Secrets of Sin

by Chloe Harris

  Averting her eyes, Emiline felt very much like a little girl again. Even a slight blush of shame crept up her neck. “Please don’t scold. I’ve chided myself quite enough already.”

  A sad, almost weary sigh came from Justine. “I’ll go and get some aloe and marigold for your bath. I had heard rumors about him, but I never thought…”

  “Heard? Heard what, Justine?”

  She rushed out before Emiline could say anything else, but as soon as she returned, Emiline coaxed, “Justine, you must tell me.”

  The maid kept silent, adding herbs and oils to the bath. Shaking her head while biting her wrinkled lower lip, she turned and busied herself, and by the clatter of the china soap dish, Emiline knew she still wasn’t happy with her.

  Emiline gripped the maid’s hand. “Justine?”

  The lady’s maid pulled her hand away and stepped back, folding her arms over her ample chest. “And why should I? Not that it will matter. It’s too late now that you’ve let that man back in this house and let him do God knows what to you.”

  Pressing her lips together, Emiline looked down. Of course, Justine wouldn’t know about the bargain, nor did she need to, and she didn’t need to know about the details. The outcome was the only thing that counted.

  With a determined upward glance, Emiline spoke low, her voice insistent and unwavering, “Justine, you have known me all my life. Long enough to know I am not a green, gullible girl any longer. I have my reasons. If there is anything you know and think I need to know, tell me now.” Just in time, she added another, relatively unnecessary but nevertheless polite, “Please.”

  Justine’s expression softened and, unfolding her arms, she reached for a bucket of warm water to dampen Emiline’s hair. “It’s just that I have this cousin,” she began quietly while kneeling down by the bathtub. “She lives quite scandalously. She has a fancy house in St. George’s, paid for by a ‘benefactor,’ you see.”

  Emiline could see her roll her eyes and in response snorted dutifully, but secretly; the thought that Reinier might be that benefactor—or anyone else’s benefactor—made her stomach roll to her throat. Swallowing hard, she remained silent and only leaned her head back, waiting for Justine to continue. Emiline knew if she interrupted her now, it would be even harder to get every bit of information out of the maid.

  “And…well, she writes to me about the most outrageous things. They make me blush something horrible. Oh, the kinds of things she writes!”

  Justine giggled and Emiline tried to show patience, but it was difficult. If she would kindly tell her all that might have to do with something she’d heard about Reinier now, Emiline would be grateful, indeed.

  “Oh, where was I?” Justine gasped for air and got up to get some more warm water, all the while fanning her glowing cheeks with one hand.

  “You were about to tell me what all this has to do with Reinier, I believe.”

  Justine gave her a mocking curtsy as an apology and began to wash Emiline’s hair. “I had thought they were only rumors, and you know with rumors you never know…”

  Emiline loved Justine, but she was always prone to digressing and losing the thread of what she’d meant to say in the first place. That trait of hers could be a bit tiresome.

  Justine’s hands stopped unexpectedly in midmotion and after having taken another deep breath, she blurted out, “Did—did he hurt you?”

  “No!” Emiline burst out, but instantly regretted her initial reaction. “I don’t know,” she sighed, crossing her arms over her chest. “Don’t ask me about it again. Just tell me what you know.”

  Justine clucked at that; the noise coming from her mouth had a peculiar, pitying ring to it. Or maybe Emiline had just imagined it. Sometimes Justine’s impertinence and the fact that she continued to try and mother Emiline now that she was fully grown—and in charge even—could be rather trying at times.

  “Well,” the maid continued and leaned closer so that she could impart with what she knew by only whispering in Emiline’s ear. “Once she wrote of how…of how…well, the captains of the Barhydt-O’Driscoll Shipping Company were known for liking to entertain ladies…together…in certain…particular…well, disciplined sorta ways, so the girls say.” She tugged at Emiline’s hair a bit too roughly and Emiline winced a little.

  “Oh, but not that they minded,” Justine added with an indignant snort, making quick work of rinsing the soap from Emiline’s hair. “In fact, this friend of my cousin’s, the one who had confided in her, was lamenting greatly that neither one ever seemed to entertain anyone more than once, even though everyone always wanted them to.” Pausing there, she leaned forward and her head came into Emiline’s view again. Justine pinned her down with her glare and repeated with meaningful emphasis, “Always.”

  Emiline grimaced. Now that the secret was out, the maid sighed with relief. Obviously, a burden had been lifted off her shoulders. Emiline, on the other hand, wasn’t sure at all what in the world she was supposed to make of it.

  Had Justine meant to imply that Emiline was like all the others for Reinier? Had she just hinted at the possibility that after Reinier used her he’d leave and wouldn’t be back again?

  That was the sole purpose of the whole bargain, wasn’t it? Three days of dancing to his tune for the rest of her life in independence. Knowing what she did now, that was wonderful news, wasn’t it?

  “Thank you for telling me, Justine. Go on and get your rest for the night.” Her maid gave her a hesitant look but with a quick nod left the room.

  After the door closed and Emiline was alone, she sank deeper into the water, trying to concentrate on how relaxing and soothing to her body it was. But the turmoil in her mind kept intruding.

  So there were others. Many others from what Justine had said. Of course, Emiline had known that. She’d heard enough bits and pieces of rumors over the years to know that. She was sort of cut off from the world here on her island, but surely not deaf, dumb, and blind to what was going on around her.

  Something scorched her chest from the inside out, something slightly bitter that also dulled her at the same time. Emiline decided what she felt burning through her wasn’t jealousy. She was sure that it couldn’t be.

  She didn’t care that their bargain was similar to what he’d done with others. Of course not. On the contrary, the fact that this was similar, and as Justine had said, it was never the same woman twice gave her confidence that in a relatively short amount of time she’d have what she wanted to begin with.

  Yet…something inside her couldn’t help wanting it to be different.

  But it was. This was different. She was sure of it. She wasn’t meekly letting him do as he wished with her like, she assumed, the others had. She was a much worthier opponent. She was holding up her end of the bargain, and truth be told, despite Justine’s disapproval, she was beginning to enjoy her part.

  Emiline sank all the way in, up to her chin, watching the ripples her breath made on the surface of the water.

  The captains of the Barhydt-O’Driscoll Shipping Company, Justine had said. Together they had a certain way, and neither one saw the same lady again. Emiline guessed not much had changed in that regard then.

  But that meant she was right and this was different than with the others. Reinier had come alone.

  Connor O’Driscoll. A good deal of her initial pain and anger after Reinier had left went toward the Irishman. She had been jealous then. Not of other women, but of Connor. She’d always wondered about them. Wondered in those lonely nights when she still let herself cry what Connor had that she didn’t. While her husband increasingly pulled away from her influence, Connor still held his ear. At the same time he refused to come home, he still met the Irishman in port whenever he got a chance. At first she’d been sure if not for Connor, Reinier would have stayed. She’d been confident that it had been all the Irishman’s fault.

  But now she understood that Reinier was very much his own man. If there were other women, if he spent his free ti
me with Connor, it was his own doing.

  Still, Emiline couldn’t help the spare traces of resentment that lingered.

  Taking a deep breath, she plunged under the now cooling water, then quickly emerged until she was sitting high enough in the tub to rest her arms along the edge.

  So what was she to do about all of it? If she was perfectly honest with herself, she’d say she wanted to continue what they’d started regardless of Justine’s revelations and everything else.

  Emiline shook her head at herself while picking up the sea sponge and French-milled soap from the stool beside the tub.

  How good she’d become at rationalizing almost anything. The real truth was she’d enjoyed it. She wanted to continue simply because she wanted it—wanted Reinier.

  She just couldn’t let that interfere with the fact that she still wanted to divorce him.

  He was a blithering idiot. For the second night in a row Reinier found himself pacing the study—her study—with restless energy.

  Or rather almost like a lunatic. He surely felt that way.

  Oh, he was angry. He was so angry with her for…well, for being her. Beautiful, strong, alluring, addictive, and someone who did what she did not because she loved him but because she didn’t want him.

  She was nothing but a contradiction. Everything here was nothing but a contradiction. It all seemed nice and easy, gentle and sweet, when, in fact, nothing was.

  More pacing brought him close to the secretary. That blasted secretary that seemed so unobtrusive, but on looking closer, one would find those damned papers.

  Reiner resumed his pacing. Ruddy hell, even the night was a contradiction. Outside the window the crickets sang soft songs that floated on the gentle breeze coming in from the sea while inside the house the mantel clock in the dining room ticked away its mocking countdown of his time here. The pitiless flying by of the moments he was still supposed to stay here.

  What in God’s name had made him come here?

  Reinier was angry. He was angry at her, true, but he was even angrier at himself. He was weak. A pitiful weakling to having reacted as he had, so emotional like that—like Emiline was something so new and so sweet and…

  He should leave. Now.

  Why didn’t he leave? What was making him stay?

  It couldn’t be pride; with his barely suppressed tears in the tack room, he had none. Or almost none.

  He knew he should have talked with her about what had happened. Not what had happened at the end, but before that. He shouldn’t have left her to struggle through it alone. In fact, he’d planned to talk to her, but he’d only had a tiny shred of pride left and he hadn’t wanted to lose it completely, especially not in front of her.

  Capital! He was trapped. Again.

  As noble, or rather questionable, as his motives had been in the beginning, the reasons for any of this had evaporated into thin air. He couldn’t go through with it. He couldn’t hold up his end of the bargain. Not if it…well, the price was too high.

  He wasn’t like her. She was ruthless and unfeeling. He’d known that, and yet he’d come back.

  Frustrated with pacing, Reinier sat down behind the secretary, deftly picked the lock, and pulled out the divorce papers again. He stared at them for a long time, hardly seeing them. He didn’t blink. It was only when his eyes started to burn that he came out of his gloomy thoughts.

  Yes, he’d sign them now. Sign them and get it over with.

  Fumbling in the low light of one taper, he looked for an inkwell. When he found it, his resolve had strengthened. Now all he needed was a quill. Where had she hidden those bloody quills?

  Yes, yes, he’d sign the papers and be gone before she even woke up. He didn’t need her.

  He shouldn’t have come back.

  Reinier opened another drawer only to find it, too, contained no quill, so he shoved it closed with a little more force than was necessary.

  A frustrated sigh wrenched itself from deep in his chest. He gave up searching and set his elbows on the desk, running his hands through his hair. The secretary shook and groaned with the force of his frustrated gesture.

  A small casket slid from somewhere in front of him, shattered on the surface of the desk, and opened. Its contents spilled.

  There was the quill he’d been searching for all along.

  He could sign the papers now.

  Although…that would be just what she wanted, wouldn’t it?

  Well, it was more than he could say of himself. At least she knew what she wanted; at this point, he honestly didn’t have a clue what he wanted.

  No, that wasn’t quite true. He knew what he wanted. He wanted her.

  Now, didn’t that sound familiar?

  How much did he want her and at what price? Was her body worth his soul? Would it come to that—again?

  He wouldn’t let it happen. He’d just have to try harder. He’d have to try harder to be more like her. He’d have to follow her example and be the epitome of perfection for perfection’s sake alone.

  But that was easier said than done. Maybe he just needed a small break to figure it all out. He should take some time and work off his confusion and anger with something to tax his body and that would eventually clear his head.

  If that was the case, he thought as he folded the divorce papers again and put them back in their place, he’d better try and get some sleep.

  Who was he trying to fool? He knew he’d never get any sleep.

  Maybe he could seduce one of the pretty little maids or one of the villagers.

  Wonderful. They were basically at his mercy. Since when had he sunk that low to even think about something as repugnant and damnable?

  Or he could get raving drunk—he’d surely find sleep after that. Only then trying to clear his mind with work in the morning was out of the question. What kind of impression would it make on the workers if the master vomited from a little exertion?

  He was a blithering lunatic. Oh, he was angry with them both. At her…at himself…

  Good Lord, this bloody island was driving him insane!

  10

  “That’s how I used to ride the chestnut filly,” Jaidyn whispered, licking Connor’s ear with a teasing tongue. His hands clamped down on her lean thighs and he could feel the muscles bunch under his fingers when she circled her hips, rose off him, and sat down again, circle, up, and down again, and again…

  Finally, she’d revealed her name. A good, solid Irish name. She was his green-eyed, Irish goddess. Her red gold hair was tickling his face, his shoulders, and his sides. Connor pressed his head into the pillow, his eyes rolling up under his closed lids.

  He shouldn’t have said what he had; he shouldn’t have asked her to once more show him how she used to ride her horse. He almost felt sorry for himself. Almost, because her strength and stamina were killing him. God, she was good at that. Untamed and enthusiastic, and Connor wanted it to never stop.

  She was riding him hard, so hard he thought he was going to burst any moment now, and she didn’t seem to tire one bit. She was wonderful, absolutely lovely. At least that’s what he remembered from right before her rolling and grinding her hips against his cock made him close his eyes. She was perfect, riding him just the way he liked it. No, the way he loved it; the way he’d never been ridden before.

  His hands wandered up her thighs and captured her waist that was so small the tips of his fingers touched at the small of her back. Her skin was sticky, deliciously moist from the exercise.

  The palms of his hands then cupped her buttocks—firm, nice cheeks. His fingers wandered along the cleft; she was even wetter there. Lower down, where she ground against him, where her slick softness met his hardness…He let his fingers stay there to feel her bouncing up and down on him, taking him in, then releasing his rod only to capture him again completely.

  Her breaths were coming hard, and each time he met her thrusts, she’d moan, a soft, high sound, so completely different from when he rode her. Then her moans wer
e low and rough. But whatever position they were in, however he took her, the sounds she made came from deep in her throat and washed over him, inciting him, exciting him even more.

  Jaidyn paused. She sat up completely, and her long hair tickled his hands and the inside of his thighs. Connor was grateful for the chance to take one last breath, because he was certain he was going to perish.

  He’d have never thought he’d meet a woman who’d respond to him so completely, who matched his need as perfectly as Jaidyn did. One touch from her and he was up and ready in no time. One touch from him and she was hot, willing, and eager at once.

  They’d taken a lazy bath, fed each other grapes and oranges and cheese and bread and roast beef from a silver tray. They’d also slept just a little in between, arms around each other. That was new too. He’d never enjoyed a woman beside him for longer than it took to make her crest enough times that he was satisfied. With Jaidyn it was different. He couldn’t get enough of her. They fit perfectly.

  Wasn’t there something he needed to do? He couldn’t really remember now. There was no yesterday for him, no tomorrow. Only the present, this moment, and each moment that he was with Jaidyn. It was the only thing that counted, the only thing that was important. The only thing that was…

  He opened his eyes to see her. He’d never forget how she looked, because saying she looked…beautiful didn’t quite fit. She wasn’t just beautiful, she was stunning. More than that. There was no word for it—at least Connor didn’t know one. Certainly not at that moment.

  Her skin, her perfect, smooth skin, as white as porcelain, as soft as silk and dotted with all the places he’d kissed and had yet to kiss, glistened with transpiration, shone as the pale light of the early dawn illuminated her. It made her look ethereal. Like a fairy.

  Catching her hips in his hands, he helped her with her sumptuous ride, bucking his hips up against her, and she let out those incredibly arousing, soft and high moans again. She was circling her hips against him, grinding her core on him, and he watched himself slide in and out of her, glistening with her juices. Gooseflesh rippled her skin and his as well.