herself she should not want that kiss. She ought not to desire his mouth upon hers. And yet, she was helpless when it came to him.

  “You want to know what I was doing in that chamber today?” he asked abruptly.

  “Yes.” Her answer was instant. “Of course I do. If this marriage of ours has a hope at all, we must be as honest with each other as possible, Justin.”

  His nostrils flared, and she knew it was at the use of his Christian name. “What makes you think I give a proper goddamn if this marriage has any hope or not, princess?”

  His response filled her with disappointment. “If that is how you feel, then this dialogue is a moot point.”

  But when she attempted to free herself from his hold, he held fast, his grip on her throat tightening just enough to keep her frozen in place. To remind her which of them was the more powerful when it came to strength. “Calm yourself, little wife. This is not easy for me.”

  His frank admission caught her by surprise.

  She could not be sure if he was talking about their marriage or about her request for his honesty. “What is not easy for you?”

  His sensual lips compressed. “Having a wife again.”

  She wished his answer had been different. “I did not want to marry you. This marriage was forced upon me.”

  “It was forced upon us both.” His tone was cool, his expression unreadable. “Need I remind you of that? Of all the reasons why?”

  Her patience snapp
ed. “What are you so afraid of me discovering? Why will you not simply tell me what you are hiding from me and why?”

  “Because there is nothing simple about it and you are once more being a brat, madam,” he bit out.

  She was still cupping his face in her hands, the heat of him searing her. Part of her wanted to rage at him. Part of her wanted to slap him. Or kiss him.

  No, not that.

  “What a pair we make,” she said then, shaking herself from her thoughts and trying to tamp down the effect he had upon her. “For you are being an arse to my brat.”

  His jaw clenched beneath her touch. “Fine. You want to know what lies within that chamber, I will show you. But first, I will have your promise that you do not speak while we are in the chamber unless I ask you to do so.”

  What the devil was in those apartments?

  “You have my promise,” she said without hesitation, releasing her hold on him at last when she realized how desperately they clung to each other.

  He nodded, then removed his grasp as well. “Come.”

  With a small jolt of unease, she settled her hand in the crook of his arm and allowed him to lead her from the dining room. Whatever it was, she was about to find out.

  Sin paused at the door to his mother’s apartments, turning to his wife. “Remember, no speaking. I will speak for you.”

  Her full lips took on a mulish moue, but she surprised him with her acquiescence. “I understand.”

  Undoubtedly, she did not like the notion of holding her tongue. But he could not afford to take the chance that she would upset or confuse Mama. Hell, he was not even sure he could trust Callie with the information that his mother was frail-minded. If she were to unleash her poison pen yet again, she would have the world believing he would soon descend into madness as well.

  He had been biding his time, wanting to wait until he was more assured of his standing with his new wife, to make the revelation. But she had forced his hand, and he knew her well enough to suspect she would sneak into his mother’s chambers alone to investigate if he continued to evade her questions and bar her from entering the apartments.

  Once more, she had left him without a choice.

  He opened the door and gestured for her to proceed him into Mama’s sitting room. Miss Wright was within, seated with her needlework as she had been earlier in the day. This time, however, she bore the appearance of someone who had dozed off. She blinked slowly and rose as if doing so required an elaborate effort.

  She curtseyed, and Sin could not help but to note the glazed quality of her gaze, the dilated pupils. “My lord, my lady.”

  “Miss Wright, I would like to introduce you to my wife, the Countess of Sinclair,” he said. “My lady, this is Miss Wright, my mother’s companion and nursemaid.”

  His wife’s shocked inhalation was the only indication of her surprise.

  She smiled warmly, however, her countenance elegant and composed. “I am pleased to meet you, Miss Wright.”

  “It is my honor, my lady,” said Miss Wright.

  Her speech sounded lucid enough, though he remained suspicious of her.

  “Is my mother awake?” he asked. “Lady Sinclair would like to meet her as well.”

  “She would not take her dinner this evening,” Miss Wright said, frowning. “I saw to it that she swallowed some broth and a bit of tea, but she may be sleeping now.”

  “There has not been much change since my earlier visit, then?” He already knew the answer, but this question was for his wife’s benefit rather than his.

  “I am afraid not, my lord.”

  He inclined his head. “If she is sleeping, we will not disturb her. Thank you, Miss Wright.”

  Sin did not often visit his mother after dinner. Nights were typically worse for her, he had discovered. It was as if the happy veil that enshrouded her mind was replaced. She became angry and sometimes closed herself off. He preferred the happy Mama who thought he was Ferdy and relived the magic of her youth.

  But he was not making this visit for himself.

  He was making it for the woman at his side, so that she could be reassured. So that she could understand the magnitude of the secret he had been keeping from her. Because—God help him—he cared what she thought. He cared about the tentative, fragile truce they had formed since becoming husband and wife.

  Fool that he was.

  He led Callie to his mother’s chamber, cursing himself for his weakness where this woman was concerned. Telling himself he had already had the devil’s own marriage and a wife who had made an art of causing him misery. He had no reassurance he could trust the woman at his side.

  And he was about to introduce her to the most beloved person in his life.

  The door clicked open to reveal Mama was not in her bed but rather standing at the window in her night rail. Her white hair was a knotted, matted mess, revealing what he had not seen during his earlier visit. A sharp arrow of anger found its home in his gut. Miss Wright ought to have been brushing her bloody hair instead of napping into her needlework.

  As if sensing his anger, Callie slid her hand from his elbow and tangled her fingers in his. Her touch was gentle, reassuring. And Sin was suddenly grateful, so damned grateful, for the woman he had married in desperation and fury. There was far more to her than he had supposed. She was a complicated woman, but he was beginning to see that she was not the vicious, heartless shrew he had once been eager to believe her.

  He cleared his throat, chasing the unwanted knot of emotion from it. “Good evening,” he said to Mama, who was still trapped in her vigil at the window.

  She turned at last, her gaze going first to Sin and then to Callie. “Ferdy! Why the devil have you brought the duchess with you? You promised to see me alone when you came to call. You know I cannot abide that bitch.”

  She was agitated this evening. Her voice was cutting, lacking the whimsy that so often infiltrated it these days. The curses peppering her speech told him she was in one of her more fragile moods.

  “Calm yourself, Mama,” he cajoled, pulling Callie with him as he approached his mother. “It is Justin.”

  “Justin?” Her brow furrowed, confusion clouding her countenance. “Who is Justin? Do not play tricks on me, Ferdy, it is not bloody well sporting of you. Why would you bring her here? Do you not know how much I love you?”

  Although he knew Mama could not control the vagaries of her mind, he could not quell the disappointment flooding him. He had not expected her to remember or recognize him any more this evening than she had earlier in the day, or the day before that. His mother’s mind was mostly trapped in a past where he did not exist.

  Callie gave his fingers another squeeze and then released him, moving forward to put a soothing arm around his mother’s back. “Ferdy brought me here to tend to your hair, my dear. I am hardly a duchess, as you can see. Come and have a seat. I shall fetch a brush.”

  Sin watched, amazed, as his wife swiftly guided Mama to a chair and saw her settled. He was not certain which surprised him more—Callie’s swift understanding of the situation, or his mother’s easy capitulation. Mama did not ordinarily do well with new faces, which would make replacing Miss Wright all the more challenging. Change upset her.

  “I would love to have my hair brushed,” Mama said, a note of cheer entering her tone. “My lady’s maid has not been doing her duty, I fear.”

  Her time-worn hands went to her hair, investigating the tangles.

  Callie discovered a silver-handled brush on a nearby table and cast him a shy smile as their gazes met. More gratitude hit him. Thank you, he mouthed to her. She nodded and turned to her task, gently running the brush through his mother’s hair.

  “Do come closer, Ferdy,” Mama called to him then. “I can scarcely see you over there.”

  Sin obligingly crossed the chamber and seated himself in a chair opposite his mother while Callie continued her ministrations with slow, careful motions. Of all the reactions he had anticipated—and feared—sh
e would have, compassion and tender understanding had not been one of them.

  “Is this better?” he asked with an indulgent smile for his mother’s sake.

  “Much better, yes.” Mama smiled. “You are such a handsome fellow. You look like someone I used to know. What is your name?”

  “Justin,” he told her.

  “Justin,” Mama repeated softly, as if she were testing the name. “A fine name. It means just and fair.”

  “I am not certain I have always lived up to my name,” he said grimly, his gaze flitting to Callie.

  Sin was far more apt.

  “I knew a little lad named Justin once,” Mama said softly. “He was the most beautiful boy, with big, dark, sparkling eyes.”

  Something in his chest constricted. It was at once a relief and a painful burden to know that some memories of him lingered in his mother’s mind. He was not entirely gone. Though he feared the inevitability of a day when she did not even have these brief moments of recollection. They had been growing increasingly scarce in the last year.

  “Would you tell me about him?” Callie asked before Sin could answer.

  “He was mischievous,” Mama said fondly. “He had his father’s disposition, always ready to smile, and a bit of the devil in him. Once, he caught a bucket full of toads and let them run wild in the drawing room. You ought to have heard the maids and their bloody squealing.”

  Callie raised a brow, meeting his gaze over his mother’s head. “He sounds like he must have been quite the little rogue.”

  “I had forgotten about that,” he admitted with a wry grin.

  He had been a devilish lad.

  “The sweetest rogue, with an endless heart,” Mama said, her smile abruptly dying. “Where the hell did he go? Have you seen him?”

  Her agitation was rising again. She fussed with her night rail, rearranging it in her lap. Before he could offer a soothing word, Callie calmly patted her shoulder. “Shall I braid your hair?”

  “Oh, yes,” Mama said, the distraction appearing to calm her. “My lady’s maid is a lazy whore. She never braids my hair any longer. Will you be my lady’s maid now, dear?”