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

by Lara Temple

  He brushed his hand over the rippling surface of the water. His lower lip was gilded by firelight, accentuating the slightly sulky look of a chastened schoolboy.

  ‘She has this room. The Rose Room. It hasn’t changed since I was a boy. It is one of the few things I remember about Greybourne other than snow. I was sitting with her there and I remembered...’ He rubbed his arm and Sam held still until he continued. ‘We were reading a children’s book. She has a good voice. Very deep...’

  ‘Do you remember the story?’

  ‘No...something about animals living by a river. She has pale hair, not like my father. I don’t know why I am telling you this. It is foolish.’

  ‘No, it isn’t. Whatever she did, you have so few memories of her, you should cherish them.’

  ‘I’d rather not waste mental powers remembering the people who discarded me.’

  ‘They didn’t precisely discard you, they sent you to Poppy and Janet who loved you unconditionally. Do you know I was jealous of you as a child? I used to wish they were my parents.’

  He shook his head, but he was smiling.

  ‘What a discontented lot we humans are. Your mother might have had her weaknesses but she fought like a tiger to keep you, no matter how far into the dark she sank.’

  ‘Yes, that is true,’ she admitted, suddenly uncomfortable with how revealing her words were. ‘Do you remember your father?’

  His smile faded, his gaze falling to the cooling water.

  ‘My only memories of him were from morning prayers. Every morning we all kneeled in the great hall for eternity and a day while he bellowed sermons at us.’

  ‘That sounds horrible.’

  ‘It was boring and hard on the knees, not horrible. Unless one of us coughed or nodded off. Then... I’d forgotten, too, what a temper my father had. He would roar like a wounded bear and loom over you. The more I remember the more I realise Rafe was right, I was lucky to be sent away.’

  ‘That doesn’t make it any easier to understand as a child.’

  He finally looked up, his fingers stilling on the water’s surface.

  ‘No. Poppy and Janet were so different I had no idea what to expect at first. On the way to Egypt we docked in Malta and for a few moments I was separated from them. Then Poppy was looming over me and I waited for my punishment...but they hugged me and bought me a notebook so I would have a captain’s log and always write where I was going. I remember what it smelled like—saddles and cinnamon. Strange.’

  The knot inside her untangled as he spoke. She had no idea what tomorrow would bring, but for now the aching loneliness was gone.

  ‘Are you cold? Your hair is wet because of me.’ He touched the goosebumps on her folded arms and she shivered and shook her head, the tip of her plait shifting in the water.

  Not only my hair.

  The answer, shockingly improper, hovered on her lips. She was quite certain she did not speak the words but his eyes caught hers and stayed there.

  ‘Come here, Sam. Please,’ he added very quietly and this time she came.

  Chapter Ten

  ‘Why should I accept succour from the likes of you? There is not a glimmer of magic in you,’ scoffed the Sprite Queen.

  Gabriel drew himself to his full height. ‘Because I am the only one who offered, Queen-Who-Misplaced-Her-Realm.’

  —The Sprite Queen,

  Desert Boy Book One

  The bed was beautifully soft and warm, like being tucked into a cloud and gently roasted by the sun, but Edge knew without opening his eyes Sam wasn’t there.

  He smiled at the memory of the pitcher of freezing water she’d upended on him. He’d deserved it. He’d known the day he left he was being a stubborn fool.

  He would make it up to her. Once he found Rafe he would let her decide on the next step. But first he needed to find the fool and that meant admitting she was right—he needed help.

  He yawned and stretched and lurched into a sitting position as his hand touched something soft and rumbling. A pair of round grey eyes that were most definitely not Sam’s glared back at him.

  ‘Inky. Keeping an eye on me?’

  Inky bared pretty white fangs and Edge inspected the bed, but no dead mice were evident. The grey stare was becoming unnerving so Edge put back the blanket and hesitated. It would be carrying Sam’s accusation of prudery too far to worry about being naked in front of a cat. But he still looked over his shoulder when he reached the dressing room. The grey eyes were still on him.

  Trust the Sinclair cat to be as unnerving as possible.

  * * *

  Edge found Sam in a large south-facing parlour and though she must have heard him enter she did not look up from her sketching.

  ‘Good morning, Sam.’

  ‘Good morning, my lord.’

  He grimaced. It was perhaps too much to expect last night would erase her anger. She took a crayon from the box of drawing implements and her dark hair fell forward like a curtain between them. The urge to slip it back behind her ear so he could see her was so strong he put the table between them. It was not smart to manhandle his wife again within moments of being alone with her. He wasn’t desperate, for God’s sake.

  ‘Lucas and Olivia are leaving today. For her brother’s wedding in Yorkshire.’

  ‘I see.’

  He searched for a safe topic of conversation and found none so he shoved his hands into his pockets and inspected the portrait that hung on the wall behind her. It was of a bewigged and ruffled man with a wicked gleam in his pale eyes. Though Sam and her brothers favoured the darker Venetian side of her family, there was a definite likeness to this specimen of the Sinful Sinclairs.

  ‘That was one of the worst Sinclairs,’ Sam said without looking up. ‘Lucas keeps it to remind us whence we came.’

  ‘I think I can remember well enough without having the likeness of my father glaring down at me. No doubt once Rafe takes possession of Greybourne he will toss my father’s portrait in the fire.’

  She finally looked up.

  ‘I dreamt about him.’

  ‘About Rafe?’

  ‘No. Your father. Or rather of a great big bear with matted fur and red eyes looming over me and trying to push me into a shaft, like the ones in tombs.’

  ‘God, Sam... I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean...’ He reached for her but she moved away.

  ‘It is not your fault. My dreams have always been vivid; it helps my drawings. You and your brother were in the pit with me. You were playing spillikins.’

  ‘Spillikins?’

  ‘Yes, that rather ruins the horror, doesn’t it? You were losing, too.’

  ‘Rafe was probably cheating, then.’

  Her mouth curved upwards and fell, as if the weight of the smile was too much. There were shadows under her eyes he had not seen last night in the dark. Guilt twisted his stomach.

  ‘Sam...’

  ‘Your mother was in a pit next to us,’ she continued, not looking up. ‘She said you may have another Dora if you won. I dare say she would have preferred someone like her rather than a Sinful Sinclair.’

  He shrugged, uncomfortable. That was close enough to his mother’s words. ‘My dear Edward, naturally I am glad you have wed again, especially since poor Rafael is unlikely to, but must it have been into that dreadful family?’

  ‘Her opinion hardly matters.’

  ‘Doesn’t it? Did you ever ask her why she sent you away?’

  Edge was having difficulty keeping up with Sam’s mercurial shifts, but he didn’t want her to stop talking with him so he tried for honesty.

  ‘No. I always thought it had something to do with my health.’

  Sam straightened, more present now in her curiosity.

  ‘How strange. Janet used to say you were the only one she dared allow help her when families brought their
ailing children to Bab el-Nur because you rarely fell ill for more than the length of a day, even as a child. I doubt she would have subjected you to risk if your health had been poor.’

  He rubbed his left arm, frowning.

  ‘I broke my arm once.’

  Her eyes lit, tightening at the corners with suppressed laughter.

  ‘Were you climbing something? No wonder you are such a namby-pamby about my mountain-goat tendencies. But that would hardly be a reason to send a child away.’

  ‘I have no idea what namby-pamby means but, no, I wasn’t climbing anything. I...’ Pain shivered along his arm and he shook it. ‘I cannot remember. I must have been six, before I went with Poppy and Janet. It was the last time I saw snow for many years.’

  He stared at her drawing, uncomfortable with the memory and with the worry in her winter-sea eyes. The drawing was of a rising sandstorm behind a shadowy figure standing on Senusret’s temple, his robes billowing about him as if he was conjuring the storm by sheer will. It was beautiful and powerful, but there was something very wrong with it—hidden in that storm was something evil and the man had no defence against it. It would be utterly perfect for a scene in the next Desert Boy book. He should be pleased, but he felt almost...invaded.

  Sam slipped her hand through his arm and he looked away from the drawing. A hard fist of pressure was lodged in his chest again and without thinking he pressed her hand to the insistent thud under his vest. It was like walking into a brand—an aching heat spread outwards, a flush of fever spreading over his skin.

  ‘What frightened you just now?’ she asked quietly and he dropped her hand.

  ‘Nothing.’

  To distract her and himself he reached for the leather-bound drawing case on the table, but she moved past him and took it.

  ‘These aren’t ready.’

  ‘I don’t mind, I merely wished to see...’

  ‘I mind.’ She slid them into a drawer, leaning back against the dark wood. ‘My uncle is coming this morning. I dare say he will be here soon.’

  He stepped back as well, tucking away his hurt at her rejection. If she didn’t want to share her drawings with him, then fine.

  ‘You spoke to him?’

  ‘No. I promised I wouldn’t, but Lucas said he would if you didn’t return before he left. I never expected you to be absent so long.’

  ‘Believe me, I derived no joy from spending days and nights riding hired hacks the length of England. You knew full well this was my priority.’

  ‘Full well, my lord.’

  ‘Don’t snarl, Sam.’

  ‘You started it.’

  He rolled his shoulders, trying to pull back. ‘So I did. I apologise. I should have at least told you where I was going and how long it might take.’

  ‘Blast you, Edge. I hate when you pull the rug out from under me.’

  ‘That was very ungallant of me, I know. Shall I apologise for that as well?’

  ‘Pray don’t bother; your apologies only make me feel guilty. Will you speak to my uncle, though? As long as Rafe isn’t threatening to undermine Parliament I give you my word Oswald shan’t harm him. He would even have protected Ricki had I asked and he detested him.’

  Edge leaned against the table. She never mentioned her husband and he’d never asked. He searched her face for some indication of her feelings and saw nothing. Sam of old could never have kept so much of herself hidden.

  ‘Detested is a strong word. Why?’

  ‘Ricki belonged to a fast set. My uncle was afraid he would not change his habits when we married.’

  ‘Did he?’

  ‘For a while.’

  ‘And then?’

  ‘It hardly matters now. Will you speak with him?’

  ‘Yes, blast it.’ He shoved his hands into his pockets and turned to face the leering portrait of her ancestor.

  ‘Have you hoarded all your curses over the past couple of weeks, or is it the Sinclair influence?’

  He didn’t turn to see the smile he heard in her voice. There was something useful about the old Lord Sinclair’s leer—it was an antidote to his own lechery.

  ‘Edge.’ Her hand slipped over his and into his pocket, proving him utterly wrong. Every inch of him went on alert. ‘We will find him.’

  ‘I know we will.’ His voice was far too rough, but it wasn’t anger or dismissal. It was the sensation of her fingers slipping between his, their tips trailing fabric over his thigh. Just a little to the left... He opened his mouth to make the suggestion when the door opened.

  ‘Hello, Edge.’

  There was a smile and a warning in Lucas’s voice and Edge returned the smile stiffly as Sam moved away.

  ‘Where is Olivia?’ Sam asked as she sat on the sofa, hands clasped with pointed propriety.

  ‘Overseeing the packing and trying to find Inky before we leave. Well, Edge. It has been a while.’

  ‘Yes. Lisbon.’

  ‘During the war?’ Sam asked.

  ‘No, on my way to Brazil.’

  ‘Four years ago. Your brother was busy there.’

  ‘As I remember so was yours.’

  ‘Oh, do kiss and make up, you two,’ Sam said. ‘I thought you were friends!’

  Edge smiled at the concern beneath her annoyance.

  ‘We are. Your brother is merely voicing his objection to the unorthodox manner of our marriage in his own inimitable way.’

  ‘That is one way of putting it,’ Lucas said. ‘If it were anyone else I would take them outside and deliver my warning in a rather more direct manner.’

  Edge shook his head.

  ‘We were always too evenly matched. I don’t think both of us sporting a black eye or a bloody nose would quite make your point.’

  ‘Learn some tricks in Brazil?’

  ‘There is this fascinating method of combat called capoeira.’

  Lucas’s dark eyes brightened with interest. ‘I have heard of that. You must show me some time. We’ve turned the great hall downstairs into a boxing and fencing saloon and I’ve been teaching Olivia how to fence...’

  Sam straightened.

  ‘Lucas! I asked you dozens of times and you never agreed.’

  ‘That is because I trust Olivia not to run me through when she’s annoyed at me.’

  ‘I am twenty-six, not six, you know.’

  ‘It’s not a question of knowing. It’s a question of accepting,’ Edge interjected, watching the silent battle in Lucas as he almost visibly unravelled the bonds of responsibility over Sam’s fate. No doubt he would have to go through the same circling and sniffing when Chase arrived. ‘It is good to see you again, Lucas.’

  Lucas sighed.

  ‘I’m glad you’re back, Edge. As long as you are good to Sam, I will remain glad.’

  * * *

  Sir Oswald Sinclair was a man of about fifty, more slightly built than Lucas, with grey-streaked brown hair and the face of a contemplative monk. His eyes were either grey or a pale brown, it was hard to tell the way he kept his gaze veiled.

  ‘Sam.’ He placed his hands on Sam’s shoulders after the introductions were complete and looked her over and almost smiled. ‘That is better.’

  He turned to inspect Edge.

  ‘So. You are Greybourne’s son.’

  ‘I am afraid so.’

  ‘Yes. I never met your sire, but your brother expressed a similar sentiment towards him when we met.’

  ‘You met Rafe? When?’

  ‘The first time was some ten years ago in Paris. The last time was a year ago in London while he was between...occupations.’

  ‘There, you see? I told you it was best to speak with Oswald.’

  ‘My dear Sam,’ Oswald interjected, ‘I do not believe it is wise to begin wedded life by wielding the phrase “I told you so”. Not so, L
ucas?’

  ‘Let’s just say I would suggest making that point more diplomatically,’ Lucas replied. ‘But this is Sam, after all. Her idea of diplomacy used to be “once more unto the breach”. I’m happy to see you still have your lance and sword on you, Sam. Give Edge hell.’

  ‘Thank you, Lucas,’ Edge said.

  ‘Enough, you two. Now, Lord Edward, I would like you to tell me everything you know about your brother’s activities and then I shall tell you what I myself have heard.’

  Edge straightened.

  ‘You have news of him? How...?’

  ‘You needn’t look at Sam like that, Lord Edward, she said not a word to me on this issue since her arrival in London. But my people track persons of interest entering our ports and your brother is even more distinctive now than he was before his scars, a fact which undoubtedly makes his occupation rather more challenging than usual. Add to that the fact that he arrived aboard a vessel manned by a captain known for making unreported stops along his routes. Now, we shall begin by telling each other what we know. You begin, if you please.’

  Edge hesitated, but with a look at Sam he put his cards on the table and told Sir Oswald the little he knew.

  ‘If you know of my brother, Sir Oswald, then you know he is not concerned with formalities. I am worried he might have become embroiled in something not quite...above board.’

  ‘Your brother is no fool, Lord Edward. Though his antipathy for your father has propelled him into a rather colourful existence, it is his skill and inclination which kept him there. To my knowledge he has never yet done anything counter to the interests of King and Country. As far as I can ascertain, whatever took him to Egypt and beyond has thus far not had international repercussions barring the message regarding his death which was clearly a forgery. If he is settled in London, I shall no doubt hear of it. A man of your brother’s physique and connections is unlikely to go unnoticed here.’

  ‘He might not have returned to London after Cumbria.’

  ‘True. However, he will have left a trail. Everyone does, even the best of us. Leave the matter with me.’