“Callie.” Her brother shook his head. “What the hell were you thinking?”
“I was wrong.” She made the admission with utmost conviction now. “I was blinded by the pain of losing our brother and I was consumed with grief. I…I was not thinking clearly. So you see? I married Lord Sinclair to keep my secret safe, and to atone for the wrongs I visited upon him.”
Some of the fight seemed to seep from her brother. “To keep your secret safe? Did you threaten her, Sinclair?”
Sin held her brother’s gaze. “I did. Desperate times, desperate measures, etcetera.”
“By God, I am going to trounce you, you despicable bounder!” Benny hollered, surging forward once more.
Sin was certainly not aiding their cause. She could not help but to wonder why. While she knew he was correct in being honest with her brother and sister-in-law, there were far more tactful ways of going about it. Part of her wondered if he wanted Benny to attack him.
“Benny, it is not what you think,” she attempted to reassure him. “I chose to marry Lord Sinclair.”
“He just said he threatened you so that you would marry him.” Her brother was incredulous.
Well, that much was true. But how could she explain to her brother the incipient happiness she had found with her husband without revealing too much and embarrassing herself?
“I did,” Sin said amiably.
She frowned at her husband. “You are making this worse.”
He flashed her a rakish half grin. “Ah, but how can this little tragedy of ours be made to seem better than what it is? We are being honest with your brother and sister-in-law. We were both forced into marrying each other, if you must know.” He turned to Benny. “Your sister left me without options. I left her without any in turn.”
“You are a callous son of a bitch,” Benny accused.
“Are you happy, Callie?” Isabella asked then, her worried tone stealing Callie’s attention. “That is what matters the most. Your brother and I want to be assured you are content and being treated well.”
“I am,” she confessed.
For she was happy with Sin. Too happy, almost. What had just passed between them—the revelations of his distrust and his disastrous marriage to his first wife—lent a troubling undercurrent to that knowledge. She wondered if he would ever trust her, especially after the manner in which their union had first begun.
What cruel irony.
Her brother shook his head again. “I do not believe this, any of it. You could have waited until I returned from my honeymoon. Instead, you rushed into a marriage in secret without waiting for my blessing. You have been reckless in the past, Callie, but this, marrying a man you scarcely know—being blackmailed into marrying him—and now claiming you are happy…”
“Sin was doing his best to protect his mother,” Callie said softly. “She is ill and in need of a caretaker. He is a good man, Benny. I was wrong about him, and I know that now.”
“I would not say I am good, sweet,” Sin said, giving her a look packed with so much intensity, it stole her breath.
But he was good. He was so much more than the sum of his reputation. So much more than she ever could have comprehended. And he was her husband, and she wasn’t just falling in love with him.
She was in love with him.
Heaven help her.
The realization left her feeling giddy and lightheaded all at once, as if she would faint. How could she have fallen in love with him so quickly? So effortlessly?
And more importantly, what would she do about it now? Sin was hardly ready to accept her love or to trust her. The scars of his past had not yet healed, and she did not know if they ever would. What if he would never love her in return? What if their marriage was doomed to be one of convenience, and after he had his heir and spare, he would carry on with his life of excess and wickedness, without her in it?
“Bloody hell,” grumbled Benny, “none of this makes sense. Not one whit. The least you can do is allow my duchess and I a moment alone with Callie, Sinclair. I would like to speak with her in private.”
Callie expected her husband to object, but Sin inclined his head. “As you wish. Join us for dinner tonight as well, if you like. There will be no harm in two more place settings.”
Benny’s mouth was set in a harsh, unforgiving line. “Thank you for the invitation, Sinclair. However, only having just returned from our travels, we are tired. Nor would we wish to overstay our welcome.”
“The choice is yours, Westmorland.” Sin shrugged indolently, as if he did not have a care in the world. “I will leave the three of you to your familial tête-à-tête.”
With a perfunctory bow, he turned and sauntered from the study.
The moment the door closed at his back, Benny descended upon her.
“What the devil were you thinking, marrying a man like the Earl of Sinclair?” her brother asked, his voice vibrating with his fury.
“My love.” Isabella once more laid a staying hand on Benny’s arm. “You must not be so angry with Callie. She has done nothing wrong.”
“My wonderful wife is your champion, of course, because she has the patience of a saint,” Benny said, still frowning ferociously at Callie.
“Of course she does,” Callie could not resist teasing him. “She is married to you, after all, dearest brother.”
“And now you are married as well.” Benny pinched the bridge of his nose, as if he were attempting to stave off a dreadful case of the megrims. “Forgive me, Callie. I do not mean to shout, but surely you can appreciate my shock at returning after being gone a mere month to find you married. And not just to anyone, but to the Earl of Sinclair. My God, do you have any idea what sort of reputation the man has?”
Grim uncertainty stole over her, making her stomach churn. “Of course I know about his reputation. I helped to create it, if you will recall from my earlier admission.”
“I knew I should have been firmer with you.” Benny raked a hand through his golden hair. “You have been through so much, losing Lord Simon, then Alfred. I never should have allowed you to go to Paris with Aunt Fanchette. And I never should have left before she had arrived. By God, I hold her partially responsible for this farce.”
Callie bristled at her brother’s assertion that he ought to have been firmer with her. “Benny, I am my own woman. If you had been firmer with me, I would have thrown more surprise balls.”
Her joke was weak, a reference to his frustration with the many entertainments she had planned without his knowledge in the last year.
Benny did not find humor in it, but her sister-in-law smiled.
“I admire your daring, Callie. I always have.” Isabella’s smile turned sad. “Are you truly certain you are happy, dearest?”
“Despite the unconventional beginning to our marriage, yes,” she answered. Though the doubt and questions remained, swirling through her, infecting her thoughts. Dogging her with unfair persistence.
“You have only been married for a month,” scoffed Benny. “You scarcely even know him. He is a member of a depraved club that is renowned for its wickedness. He is the last sort of man I would ever wish to see married to my beloved sister.”
The reminder of his club hit Callie like a pail of ice water.
She had known, of course. She had mined all the scandals and rumors surrounding her husband to write Confessions of a Sinful Earl. But it was difficult indeed to reconcile what she had known about him with the man she had come to know.
“I know about the club,” she said.
“He has dared to take you there?” Benny asked, outraged anew.
“Of course not,” she hastened to say. “He has not spoken of it to me.”
The moment the confession left her, doubt blossomed. So, too, fear. Sin had never once mentioned the club. And he had been gone for so long the day after their nuptials. He had claimed to be visiting his friend. What if he had been lying?
“I wonder what else your new husband is keeping from yo
u,” Benny said grimly, giving voice to her fears.
“Nothing, we hope,” Isabella said, swatting her new husband’s arm. “You promised on the carriage ride here that you would remain calm. That you would not berate her or attempt to ruin her spirits.”
Benny frowned at his duchess. “I wanted her to have a love match, as we have. Callie is worth far more than some arrogant, penniless earl who has the ballocks to abduct her, force her into marrying him—”
“I chose to marry him,” Callie interrupted.
“Because he threatened to reveal you as the true author of those scandalous memoirs all of London is agog over,” her brother countered. “By his own admission! My God, Calliope, I thought you were more intelligent than this. I never thought I would see the day that you would fall prey to a heartless rakehell out to destroy you.”
The virulence of Benny’s words sank deep into Callie’s heart. They found her fears and mingled with them, until her stomach was an endless, churning sea. What if her brother was right? What if she had allowed the glimpses into Sin’s softer side to blind her to the truth of the man that he was? They had only been married for a month.
She must not allow herself to forget the manner in which their marriage had begun. He had abducted her from London, bound her wrists, and even gagged her. And then, he had blackmailed her.
“Callie?” Isabella’s worried voice cut through her madly spinning thoughts. “Are you well? You look dreadfully pale all of a sudden.”
No, she was not well. She felt…dizzy. Sick. Overheated. Her skin was hot. The room seemed to spin. Her eyes could not find a safe place to fall. It was as if she stood still whilst everything and everyone else was whirling around.
The edges of her vision went dark. Benny and Isabella seemed suddenly too far away. Their voices were hushed and strange. And then Callie was falling, falling, falling.
Backward, into the abyss.
Darkness claimed her.
Sin paced the hall outside his wife’s apartments, trying to tamp down his rage and his worry. Callie had swooned. His strong, fierce, fiery wife had bloody well fainted. It still seemed impossible to believe. He had abducted her, bound her, dragged her through the countryside, done his best to frighten her, and she had remained stalwart.
Ten minutes in the presence of her brother and sister-in-law, and she was requiring smelling salts. By the time word had reached him, she had already been awake, propped with half a dozen pillows which had been fetched from God knew where, in a chair in his study. Her pallor and the sheen of perspiration on her forehead had convinced him she was ill.
Dreadfully so.
She had told him she had a terrible megrim.
Sin had summoned a physician.
A physician who had been attending her, along with the Duchess of Westmorland, for…
He plucked his pocket watch from his waistcoat.
One whole fucking hour.
“Have you done something to her?”
The question, more snarling growl than respectable query, emerged from his wife’s brother. The Duke of Westmorland had taken news of Sin’s marriage to his sister worse than he had supposed. He had taken Callie’s sudden fainting spell even harder.
But no harder than Sin. He had broken into a run when the news reached him, so desperate had he been to reach her.
“You believe I have somehow done my wife ill?” he asked, doing his best to quell his inner fury and failing. “What is it you think I have done to her? Have I poisoned her? Pushed her down the stairs? Good Christ, man. I was not even near her when she grew ill. If anyone should be asking questions, it should be me. I left her alone with you for scarcely any time at all, and suddenly I need to summon the physician.”
Westmorland was pale. He stalked toward Sin, and Sin held his ground, remaining where he was, refusing to back down. The duke’s eyes were wild, his upper lip curved into an unforgiving sneer. “Do not think I will not kill you because you are a peer, Sinclair. Or because you have somehow ingratiated yourself to my sister, and cast your spell over her. She is too kindhearted to know what manner of snake she has married.”
He had never had any quarrels with the duke before now.
“What manner of snake am I, hmm?” he asked. “You seemed happy enough to receive me on prior occasions when I visited you at Westmorland House.”
That was true enough, but he had known quite well that the duke was merely tolerating him, not that he liked him. Sin had been so caught up in his desire to gain proof against Callie that he had not given a damn. His call had not been a social one. Rather, it had been the means by which he had sealed Callie’s fate.
And his own.
How long ago that seemed, almost a lifetime. So much had altered between then and now.
“That was before you blackmailed my sister into becoming your wife, you bastard,” Westmorland growled. “You are a rakehell and a scoundrel. Do you deny being a member of the Black Souls?”
Sin refused to flinch or retreat. “No. Of course not. I have never made false claims about myself. Not to your sister, and not to anyone. I am a member of the Black Souls club. I have been for years. It hardly signifies.”
The Black Souls was a private club. Their reputation for depravity and licentiousness had been well-earned by some members, it was true. But the club was not solely a bastion of sin and wicked excess as all the rumors suggested. Rather, it was also a safe haven for lords with dark souls to convene. There was no judgment within the walls of that club.
And Sin had been grateful for that. He had done some things of which he was not proud, none of which had anything to do with the Black Souls. They had rescued him from his lowest depths. He could not lay the blame for his sins upon the Black Souls. Some of his best and oldest friends were members. Men he would trust with his very life. Decker, among them, who owned the club itself.
“Everyone knows the members of the Black Souls are depraved,” Westmorland insisted, his nostrils flaring as if he scented something unsavory. “If you have harmed my sister in any way, I will not hesitate to end you.”
Westmorland was lethal. He had killed two Fenians. Sin did not discount the danger his new brother-in-law presented. He had no doubt that the duke meant every word he said. His devotion to Callie had been apparent, and surprisingly comforting to Sin. His loathing of Sin—that was another matter entirely.
However, he could not entirely blame Westmorland. Had their situations been reversed, Sin had to admit that he would likely feel the same.
He met his brother-in-law’s gaze unflinchingly. “If I ever harm your sister in any fashion, I will end myself first. I have no intention of hurting Callie. Ever. She is my wife, and I will do everything in my power to keep her happy and well.”
The duke’s eyes narrowed into icy slits of disbelief. “I do not trust you, Sinclair. Not one whit.”
Sin almost chuckled. Instead, he raised a brow. “I never asked you to trust me.”
“Why did you marry my sister?” Westmorland asked.
“Because she owed me,” he answered honestly. “She ruined me, quite intentionally. I had no recourse. I am being utterly honest with you, Westmorland. If you think I have anything to hide, you are wrong.”
“Your first wife,” the duke said slowly, “what happened to her?”
“Bloody hell,” he muttered, disgusted. “If I had wanted to murder Celeste, I would have done so years before she took her life by her own hand. She was mad, Westmorland. I know you and Callie want to believe your sainted brother could not have been duped by her, but I am living proof, standing before you, to tell you that woman was a poison. To herself, to everyone she knew. But I would never have harmed her. And likewise, I would never harm your sister. She is my wife, my countess, the mother of my future children.”
“You married her for her share of the Manning fortune,” his brother-in-law accused.
He looked Westmorland in the eye. “You are damned right I did, and she married me because she had to.�
�
Before the duke could counter his bold statement, the door to Callie’s apartments opened at last. Dr. Gilmore emerged.
“Well?” Sin demanded, stalking toward the physician, his heart pounding in his chest as he forgot all about the need to defend himself against his irate brother-in-law.
“What is the matter with her, Doctor?” Westmorland asked in unison, striding forward also.
The physician looked from Sin to the duke, then back to Sin, clearly wondering which of them he ought to direct his words toward. Sin scowled at Westmorland. Damn it, he was beyond his bounds. Callie was Sin’s wife now, and that bloody well took precedent over the relationship between siblings.
“How is Lady Sinclair?” Sin pressed curtly.
Westmorland pinned him with a glare.
Sin ignored him.
“Her ladyship is well and resting now,” Dr. Gilmore said calmly. “You may see her if you wish.”
“Resting,” Sin repeated, loathing the word. He had never known Callie to rest. Or to faint.
“But what is the matter with her, Dr. Gilmore?” he snapped, out of patience. “Why would she swoon for no good reason?”
Dr. Gilmore gave him a small smile. “I do believe there was a good reason. A reason which will make itself decidedly known over the course of the next few months.”
Was something dreadfully wrong with Callie? Was she ill? The thought stole the saliva from his mouth, the breath from his lungs. She was so vibrant and bold and alive. The notion of losing her, of watching her wither away, was hideous. Eviscerating.
Confusion swarmed him, mingling with the fear.
“What the devil does that mean?” he bit out, longing to shake the physician. “Cease speaking in riddles, man. Is she ill?”
“Oh dear, pray forgive me, Lord Sinclair,” said the physician. “It was not my intention to worry you. Judging from my examination, she is in the finest of health. However, this is a delicate matter, and one generally best left to a discussion between a husband and wife. Why do you not go and see Lady Sinclair now? She will explain everything she and I discussed.”
Lady Ruthless (Notorious Ladies of London Book 1) Page 24
