Sin Incarnate (No Rules for Rogues Book 1)

by Isobel Carr

  Damn it all!

  He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to ward off the headache he could feel coming on.

  Damn. Damn. Damn.

  George stormed back into the house and up to her room. What the hell did he think he was doing? Damn him! He’d shaken up her life badly enough, and now he had the gall to show up and demand she live up to a bargain he’d forced her into under duress.

  A bargain which dishonoured them both.

  She’d never taken a lover who was married or promised elsewhere, and she never would. Not knowingly.

  She tossed her hat and redingote onto the bed and flung herself into the window seat, staring out across the south lawn, watching the slowly falling snow. The muffled countryside was beautiful. Quiet and deserted.

  She pulled the pins from her hair and shook it out, rubbing the tingles from her scalp as her hair settled around her shoulders.

  The problem was, she’d kissed him back. That, just for a moment, was all she could think about. And whether or not it would have been safe to push him down onto a tack box and climb on top of him.

  Annoyed with herself, with Dauntry, with life in general, she pulled a blanket from the bed, and spent the afternoon curled up under it reading. She didn’t go down for luncheon, or answer her door when a knock sounded, loud and peremptory.

  She wasn’t interested in seeing anyone right now. Not Gabriel, not Alençon, not her father-in-law, and certainly not Dauntry.

  All she wanted was a quiet afternoon, undisturbed. And if for large parts of the day the book remained open to the same page while she stared out the window and tried to think about something other than her unfulfilled bargain, well, only she was aware that that was how she had employed her afternoon. If anyone asked she’d simply say she was catching up on her correspondence.

  She was still in her carriage dress, curled up in the window seat, cold but unwilling to move, when her maid arrived to help her dress for dinner. Ellen didn’t say a word, but George could tell she was concerned by the way she fussed and fidgeted, laying out her gown with agitated motions.

  George forced herself up and waved away the gown, choosing an informal caraco and petticoats instead. She hurried across the house to the wing that contained the countess’s rooms, her every step muffled by a never-ending series of carpets, overseen by the eyes of ancestors dating back to the reign of Henry VII.

  She caught her mother-in-law just as the countess was leaving her room. ‘I’m going to eat with the children tonight, if you don’t mind. Apparently there’s some sort of trouble brewing between the younger ones. Hay was telling me all about it this morning, and I think it might be best if one of us gave a look in.’

  Lady Glendower gave her a curious look but didn’t inquire if she had some other motivation for avoiding the rest of the guests. ‘You’re still planning on going to Leicester with Bennett tomorrow?’

  ‘Yes, Mama. Bennett and I shall execute all your orders to the letter.’

  When George entered the nursery, Hayden was nowhere to be seen. The absence of the most volatile of the nursery’s ranks sent a chill through her. Hay was capable of the most startling and amazing things if left to his own devices.

  Miss Nutley’s wan smile left George with little doubt that things had spiralled out of control. Simone’s governess was one of the most capable women George had ever encountered. If she was looking harassed, things were every bit as bad as Hay had said they were.

  The middle Tilehurst girl, Caroline, was openly resentful of her eldest sister’s inclusion with the adults, and with her own interment with the children. She bossed them around, flouted Miss Nutley’s gentle rule, and took out her displeasure on them all.

  ‘I’ve come to dine with the children, and to solicit their help with the upcoming Christmas festivities.’

  Excited chatter broke out among the children. Miss Nutley’s smile softened, her eyes clearly communicating her understanding of the visit.

  As they were taking their seats for dinner, Hayden slipped in, face alight with mischief. George groaned silently. He’d clearly committed some act of devilment, and was quite pleased with himself.

  He took in George’s presence with a slight gulp, and a look of wide-eyed innocence. His most guilty expression. George recognized it immediately. A smile twisted up one corner of her mouth. That was the problem: Hay at his most outrageous was also Hay at his most charming and adorable.

  As he slid into his seat, Hay shot a glance to his older brother and then to Simone, who giggled. Whatever he’d done, they’d all been in on it.

  Dinner progressed amicably enough. All the children were caught up in George’s entertainment schemes for the annual Christmas fête. Even Caroline seemed mollified by having her ideas listened to, her opinions solicited.

  The Glendowers’ annual Christmas fête and public day was one of the biggest events on the local social calendar. All of the local gentry would be present, as well as the villagers and the tenants of the Glendowers’ estate. There would be food, music, and games.

  The earl would host various sporting contests for the gentlemen. The countess and dowager countess would sponsor some sort of cooking contest: apple pie, gingerbread, plum pudding. It changed every year. The main ingredients would already have been delivered to all the participating households. Judges’ slots would be awarded to the gentlemen as prizes and by lottery.

  At the end of the day, the Glendowers would hand out presents to the assembled guests. Expensive baubles for the gentry, more practical things for the villagers and tenants. George had spent the last few afternoons closeted with her father-in-law going over the lists: who had a baby in the last year; who had married; who had died. Most of the gifts had already been purchased, and a steady stream of wagons had been arriving for weeks. There was a small list of things that were still outstanding, and Bennett had volunteered to take George into Leicester on the morrow to collect them.

  But first she had to find out what the children were up to.

  All through the meal, Julius, Simone, and Hayden kept smiling covertly at one another. Smirking, really. Whatever it was he’d done, it had to be something terrible.

  George thought about it as she ate. She’d better send a maid to check Caroline’s room. Especially the bed. Two summers ago, the boys had filled their tutor’s bed with leeches, and had found the enterprise most rewarding, as it had achieved their ultimate goal: the man’s immediate resignation.

  When the meal was over, George took a seat by the fire, and carefully made lists of the children’s suggestions for games and prizes.

  Lord Glendower arrived not long after they had finished. Several footmen followed him, each carrying a large urn of assorted marbles. The last footman had a bag filled with the small drawstring bags the maids had been sewing all year.

  While the children were busy helping Lord Glendower divvy up the marbles, making sure to put a good selection in each bag, the nursery maid crept back into the room and went straight to George’s side. She was laughing silently as she leaned forward and whispered, ‘He gave her an apple-pie bed, made with stable sweepings.’

  ‘He didn’t?’

  ‘Oh yes, ma’am, but it’s all been cleared away, and the bed remade clean. Not but that she didn’t deserve something, ma’am, the way she treats the little mites.’

  Knowing full well that if the maids were defending something that caused them extra work, the behaviour that had caused it must be extraordinary, George thanked the girl, and eyed the children assessingly. She called Julius over from where he was bagging the marbles Aubrey chose and motioned for him to take a seat.

  ‘So, do you want to tell me what Hayden’s been up to?’

  Julius blinked, then leapt into the breach, ‘She deserves it, Aunt George. Really. You know I don’t usually support Hay’s pranks, but she’s a monster.’

  ‘Well, the maids have already cleaned the bed, and I think we’ll keep it between us. No need to get you all in trouble, when I�
�m sure you were provoked. But no more tricks. We’ll find a better way of dealing with Miss Caroline. She’s just feeling left out. Her sister is downstairs, and Simone got to eat with the adults, too. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it. And if she doesn’t improve, you’re to tell me before Hay attacks again.’

  Julius smiled, looking suddenly like a miniature copy of his father. ‘Thank you, Aunt George.’ Then he slipped away, returning to where Aubrey was still seated, happily playing with the marbles.

  Maybe some special job at the fête could be found for Caroline?

  George hated to reward the girl for her behaviour, but someone clearly needed to pay some attention to her. Her sister’s first season was the only topic of concern for their aunt at the moment. And Caroline, like everyone else, was excluded from the triumvirate that was Julius, Hayden, and Simone. Taking it out on the smaller ones wasn’t a good way of expressing her frustration, but George could understand it. And if all George’s attempts didn’t work, then Hayden could be loosed again.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Can it be that the Angelstone Turk has returned to the hunt? The lovely Mrs L— certainly appears to have passed into the keeping of a certain Scottish lord…

  Tête-à-Tête, 19 December 1788

  George pulled on her gloves, flexing her fingers to work them into the tight confines of the tan leather. She glanced about the hall, counting heads: Hay and Simone were whispering, Julius was riding herd on Aubrey, and Miss Tilehurst had control of her two sisters.

  All of the children were accompanying her to Leicester, with the stated purpose of buying gifts for their parents. In reality, George wanted to get them out of the nursery before Caroline drove Hay to further retaliation.

  It was a bright, beautiful day. Last night’s snow had coated the roads deeply, so they’d elected to take the large sleigh. George double-checked that the children were all dressed warmly enough, hats and gloves on, coats buttoned up tightly, mufflers tied round their necks, then shooed them all out before her.

  The sleigh was waiting out in the drive. Up on the box was Dauntry, reins in hand, the capes of his greatcoat draping his shoulders, making them appear even wider then they normally did.

  George blinked, less than pleased. Her stomach gave a now familiar lurch. Her nipples budded, pressing against her stays with rough insistence. Her body’s strong response only set her teeth on edge.

  Why this man? England was filled with attractive rogues she could bed, and she wanted none of them.

  She glanced around while the children clambered into the sleigh. Bennett was nowhere to be found. Annoyance flashed through her, overriding the bloom of lust.

  Dauntry smiled at her, a lazy, self-satisfied smile. An invitation to sin. George kept her face carefully neutral and stepped up into the sleigh.

  As she settled the children, tucking them under the blankets, making sure the warm bricks were near their feet, she eyed the earl with repressed hostility.

  ‘Just where is Bennett?’

  She took a seat between Julius and Simone in the forward-facing seat.

  ‘Still in bed. Got a terrible cough. I’m sure he’ll be better tonight, though.’

  ‘I’m sure he will,’ George agreed with asperity, glaring at his back. His queue snaked darkly down his back, the end curling as though he’d twisted it.

  Simply perfect. A whole day trapped in close quarters with the earl, courtesy of Bennett, and probably Lady Bev as well. She was going to do something vile to Bennett when they got back. Flay him alive and strip the flesh from his bones. Better yet? Write a scathing report to Helen Perripoint, the lady he was currently attempting to bed.

  While she fumed, Dauntry twisted in his seat, turning to ask Hay if he’d like to drive part of the way. ‘You can all take turns,’ he suggested to the other budding whips as Hay clambered up onto the seat beside him and stuck his tongue out at his elder brother.

  Hayden drove most of the way, Dauntry supervising him carefully, guiding him through the differences between driving the small one-horse sleigh they’d had out the day before and the larger two-horse sleigh they were in today.

  As they approached the outskirts of town, Dauntry took the reins back and carefully steered them to the White Hart. They passed under the archway that led to the yard and the ostlers came running. One went to the horses’ heads and Dauntry leapt down from the box, boots landing with the distinct sound of wet snow underfoot. George jumped down before he could come to her assistance, and turned to help the children. She herded them inside while the earl dealt with the ostlers.

  A note sent over the previous day had reserved a private parlour, and they all hurried in to warm up. The children huddled close to the fire, cheeks pink with cold.

  The landlord appeared with chocolate and the children fell upon him as if they were starving. When the cups were drained George walked them out to the street, gave them each a five-pound note, and sent them out to shop.

  Hayden and Simone took off like wild animals, pelting down the street towards the familiar shops. Julius, with his youngest brother in tow, headed off behind them, followed closely by the Tilehurst girls.

  As the children disappeared down the street, Ivo turned an apprehensive eye towards George. ‘Isn’t this rather like turning the Goths loose in Rome?’

  ‘Much. Though they won’t have a year to sack the city, only a few hours, so we’ll have to hope for the best.’ She pulled out her list, snapped it open in a business-like way, and studied it for a moment. ‘Mr Brittle’s shop first,’ she announced with decision.

  Ivo trailed along beside her, not quite brave enough to offer her his arm. She’d radiated her displeasure the entire drive. Even now she was stiff with annoyance.

  For the moment, it was enough to just to be able to watch her. To be near her.

  She had on her favourite Russian fur hat, with a deep pumpkin redingote with matching fur reveres and cuffs. One arm was thrust all the way through an enormous bearskin muff, the hand that protruded clutched her long list.

  She strode purposefully down the street, stopping here and there to greet fellow shoppers. Most of the townspeople seemed to recognize her, to have a friendly greeting for her, or a message for her in-laws.

  He followed her into a small shop filled with boxes, bins, and jars of various candies. The scent of sugar and peppermint overwhelmed everything else.

  The proprietor greeted her like an old friend. He bustled forward, wiping his hands on his apron. ‘Mrs Exley, we were wondering when we’d see you.’

  The old man chatted with George, took the list she had prepared, and promised to have it all boxed up and sent over to the White Hart. That done, George sallied forth to her next destination, her demeanour frosty at best. She placed what seemed like enormous orders to Ivo at the butcher, the grocer, and the cheese-monger.

  She dragged him into an apothecary shop to purchase vast quantities of Denmark Lotion, Dr Johnson’s Restorative Pig Jelly, headache powder, and a dozen other things Ivo had never heard of. She double-checked the earl’s earlier order with a toy merchant and added a few things of her own, mostly brightly coloured tops and jackstraws. The jolly little shop owner packed the dangerous implements in with the other toys while Ivo repressed a shudder. He could clearly imagine the terror the boys could inspire armed thusly.

  At the mercers’, she picked out lengths of cloth, checking off names on a long list. She bought spools of silk ribbon and thread, dozens of small ribbon rosettes in assorted colours, cards and cards of pins and needles, and several pairs of scissors.

  Ivo leaned over her shoulder and peered down at her list.

  ‘Exactly what is all this for?’

  He was unable to picture any need George, or the other ladies at the Court, could possibly have for large amounts of serviceable stuff and linsey-woolsey. George certainly didn’t sew her own clothes, and a more insipid decoration than the rosettes she’d pounced on with such glee he couldn’t even begin to imagine.

/>   ‘Some of it is for the servants. Some for the tenants. Everyone gets a present, something frivolous. Hair ribbons, books, pipe tobacco. All of the tenants also get a crate of foodstuffs. Treats they couldn’t normally afford as well as more practical gifts: a good pan, cloth to make up new clothes, new shoes, knitting needles and yarn. Glendower’s practically feudal about his people, keeps an account book concerning them like any other responsibility. The gifts for the tenants and servants elsewhere were sent off weeks ago. This is just a little last-minute stocking up.’

  George checked her list again and took off down the street, leaving Ivo staring dumbly after her. She disappeared into a large bookshop and lending library. By the time he caught up, she already had a stack forming on the counter and the shop assistant hustling about helping her collect things.

  Ivo stood silently at the counter, studying the growing pile of plain paper-bound books. George continued to add to the stack until it threatened to spill onto the floor.

  ‘If you have a few copies of any of the fashion magazines I’ll take those as well.’

  The owner tied up all the books and magazines in brown paper and sent his assistant staggering off to the inn, arms loaded down with packages.

  George turned to him, surveying her list with a critical eye. ‘Not much left. I have to pick up a few items the countess ordered from Madame Dupree’s, stop by Greely’s and pick up Griggs’s present, and then I think we’re done.’

  Ivo stared at her in silent amazement. He’d never imagined paying attention to this level of detail. His grandfather certainly didn’t. The marquess didn’t even know the names of most of his servants, let alone his tenants. The maids were all Mary, the coachman was John, and the stable hands were all simply called boy.

  Ivo had managed to learn their real names over the past few months, but he’d never thought to go to these lengths. It wasn’t that his grandfather was a bad man, he was simply feudal in an entirely different sense: undisputed ruler of his own small kingdom.