The Lord's Inconvenient Vow (The Sinful Sinclairs Book 3)

by Lara Temple

  ‘He just does. All those years looking over his shoulder. He is like one of those old biddies who always seem to know what is happening on their street. I dare say you know where poor old Mr Freely has been.’

  He tweaked her curl and bent to brush a kiss on her forehead.

  ‘Since it is Wednesday I presume he has been to visit his mistress in Kensington.’

  Olivia’s eyes widened and he laughed.

  ‘Too gullible, love. I have no idea where he has been, nor do I care. All that concerns me is in this house and wherever Chase is off gallivanting with Ellie.’ He looked across at Sam again, his smile fading. ‘And Edge, of course. That concerns me.’

  ‘Lucas...’ Olivia placed her hand on his, but Sam shrugged and retreated to her drawing. No doubt Lucas would have dealt better with the shock of her sudden marriage if Edge had been there to take the brunt of his first reaction instead of disappearing for two weeks. In that respect she thoroughly agreed with Lucas.

  Two weeks, punctuated by two notes. One to inform her he was going directly from the lawyers to Greybourne House in Hampshire. Another to inform her he was travelling north to Rafe’s house in Cumbria. Both signed ‘E’. Not even ‘Edge’. Not even ‘Yours’. Heaven forbid.

  And now nothing for a week.

  ‘He will return. Edge is nothing if not conscientious.’ Oh, God, she was beginning to sound like Edge. She heard nothing in her voice of her loneliness or of the fear that this would be her future. That her marriage to Edge, despite the passion he’d shown and the care he’d taken of her, would end in cold distance. Instead of a home she might have trapped herself into worse loneliness than the one she’d been trying to escape.

  ‘I know,’ Lucas replied. ‘I am not concerned he will disappear back to Brazil. I am concerned he will become embroiled in Greybourne’s dubious affairs. I know you promised Edge not to summon Oswald, but if this new husband of yours sees nothing wrong with leaving you in London and wandering off...’

  ‘Lucas, enough. She gave her word,’ Olivia intervened and Lucas turned his glare on her and threw up his hands.

  Sam rubbed a smudge on the paper. She hated causing friction between Lucas and Olivia and she knew he was right, but so was Olivia. It was a small thing, a promise, but as foolish as it might be she felt not honouring it could risk unravelling the frail tapestry of their union.

  Patience is a virtue.

  Patience was an agonising twisting of her innards. She hated being patient. She wanted Edge to walk in the door right now, tell her Rafe was alive and well and dedicating himself to leek farming and now they could finally...

  There she drew a blank. She tried and tried to imagine what her life with Edge would look like. What their home would be like. Somehow in Egypt it had all made perfect, wonderful sense, then faltered on the Lark, recovered thanks to a hammock and a headache, and now it was fading again.

  Perhaps she’d been suffering from some desert malady and invented the whole thing. Perhaps Edge had disappeared and would never return. Perhaps he was somewhere suffering from another horrible megrim with no one to help him...

  ‘Sam... Sam, I’m an idiot. I’m sorry.’ Lucas bent over her, his hand on her shoulder. The door snicked shut and she realised Olivia had left them. She bent and stroked Inky.

  ‘And I’m sorry you and Olivia are arguing because of me.’

  He grinned.

  ‘No, we aren’t. Livvy knows full well I fume when I’m worried and has learned to ignore me, thank God. But she is also concerned. She wants me to stay here instead of going with her to Yorkshire for her brother’s wedding.’

  ‘No! Lucas...’

  ‘Calm down, there is no way in hell I will leave her to face the people who humiliated her alone. In fact, I am looking forward to terrorising a few of them and one in particular. But I give you two choices. If Edge, blast his dour soul, has not returned by the time we leave, you either come with us or I set Oswald on to him. Now I’ll go soothe my worried wife and you finish your drawing.’ He glanced at it. ‘Is that Senusret’s temple? Edge must have changed a great deal to agree to climb a temple and act as model.’

  Sam squinted at the figure.

  ‘It isn’t Edge. It is Gabriel, from the Desert Boy books.’

  ‘Looks like Edge to me. I wonder if he will be flattered to feature in a romantic novel?’

  ‘I doubt he will even look at it. He didn’t show any interest in the books.’ That stung. After their reconciliation aboard the Lark she’d shown him her copies of the first two books, but he’d changed the subject very effectively, making her forget until quite a bit later he hadn’t even looked at her illustrations.

  ‘Then he has changed,’ Lucas said. ‘He used to read aloud to Janet and Mama every night. I think he enjoyed it as much as we all did. Remember? You would lie on the mastaba staring at the ceiling and making shapes with your hands as he read and when he dared stop you would bark out commands that he continue as if you were the Khedive himself.’

  Sam laughed.

  ‘What a nuisance I was.’

  ‘Yes, you were. Managed us all like a little field marshal. Now that I think of it, Livvy should be grateful to you—I think it was all that practice being manoeuvred by a pint-sized dictator that made it so easy for her to order me about.’

  ‘Edge said the same, but I did not order you about.’

  ‘Ordered. Us. About. And before you begin worrying about that as well, allow me to point out that Edge derived quite a bit of enjoyment out of riling you. Your husband is not as straightforward as he appears, Sam. Which is precisely why I want a word with him.’

  On that parting shot he left the room and Sam allowed her shoulders to droop. She wanted a word with Edge as well. More than a word. With every passing day of silence the chasm grew. She knew he was probably in no danger and yet...

  She wanted to see him. She needed to see him.

  Devil take him.

  * * *

  Sam was lying on the upper deck of the dahabiya, staring at the stars, the scent of jasmine drifting above the murkier smell of the river. But then the crescent moon became a gaping jaw and the fabric of the night twisted into a beast with searing comets for eyes streaking towards her. Any moment she would be devoured but her body would not move. Then the river splashed and seethed and two dark columns rose from the depths, wrapping about the beast which writhed as it was dragged down. Then she was falling, too, waiting for the cold to strike her...

  The floor struck her instead. Luckily she woke mid-tumble, landing on her knees with a dull thud, her hands still twisted in the sheets.

  Only a dream.

  If it was a dream, why did she hear water? And why was there light under the dressing-room door?

  She shook off the sheets and very quietly opened the door.

  Definitely not a dream.

  She’d dreamed of Edge naked these past weeks, but not in the bath. This image was likely to join the rest of those tormenting her since that night in Cairo.

  One of the wonderful changes Lucas had made to Sinclair House was three very large baths in the separate suite of rooms meant for each sibling. They were connected via an ingenious apparatus of pipes to cisterns of water heated by a great fireplace in the attics that also served to heat the servants’ quarters. It was decadent and utterly marvellous, though a trifle large. Right now it did not appear so big—Edge took up quite a bit of the generous structure.

  He was wreathed in steam, leaning back against the raised rim with his eyes closed, his damp arms draped along the sides. His face was flushed and damp, opal water droplets shimmering along his shoulders, pooling in the hollows above his collarbone and speared in the straight dark hair that fanned across his torso and disappeared into the water. It was too dark to see beneath the surface, but her imagination was recruiting the all-too-brief memories of their encounters and
her mind happily imagined following that arrow of hair down into the steaming water.

  She forced her gaze to his face. He looked tired, the lines beside his mouth even deeper than she remembered, but otherwise he looked unharmed, chasing away the lingering fear of the portent of her dream. The fist of worry relaxed, but anger tightened its hold instead. Not even the sight of his beautiful body and the answering heat that shot through her could counter it. No, it made it worse. A hundred times worse.

  There was an ewer of water on a side table and she tested it. Cold. Good.

  She barely managed to pour half its contents on to her nemesis when he was on his feet and out of the bath. Prudently she stepped back, holding the ewer out like a weapon as water poured off his body on to the carpet. He looked enormous, not that different from the beast rising out of the Nile in her dream. She took another step back.

  ‘What the devil... Sam!’

  ‘I could say the same... Edge.’

  ‘This is one hell of a welcome.’

  ‘It isn’t a welcome, you poltroon. This is one hundredth of what I would like to do to you. How dare you disappear like that and then sneak in here like a thief without a word to me that you have returned. How dare you!’

  Her voice was shaking and she clamped her mouth shut. She hadn’t meant to show her fear, but it was already too late. The fury on his face gave way to concern and then to consternation. He took a towel to wrap about his waist, but it did not help in the least. Her mind clung to the image of gold and bronze firelight shimmering along every muscle, sinew, hollow and length, heating her with the need to touch, to bring him close to her. She knew that image would sink deep into her mind, filter into her dreams. She wanted with equal fervour to touch him and sketch him.

  ‘Sam, I’m sorry...’ he said as he secured the linen, reminding her she was angry. No—furious.

  ‘Don’t bother apologising because I shan’t forgive you. You abandoned me, Edge. As if I was nothing. I learned not to expect anything from my father and mother and certainly not from Ricki, but apparently I am still a fool since I expected some basic respect from you.’

  ‘Sam, listen...’

  ‘No! Why should I? You couldn’t even be bothered to send me more than two useless notes. Off to Cumbria. E. Do the postal services charge by the letter now? You should be grateful this was only cold water because believe me, for the first time I can understand the meaning of the phrase heaping hot coals on someone’s head.’

  ‘Sam...’

  She set down the ewer with dignity and stalked back into her bedroom.

  ‘Yinaal abuk wa abu abuk!’ The curse rose into a squeak as Edge hauled her off her feet and deposited her in the water.

  ‘You can curse me and my sire just as well from here. Stop splashing about; you are wasting all this wonderfully hot water. This is almost as good as a hamam. Move over, I require more room than you.’

  ‘Don’t you dare!’

  ‘I’m losing counts of all the dares you are tossing at me, Sam. God, that is good...’ He sank into the water, closing his eyes again and she scooted on to her knees to avoid his legs, considering her options.

  ‘Why don’t you take off your shift and enjoy this luxury, Sam? Or you could keep it on; I like the way it...’ His voice faded, his hand settling on her thigh under the water. ‘Come here, Sam.’

  She melted. At least her body turned into warm, melting pudding, but her will held her where she was. He shifted forward and the water lapped at the swells of her breasts, mixing warm water and cool air. His gaze was fixed on them, his lips parted.

  ‘Come, Sam.’ There was a hot desert wind in those words that had nothing to do with the steam around them. It was so strong inside her she dug her heels in. This mountain goat would not be so easily dislodged.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Why not? Do you think you can just appear after two weeks, toss me in a bath and move on? I doubt you ever dared disappear like this on your darling Dora.’

  He leaned back.

  ‘You are quite right, she disappeared on me.’

  ‘Well, I...what? What do you mean she disappeared on you?’

  ‘That is not quite accurate. Her mother bundled her off to Bath soon after she gave birth.’

  As a distraction, his twist in the confrontation was masterly. Curiosity was the Sinclair Achilles heel.

  ‘She was ill?’

  ‘Her mother said she was, but then her mother turned being an imagined invalid into an art form. To be fair Dora suffered while she was carrying and everyone agreed she needed to recover her strength.’

  ‘But...what of Jacob?’

  ‘Jacob did well with his nursemaid and me.’

  ‘And you were...you had no objection?’

  His mouth curved and the mockery was all self-targeted.

  ‘After my anger cooled I discovered having Jacob and Chesham to myself suited me perfectly. You know I am not a sociable fellow, Sam. I’ve just proven that again, haven’t I?’

  ‘But you were barely married a year when Jacob was born.’

  ‘True. That says it all, doesn’t it? I warned you, Sam—I win no prizes as a husband. I might have blamed Dora at the time and been only too happy to regain my solitude when she went to Bath, but it was my fault. I married her for all the wrong reasons and then blamed her for my disappointment. She did not deserve that. If I had been a decent man, I would have gone after her and tried to find a middle ground between us. She might have left Chesham, but I didn’t try to fetch her back.’

  He was breathing hard, the water rippling with his tension.

  ‘My only consolation was that she was happier playing the invalid in Bath, just like her mother, and I was happier playing the hermit at Chesham, just like my father. You already know I am not sociable, now you know I am an abysmal husband. You’ve made an ill bargain, Sam.’

  Sam stilled. There was agony in his voice, well hidden, but agony. And self-contempt. Even through her anger she felt something shift, like the gears on a clock. The image that had tortured her for years began to crumble—his perfect wife, his perfect life only shattered by the death of their son... The thought that he’d been as disappointed and betrayed as she had been... That he’d been alone with his beloved son, caring for him and watching him die. Alone.

  Her arms were aching to reach for him, to wrap themselves around that pain like a blanket and chase away his bitterness at himself. But her own heart was too bruised.

  ‘I hate that you had to suffer alone, Edge. I wish... But that cannot be an excuse. This has nothing to do with being sociable—it has to do with respect. If you wish to play hermit, you have my leave to do so, within reason, but you will keep me informed so I do not sit every day wondering if you are ill, or suffering, or something terrible has happened. You are not alone any longer...’

  He reached forward, his hands closing on her arms, and she fell silent. His eyes were a sharp jade green flickering with firelight.

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  His eyes moved lower, following his fingers as they trailed down her arms, into the water, brushing against her ribs. She covered her abdomen with her arms and he withdrew, his gaze capturing hers.

  ‘Sam. Are you...are you with child?’

  She snapped her arms away so swiftly they hit the sides of the bath.

  ‘No. No, I’m not.’

  ‘Are you certain?’

  ‘Of course I am. I do understand the rudimentary mechanisms of my body, my lord.’

  ‘Don’t call me that.’ He leaned back, the heat in his eyes completely gone and the sulky curve to his mouth making him look younger.

  Her anger faded, beaten back by the memory of her confusion when her monthly course arrived—she’d been relieved because it was too soon to bring a child into their unsettled union and yet...
<
br />   They sat for a moment facing each other. Then he rubbed his face, shoving his hands into his damp hair.

  ‘I’m too tired for this at the moment, Sam. Please, can’t we...just for now cry peace?’

  She sighed. She was tired as well. Exhausted.

  He leaned forward, tracing a line down her arm. Goosebumps chased his caress and her legs, already quaking from being held so tight, slipped between his. It was both better and worse. His eyes drifted lower again, two jade and silver slits, like a wolf’s through the brush, and she realised her breasts had firmed, her nipples darker and visible through her soaked nightshift. She instinctively covered them with her arms and he let out a long breath and closed his eyes again. He looked so beaten she had to dig her fingers into her arms to stop herself from reaching out.

  ‘Edge. Is there news of Rafe?’

  ‘No. He was briefly at his house in Cumbria, but returned south again. He hasn’t been to Greybourne. I went there first.’

  ‘Did you see your mother?’

  ‘It was unfortunately unavoidable.’

  ‘Was she...was she not happy to see you?’

  ‘I have no idea. My mother is not a demonstrative woman. She said she’d expected me in England sooner given Rafe’s disappearance. There were some estate matters she was not authorised to address.’

  ‘Oh. Did you tell her...about us?’

  His mouth quirked at the corners. It did not look like a smile.

  ‘I did.’

  ‘Was she shocked?’

  ‘My mother is not easily shocked.’

  ‘That is not an answer.’

  ‘It was to the question you asked.’

  ‘You are being purposely difficult.’

  He leaned his head back and sighed, sending the steam into a billowing dance.

  ‘She was polite. I have no idea what she was thinking. I never know what she is thinking.’

  ‘Now you know how I feel.’

  He sat up abruptly, the water sloshing around them. ‘That is not true. I’m not like her.’

  ‘I didn’t say you were; I have no idea what she is like. I do know you are very, very hard to read. Even now I don’t know whether you are glad to be here or merely waiting to be off again.’