One Wicked Sin

by Nicola Cornick

  “Yes, I see.” Lottie sounded subdued, her head bent, but Ethan could see her frown. “I thought—” She started, stopped. “I did not realize that you would wish to—”

  “To flaunt you in public?”

  She looked up, troubled. “Yes, I suppose so. The fashionable crowd were my acquaintances when I was married. It is awkward—”

  Ethan shrugged, once again repressing that wayward sympathy. There was no room for sentiment and he knew it; he had a very particular purpose for her. She had satisfied his physical needs, for the time being at least, and now she would play another role, that of the ostentatious mistress about town. He was intent on creating as much gossip as he possibly could, diverting the attention of the authorities from his true interests and activities. Lottie’s part in his plan was to act as an eye-catching diversion.

  “I understand that,” he said. “But you have a different role now. Besides, you will not be obliged to speak to any of your previous acquaintances, merely to be seen by them.”

  “Of course,” Lottie said. Her voice was bland but her mouth turned down at the implication of his words, that she must display herself before her previous acquaintances marked out as his mistress. Ethan knew she was struggling to repress her protests. Lottie Palliser did not take easily to the role of accommodating Cyprian, he thought.

  “You will be with me,” he said. “That will protect you from any discourtesy.”

  “I am sure it will.” She could not quite erase the sharpness from her tone. “No man of sense would wish to find your sword at his throat.”

  “Then that is settled,” Ethan said. He put out a hand and drew her toward him. He felt a moment’s hesitation in her but she came to him easily enough. He kissed her, long, hard and deep, a claim, an imprint, a statement of possession.

  “You’re with me now,” he repeated softly when he let her go, and he felt a powerful flare of possessiveness. He kissed her again until he felt her relax and respond to him and then his desire caught like a flame again. He was breathing hard when he let her go and he felt shaken.

  What the hell was wrong with him?

  She sat looking at him, a luminous light in her brown eyes, soft hair falling gently about her bare shoulders, her body pure temptation beneath the twisted sheet.

  Ethan stood up, wanting to be gone yet wanting to stay with her, too. The conflict in him puzzled and disturbed him.

  “I have left you some money to buy the gowns,” he said brusquely, gesturing to the bag of guineas on the table. “Buy something suitable. I don’t want you looking like a debutante.”

  Her gaze was very clear as she held his. “I know what you want from me.”

  Swearing under his breath, Ethan went out, down the stairs two at a time, out into the street. He lengthened his stride, putting physical distance between himself and Lottie as though trying to outrun the emotions of the previous night. He felt a sense of relief to have escaped something he could not put a name to but which felt infinitely dangerous.

  LOTTIE HAD SEEN Ethan’s relief when he left. It had been in the haste with which he had gone out of the bedchamber; it had been in the tense line of his shoulders and the briskness of his departure and the fact that he had not looked back. She sighed a little as she gathered together the clothes she needed for the day. The intimacy of the night that she and Ethan had spent together had been illusory. She knew that. Physical closeness meant nothing. They were still essentially two strangers who were bound together for as long as Ethan paid for their association to continue. That was their relationship, no more. The previous night she had determined not to become emotionally involved with him and make the same mistakes that she had in the past. He could give her nothing of himself. He did not wish to, nor should she wish it. Her future was as a professional courtesan for as long as she had the looks to sustain the role. She would be particularly bad at her new job if she tumbled into love with every protector who crossed her path.

  In truth, there was little to look forward to in Ethan’s plans for the day, Lottie thought. They would bring the horrible social embarrassment of displaying herself in public for the first time since her divorce. She shuddered. Everyone would point and gossip as though she was an exhibit in a freak show. The Ton could be very cruel. She knew she had to be strong but she felt as vulnerable as a kitten. So she needed clothes. She needed clothes to wear as armor, to protect her and give her an outward shield against the harsh talk and accusatory stares. Plus a big hat, perhaps, for her to hide behind.

  There was a knock at the door—the maid to take away her gown for pressing. Lottie handed it over, then glanced across to the table, where Ethan had left a small bag of coins for her expenses that day. She smiled wryly. If Ethan Ryder thought that would be sufficient to buy her an evening gown and all the accessories she required, then perhaps he did not know women quite as well as he claimed. Then she remembered that she had tried to steal his guineas and run away the day before. She let the coins slip through her fingers. Under the circumstances, she thought, it was perhaps surprising that he had entrusted her with any of his money at all.

  She touched the money and let it run through her fingers. Once again the desire to take it, to use it to escape, stirred in her. She could run away from this life and from the ignominy and shame of having to appear in Ton society as Ethan’s paid mistress.

  Except that she had no one to help her and nowhere to run…

  She straightened up. She would dress like a courtesan and smile until her face ached and pretend that she simply did not care, whilst she hid the molten shame of it deep inside.

  CHAPTER SIX

  ONCE, WHEN SHE HAD been a leader of society and a Ton hostess, Lottie had enjoyed driving in the park at the fashionable hour of five in the afternoon. She had done it to see and to be seen, to set new fashions and to hear the latest on dit. Now it seemed that she and Ethan were the on dit, which was, Lottie supposed, exactly what Ethan had wanted. She tried to keep her gaze fixed straight ahead in order to avoid meeting the eyes of her former friends and acquaintances, but it was difficult. Jumbled impressions slid past her as the phaeton rolled along. People were stopping to stare; they were even pointing, which was frightfully ill-bred, and they did not trouble to lower their voices:

  “There is that damned traitorous bastard Ethan Ryder with his shameless mistress….”

  The sun was bright and it made Lottie’s eyes water even though she had bought a bonnet especially designed to shield her face. She could feel herself growing hotter and hotter under the scrutiny of so many censorious eyes. She drew herself up straight and tense in her seat.

  I will not cry. She repeated the mantra fiercely to herself, over and over in her head, as she had when she was a little girl and the other children had teased her because she was a fatherless poor relation. She had scrambled up from that lowly place and had become an influential member of the Ton herself. She shuddered when she remembered the pride she had taken in wielding that social power. She had never imagined that one day she would topple off her lofty pedestal. Well, she had learned that lesson now. Perhaps if she were ever in a position of influence again she might be a bit kinder. She sighed. Not that that was likely to happen. She was beyond disgrace, ruined well and truly.

  The carriage slowed because of the press of people and other vehicles and she heard one debutante, all pretty blond curls and demure blue eyes say to her friend:

  “She used to be Mrs. Cummings, you know. She was married to a most frightfully rich and proper banker, but she simply could not prevent herself from running around Town with any man who asked. They say she takes after her father in being so loose with her affections….”

  The girls’ titters of laughter lingered as the carriage swept past and Lottie felt hot with mortification and anger.

  She glanced at Ethan. He had hired a superb high perch phaeton for this outing, all sparkling green-and-blue livery and pulled by two showy gray horses. It was a neat way to show his haughty relatives tha
t he cared nothing for their disapproval, Lottie supposed. She wished she had his self-assurance.

  As though sensing her thoughts Ethan took one hand off the reins and dropped it over her tightly clasped ones in a comforting grip. He shot her a blazing smile.

  “Are you enjoying this?”

  “Of course not!” Lottie said tartly, forgetting that she had promised herself she would uphold the role of obliging mistress even if it killed her. “I hate it! All those people staring and tattling! I do not know how you can do it, my lord. I don’t know why you do it.”

  Ethan slowed the horses and turned slightly toward her. His smile faded a little and he looked rueful. “I do it because they are bullies, Lottie,” he said softly, “and they should not be allowed to win. When I was a small boy I had to accept the judgment of others that I was inferior because of my birth.” His jaw tightened. “Now I accept no man’s judgment but my own.” He squeezed her hands. “Remember that you are worth a dozen of that foolish matron over there, or that posing dandy.”

  “I was that foolish matron not so long ago,” Lottie said, with feeling. “Now I suspect my function is to be a Terrible Example. Chaperones will scare their charges into conformity with the threat that if they misbehave they will end up like me.”

  “They would have to behave pretty badly for that to happen,” Ethan said. “You are more of an example of how one can get away with reckless behavior for years.”

  Despite herself, Lottie felt her lips twitch. “I fear you may be right.” she said. She smiled ruefully. “Whichever way you look at it, I am the worst of bad examples to the young.”

  There was a devilish light in Ethan’s eyes. “How true,” he murmured. “And you are about to become an even worse example, I fear.”

  He allowed the horses to slow to a walk and then drew her toward him. She read his purpose in his eyes and placed a hand against his chest.

  “I cannot kiss you here in the Park,” she whispered. “We shall probably be arrested for violating public decency!”

  “I had no notion you were such a prude,” Ethan said. “We may kiss one another wherever we please.”

  He kissed her, whilst all about them the crowd dipped and whispered. The sun was hot and the noise roared in Lottie’s ears but she was aware of nothing but Ethan’s lips on hers and the strength in his arms as he held her.

  “There,” he murmured as he released her. “That was not so bad, was it?”

  Not bad at all, Lottie thought. She felt hot and confused and dizzy. Somewhere along the way she had definitely misplaced her town bronze. She smoothed her gown, intent on covering quite how much that brief kiss had affected her.

  “Ethan!”

  Up until that moment, no one had addressed or even acknowledged them. It had been uncomfortable but hardly unexpected. Now Lottie looked around to see that a tall man on a bay stallion had drawn alongside the phaeton. His presence was causing almost as much excitement as the fact that he had stopped to speak with them.

  “I apologize for interrupting you,” the man said, smiling broadly, “but I felt I had to make my presence known before you vanished beneath a tide of disapproval. How are you, Ethan?”

  “Northesk.” Ethan drew rein and leaned over to shake hands with the newcomer. “I didn’t know you were back in London,” he added in a slightly mocking tone. “I thought you had settled abroad for good.”

  The other man smiled. “I heard that you were in England so I made a particular effort to return.” He laughed and Ethan laughed, too, and embraced him. The crowd of onlookers murmured with surprise.

  Ethan turned to Lottie, who was almost expiring with curiosity now. She knew that the Marquess of Northesk was the heir to the Duke of Farne and therefore Ethan’s half brother. She had never met the Marquess in society because he had been in exile for the best part of ten years, banished abroad after a shocking duel with his wife’s lover. It was interesting, she thought, that there was at least one member of his family with whom Ethan was evidently on good terms and looking at them now she could see a faint family resemblance. Ethan was very dark, where Northesk had auburn hair as rich and red as a fox’s pelt. Ethan’s eyes were vivid blue, where Northesk’s were deep brown. The real resemblance, she thought, lay deeper than in coloring. It was in their bone structure, their gestures, in the slant of a head or the movement of a hand that was almost a mirror image. It was odd seeing together the Duke of Farne’s offspring down the right and the wrong side of the blanket.

  “May I introduce my half brother Garrick Farne, Marquess of Northesk,” Ethan said formally to Lottie. “Garrick, this is Lottie Palliser.”

  Lottie saw the flash of surprise in Northesk’s eyes to hear her introduced thus. Evidently he already knew who she was. But he smiled and bowed very gracefully, gesturing to the gawping crowds.

  “A pleasure to meet you, Miss Palliser. I do believe that you and my reprobate brother are causing a sensation.”

  “That tends to be your brother’s style, so I believe,” Lottie said. She looked from one to another. “Forgive me,” she added, “but I was not aware that Ethan was on speaking terms with any member of his family.”

  Northesk laughed. “It’s true that I am the only one who acknowledges him.” He shook his head. “I fear Ethan’s politics are deeply misguided, but for all that I admire the tenacity with which he holds to them.”

  “Northesk and I grew up together,” Ethan said. “He was the only one who tried to protect me from those who sought to ram home the hard facts of my base parentage.” He spoke lightly but there was a shade of expression in his voice that Lottie caught; these were old wounds.

  “I was forever dragging him out of fights at Eton when he felt he had to take on all comers,” Northesk said. “Ethan and I are almost of an age, Miss Palliser—our esteemed father grew very bored very quickly when my mother was carrying me. He looked around for diversion—”

  “And I was the result,” Ethan finished.

  Lottie felt a pang of surprise. She had not realized that Ethan and Farne’s legitimate heir were almost the same age. The Duke was renowned for his philandering and it seemed he had paused only long enough to get his wife pregnant before he had resumed it.

  “I wish you had told me you were in Town,” Northesk was saying to Ethan. “Are you free to dine tonight?”

  There was a pause. Once again Lottie sensed the conflict in Ethan and felt all the words unspoken. “I don’t want to embarrass you, Garrick,” Ethan said in a low voice, and Lottie heard the sincerity and true emotion in his voice. “You have been more than generous to me in the past, but it is impossible. Our father—”

  “Can go hang,” Garrick Northesk said, shrugging. “What can he do? He cannot disinherit me. Besides, I am at least as scandalous as you.”

  “You have more than done penance,” Ethan said, “and society welcomes you back. Whereas I am an enemy of the state.”

  Northesk shook his head. “I agree that it is unfortunate that you are a French prisoner of war,” he said dryly, “but you know full well that half the French officers are related to the British aristocracy anyway, and we all dine together and it is frightfully civil.”

  “Some aspects of the situation are far from civilized,” Ethan said, and now there was so much bitterness in his tone that Lottie jumped. She glanced at Northesk and saw swift sympathy in his face.

  “I understand,” he said. “I am sorry.” He hesitated. “How is Arland?”

  “I do not know,” Ethan said. “Naturally I am not permitted to see him.”

  There was a silence. A summer breeze teased the ribbons of Lottie’s bonnet.

  She could hear the stir and murmur of the crowd about them. Northesk’s bay stallion shifted with a clatter of hooves as though something of his master’s tension had communicated itself to him.

  Lottie put one hand on Ethan’s arm. He was looking at his brother and Northesk was looking back and some sort of wordless communication seemed to be taking place between
them. Ethan’s face was as hard as stone.

  “Who is Arland?” Lottie asked. She could feel the patter of butterfly wings in her stomach, though she had no notion why this seemed so important. But she could feel it, the tension in the air.

  Ethan glanced down at her. His eyes were blank. For a moment she thought he was not going to reply. Then he said, “Arland is my son. He is a prisoner of war in White moor Gaol.”

  ETHAN KNEW LOTTIE would ask questions. In his experience, women always did. They wanted to soothe, to help and to heal. But nothing could heal him and he was certainly beyond help. He had made the same mistakes as the father he despised and now he could not even protect the son that he had so carelessly brought into the world. The despair and self-loathing seethed in him, poisonous and dark.

  Somehow, with automatic skill and intuition, he appeared to have steered the phaeton onto a quieter stretch of the park, out through the gates and toward the livery stables. He slowed the horses now that they were out on the street. He had no idea how they had got there. For all he knew he might just have rampaged through the fashionable crowds leaving mayhem in their wake. Well, if he had flattened half of the Ton in his urge to escape it was probably no loss. And they could only hang him once.

  Lottie put her hand over his on the rein, and he waited for the questions, the probing, unendurable sympathy.

  “I’m very sorry,” she said.

  He could not respond. He thought of Arland, incarcerated for six months in the prison hulks and now confined in Whitemoor, the gaol built on the Lambourn Downs three miles from Wantage. His son. A prisoner.

  “I am surprised that they let you loose,” Lottie had said the previous night, and he remembered that he had made some mention of the fact that he had been locked up in his time in a Chatham prison hulk. What he had not said was, “The reason the authorities give me my freedom is to taunt me. They hold my son captive against my good behavior and so I dance to their tune, knowing that were I to try to escape, Arland would be flogged, or tortured or locked in some hellhole until he runs mad….”