The Sweetest Sin

by Kelly Boyce

  “Susan.” He spoke her name as an admonition. It did little good.

  Hen could have told him from experience that when his sister had something to say, nothing short of a muzzle would silence her. And likely not even that.

  “Oh, please. It is the truth to be sure. There are few women out there who would not be willing to overlook your many shortcomings so that they might one day claim themselves a duchess. Why, I suspect by the time of Mother and Father’s fete to celebrate your vaulted return, there will be a line of willing hopefuls as far as the eye can see. Though, I understand you will not be one, Lady Henrietta. Lord Walkerton has indicated it is only a matter of time before the two of you announce.”

  Hen froze. She had not mentioned to Lord Walkerton she was aware of his confrontation with Lady Susan, nor had he brought the matter up.

  Alexander turned his attention back to her. “Is that so?”

  Hen had avoided his direct gaze since coming upon them, but his question compelled her to look up. To meet the storm that had moved into his eyes, darkening them to a shadowy gray. The anger she saw there surprised her. What was the root of it? He understood Lord Walkerton had agreed to court her after her rather scandalous proposal. Did he think that matter had changed because they had kissed? Should it have? Confusion stayed her tongue, tangling the words on the tip of it until she did not know what to tell him.

  “I believe that to be a private matter between Lady Henrietta and myself,” Lord Walkerton answered.

  Lady Susan twirled her parasol. “Doesn’t the fact that you have brought her to such a public place speak volumes? I expect the gossips will be all abuzz and begin pinpointing the perfect date for the impending nuptials.”

  “I wish you both happiness,” Alexander said, inclining his head to one side. His gaze continued to probe as if he were searching for something. Wanted something from her. But what? She had no intention of bringing to light the fact that they kissed. She had instructed him not to make anything of the matter. It was just a kiss.

  It was so much more than a kiss.

  “Perhaps we should continue along with our walk, Lady Henrietta,” Lord Walkerton suggested, patting her hand where it remained tucked beneath his arm.

  “Indeed, my lord.” She smiled but the corners wavered and she had to fight to hold them in place. “It was good to see you Lord Rothbury. Lady Susan.”

  “Always a pleasure,” Alexander said, the words sliding over her like a warm bath. She wished she could sink into them, let them lap over her. “I am certain our paths will cross again.”

  Lady Susan smirked. “Sooner rather than later, I expect.”

  Lord Walkerton stilled. “At Lord and Lady Franklyn’s ball, I assume to be your meaning.”

  “Your assumption being incorrect. I meant at Harrow House,” Lady Susan corrected. “While my brother has moved from there to Franklyn House, he has left his daughter behind and visits frequently.”

  Lord Walkerton, who had been in the process of leaving, now appeared to have no inclination toward such. He faced Alexander. “Your daughter is not with you?”

  “Indeed, no. Why is that, Brother, dear?”

  Alexander’s features hardened and something passed between he and Lady Susan, something alive and precarious and filled with malevolence. Did Lady Susan know her own behavior had precipitated such arrangements?

  “Lady Margaret has grown rather attached to Lady Henrietta and she provides a very positive influence upon the young girl,” Alexander said, his gaze resting upon her, filled with something she could not pinpoint, though she had the sudden sense he was not speaking about just Lady Margaret. A tingling started in her belly and grew outward in every direction.

  “It was most kind of you to agree to spend time with her,” Lord Walkerton said. “Well, we must be on our way. Good day to you both.”

  Lord Walkerton gave a quick nod of his head and turned them away from Alexander and Lady Susan but he said little for several moments, a strange tension winding around them as if something had gone suddenly wrong, but what she could not say.

  “Are you displeased with the fact Lady Margaret stays with us, my lord?”

  “I find it odd, do you not?” His voice was clipped, though not quite angry. She had the sense Lord Walkerton did not allow himself anger. In fact, the more time she spent with him, the more she came to realize he did not allow himself much of anything. It was as if by following every rule and doing everything in a proper and restricted fashion, he could rewrite his family’s past and improve upon its future.

  But she, better than most, understood the past could not be undone, and no matter how you tried to cover it over, the truth of what happened always lurked just beneath the surface.

  “Not really. Lady Margaret is experiencing some growing pains, it seems, and Lord Rothbury is having difficulty keeping a nanny in his employ. I believe he hopes Lady Dalridge and myself might be a positive influence in curbing what he perceives as unruly behavior.”

  “And what do you perceive it to be?”

  Hen’s shoulders drooped a little and her heart filled with hurt for the little girl. “I perceive it to be a daughter who wishes for her father’s attention and has found a way to get it by misbehaving.”

  “Then is that not all the more reason for her to be with Lord Rothbury at Franklyn House instead of him constantly being at Harrow House?”

  She glanced over at Lord Walkerton. His jaw was set and his brow had dipped downward slightly. “My word, do my ears deceive me or are you a pinch jealous, my lord? I can assure you, with or without Lady Margaret, Lord Rothbury would often be found at Harrow House, as he and James are like brothers and spend much time in each other’s company. But, I can assure you, Lord Rothbury has no interest in me whatsoever.”

  “I beg to differ, Lady Henrietta.” Lord Walkerton stopped walking and turned to face her, his expression unreadable as it so often was. “The man could not take his eyes off of you during the entirety of our conversation. Given such, I would suggest his interest in you is alive and well. I suppose I should be thankful you proposed to me, thereby taking you off the market as I can assure you, Lady Henrietta, becoming the next Marchioness of Rothbury is a title that I daresay comes with a rather high price.”

  “Whatever do you mean by that?”

  “Only that marriage to Lord Rothbury is not something any lady should enter into without their eyes wide open and their heart well protected. And even then, it will likely not be enough to keep from sustaining unwanted damage. My cousin was miserable throughout most of her marriage to Lord Rothbury and while her death was claimed an accident, I do not believe it to have been so.”

  Hen’s heart pounded against her ribs. “And what do you believe?”

  “I believe she took it upon herself to end her misery. I would hate to see any lady put in that same position, thinking she would find happiness only to be delivered of nothing but despair, especially one as sweet and vulnerable as you.”

  His description of her gave Hen pause. She didn’t think of herself as vulnerable. Nor did she consider Alexander a man who would prey upon someone that was. That Lady Rothbury had brought about her own end was not news to Hen, but that Lord Walkerton thought he was saving her from such a fate, or that he believed Alexander had designs on her, was.

  Was this unnamed thing between her and Alexander so obvious? Had others seen it as well? If so, she must take a page from Lord Walkerton’s book and protect her expressions with more care.

  “I assure you, Lord Walkerton, the only feelings Lord Rothbury has toward me are those of a longstanding friendship. You have nothing to worry about in that regard.”

  The lie tripped easily off her tongue, as it was the same one she had whispered to herself since the kiss the night before.

  Chapter Eleven

  “What the bleeding, bloody hell is she doing here?” Alex’s voice thundered through James’s study and reverberated off the walls, but if the sound had any effect on his frien
d, he gave no indication. Instead, he ignored Alex’s question completely as if finding Lady Ottley and Lady Dalridge taking tea in Margaret’s nursery was a normal occurrence.

  “You have been quite absent of late, Alex,” James said, closing the ledger in front of him and leaning back into the leather chair behind his desk. It creaked against his weight, the sound filling the study and brushing against the censure that hung heavy in the air.

  “I realize such. I have had something weighing heavily upon my mind.” Like the fact I have kissed your sister. And wish to do so again.

  “And has this weight lifted itself then?”

  “No, not entirely.” He said nothing more beyond that. Henrietta had requested he not speak to her brother about what had occurred between them and he saw no reason not to honor that request, given she had asked so little of him. Unfortunately, not speaking about the kiss did not stop him from thinking about it. Repeatedly. And at length. Nor did it prevent him from wanting to relive the moment again. And again.

  “And yet here you are.”

  “Yes, here I am and you still have not answered my question as to what Lady Ottley is doing upstairs in nursery with Lady Margaret!” Alex jabbed a finger at the study’s ceiling.

  “Lady Ottley came to call and inquired upon your daughter when Lady Franklyn indicated she was staying with us. Neither my aunt nor I saw any reason to deny her a visit. She is the girl’s grandmother after all.”

  “A grandmother who wishes to get her hands on Margaret and take her away from me to raise herself.”

  James arched one dark eyebrow. “I would think this would be just the thing you’d wish to happen. I’m surprised you fight it so. Would her taking charge of the child not solve your problem?”

  It would. That was the crux of it. It would solve his problem completely. He could wash his hands of the whole sordid mess and be done with it. Except he couldn’t bring himself to do so. He was the only parent Lady Margaret had, even if his blood did not flow through her veins. If he were to abandon her, what would that do? He understood the pain of losing a parent at such a young age, the sense of abandonment that came along with it. And he understood the rejection that followed when the remaining parent’s grief caused them to turn away, becoming too wrapped up in saving some damsel in distress to ease the hurt and bewilderment of his own son.

  Margaret had already lost her mother, if she lost him as well, Alex feared the extent of the damage would be irreversible. Regardless of how her presence in the world came about, that she was not truly his daughter, he would not toss her to the wolves in such a manner. He would not abandon her as his mother and father had him.

  “As you repeatedly tell me, Lady Margaret is my daughter and my responsibility. I will not abdicate such to a couple who did a less than stellar job raising their own children.”

  “And is that why you have gifted us—and by us I mean your daughter—with your presence this day? You’ve seen the error of your ways and now recognize your position as her father? That you wish to take her to Franklyn House to live amongst her family instead of strangers she has only just met?”

  Alex pulled his mouth into a grim line. The hint of acerbity in James’s voice did not sit well with him. His friend’s disapproval of his past actions may be warranted, but it didn’t mean he had to like it. What he liked even less was the fact that James was right. He should not have left Lady Margaret at Harrow House for several days without coming by to ensure she had not become burdensome. His absences had a way of triggering her worst behaviors for some reason.

  “You are hardly a stranger to Lady Margaret,” Alex pointed out. “Has she been difficult then?”

  “Not at all.”

  He lifted his eyebrows. “Truly?”

  James shrugged and pushed out of his chair, walking over to the bar where he poured them both a drink. “Lady Margaret is a delight.”

  “Are we speaking about the same child? The one I left in your care?”

  James approached Alex and handed one glass to him, but the disappointment had not yet left his friend’s dark blue gaze. “The one you left in our care and did not bother to return to spend time with as you indicated you would? Yes, that one.”

  “Has she suggested she has missed my presence?”

  “She asks upon you often. I have been telling her stories about our exploits as children in the hopes it will keep her from becoming upset by your repeated failure to attend to her. Honestly, Alex. She is your daughter—”

  “She is not, as you well know.”

  It was James’s turn to jab a finger at the study roof, his words shooting out swift and hard. “Then let Lord and Lady Ottley take her and raise her up proper. At least they have shown an interest in her.”

  “The deuce I will.”

  “Then do your damn job, man!” James slammed his glass down upon the table next to him, surprising Alex with such a display. James was not one to lose control easily. He kept his darker emotions in check, tightly wound. Humor and laughter, those he let out with ease, but the rest—well, the rest his friend had buried deep after the death of his father and stepmother, almost as if it was the only way he could survive in the wake of the tragedy that took them and left his sister scarred and in agony.

  But James’s sudden anger did not change the facts of what Alex had done. “I have given Lady Margaret my name and my protection. What more do you expect of me?”

  “It isn’t what I expect. It’s what she expects. What she needs. She does not care about names and protection. She is a little girl. What she wants is your time and your attention. She wants your love!”

  The words filled the room and echoed off the walls, and while James was the one who shouted them, it was Henrietta’s voice that Alex heard. She had issued a similar sentiment less than a fortnight ago. He’d run from it, of course. He did not love. He just…didn’t. It was not in him. Not any more. He’d learned the hard way the cost one paid when they did.

  Even if he wanted to, he wasn’t sure he remembered how, it had been so long.

  “She will thank me for my name and protection when she is older and married to a man of proper title who can give her all the things she desires.”

  “And how will she know to recognize such a man if she does not have a proper example to follow? Did such things matter to Ruth? Did they make her happy?”

  The question hit him square in the gut, knocking the wind out of him so that Alex was unable to form a response. Not that he had one. Because James had a point, didn’t he? Alex had given Ruth all of those things and in the end it mattered little. In the end, she had sought more, gone elsewhere to disastrous consequences on so many levels.

  But to have James be the one to remind him of that—James of all people! His ally in all things, his only true friend who knew his deepest secrets and his darkest demons. James, who had quietly loved Ruth from a distance since the first day they had both seen her at Lord and Lady Mettleton’s ball all those years ago, yet stepped aside out of friendship, so that Alex might pursue her. For him to turn on Alex now, to call him out on his failures—failures James would likely not have made had he been the one Ruth had chosen—well, that was the lowest blow and James bloody well knew it. The sanctimonious blaze in his friend’s eyes expressed the volumes of words he’d kept to himself all these years.

  “Do you think you could have done better?” It was a foolish question. Of course James would have done better. James, who always put others’ needs before his own. James who kept his demons well concealed and under control to avoid damaging others.

  “You know I would have.” Because James had loved her. James had loved her until the day she died and mourned her far more deeply than Alex, reminding him yet again of his own inadequacies. His failures. As he reminded him of them now. The words cut into Alex and he reacted in kind.

  “I kissed your sister.” The claim lashed out of him before he had time to think about what he was doing, what this retaliation would cost him. Cost her.


  James stilled. Alex had never seen him so motionless, as if he were looking at a painted portrait of the man and not the real thing.

  “I beg your pardon?” The question drifted toward him on a whisper. Silent. Deadly. Something new flashed across James’s expression. A warning. A promise. Alex wanted to claw the words back but it was too late. The damage had been done.

  “I kissed your sister. At the Lindwells’ party several nights past.” James said nothing and Alex’s brain worked furiously to determine the best way to mitigate the harm of what he had done. Then and now. He cursed his stupidity, his churlish response to James’s claims regarding Ruth.

  He should have seen it coming. Stupid that he hadn’t. Had he been in James’s position, likely it would have been the first thing he’d have done. Yet, even as James’s hard fist connected with Alex’s jaw, surprise filled him. In the nearly three decades of their friendship, never once had they ever come to fisticuffs. Theirs had been a relationship built on trust and mutual respect and the unspoken promise to have each other’s backs.

  The weight put behind the right hook sent Alex staggering. He careened sideways, his hip connecting with the edge of the nearby table. The drink he’d held flew from his hand and landed near the hearth with a crash, glass splintering around the stone. He caught his balance on the edge of the table, gripping tightly as his senses spun about in a chaotic pattern. He gave his head a shake to right things and rubbed a hand over the ache in his jaw. That would bruise for certain.

  “I suppose that was no more than I deserved.”

  “That was far less than you deserved,” James said, his voice filled with deadly intent. “What the hell have you done? I trusted you. Above all others I trusted she would be safe with you!”

  Alex straightened and faced his friend, a sense of loss slipping beneath his barriers until it found the well of regret he hid there. Because James was right. He should have been able to trust him. Was that not the very foundation of the their friendship? But Alex had not been thinking of their friendship when he looked upon Henrietta and saw the sheen of tears and the strength that stiffened her backbone when he barked his harsh words at her, pushing her away. Then he had only been thinking of making amends. Of seeing her smile once more. Of not letting her walk away with the hurt he had put in her heart.