A Taste of Sin

by Mason, Connie

  “Aye, now I remember. You may leave, Gavin. I’ll take care of Christy.”

  Gavin stiffened. “Nay, I canna do that.”

  “I insist,” Sinjun said sternly. “I’m more than capable of seeing to my own wife.”

  “Yer wife!” Gavin sputtered. “’Tis my understanding that ye and The Macdonald are no longer wed.”

  “Contrary to what Christy thinks, we’re still married,” Sinjun revealed. “I will assume complete responsibility for her from now on.”

  Gavin looked unconvinced. “Ye won’t hurt her, will ye?”

  “The Macdonald is safe with me,” Sinjun bit out. “She will be residing with me from now on.”

  “But yer lordship,” Gavin argued, “ye donna understand. There are … others to consider.”

  “I’ll take care of everything,” Sinjun assured him. “Go home, I’ll contact you later, after I’ve spoken with Christy.”

  “Verra well, yer lordship, but I dinna like it,” Gavin grumbled as he pulled the coach out into traffic with marked reluctance. “Yell answer to me and my clansmen if ye harm The Macdonald,” he called over his shoulder.

  Muttering to himself, Sinjun pulled his carriage into the place just vacated by the coach and sat back to wait for Christy.

  Christy knew immediately that the Blue Goose Inn was not the place for her and her small family. From the outside it looked respectable enough, but once inside Christy was disheartened by its disreputable appearance. The Blue Goose was the third inn she’d visited and the third she’d found unsuitable, even for the short stay she had in mind. But she wasn’t discouraged. There were least three more inns in good but unfashionable neighborhoods.

  Distracted, Christy left the inn, expecting to find Gavin waiting with the coach. The breath slammed from her chest when she saw Sinjun standing beside his carriage, where she had expected to see Gavin waiting with her coach. Sinjun’s mouth was twisted into a chilling smile, and Christy felt the first stirrings of fear.

  “Sinjun. What are you doing here? Where is Gavin?”

  “I sent him home. You’re coming with me.”

  “You had no right!” Christy exclaimed, alarmed by this unexpected turn of events. A confrontation with Sinjun was precisely what she’d wanted to avoid.

  “You’re my wife. I have every right in the world.”

  Christy staggered and would have fallen had Sinjun not reached out to steady her. “The annulment …,” she began.

  “Later,” he spat as he grasped her waist and lifted her into the carriage. “Did you think I wouldn’t know I was making love to my own wife last night?”

  That’s exactly what she’d thought. How could her thinking have been so flawed? She couldn’t go anywhere with Sinjun. She had a child at home, waiting to be fed. Her breasts were hard and hot, and she could feel milk leaking from her nipples.

  “I’m taking you home. My home,” Sinjun clarified. “’Tis where you belong.”

  “You can’t do this! We’re no longer married.”

  “You’re dead wrong, and a bigamist if you married Calum Cameron.”

  Stunned, Christy felt her entire world falling apart. It didn’t take a seer to realize that Sinjun was anything but pleased to see her. What would he do when he learned his son was alive?

  Stiffening her shoulders, Christy vowed to do whatever it took to keep from losing her son.

  Chapter 14

  “Welcome to Derby Hall,” Sinjun said coolly as he handed Christy down from the carriage and propelled her up the front steps.

  The door swung open and Sinjun hustled her inside. She shrugged free of his bruising grip and glared at him. Whatever she was going to say died in her throat when she met his fiery gaze. It was like tumbling headlong into a blazing inferno. She’d never seen him so angry, not even that day he’d walked into Glenmoor and recognized her.

  His face was set in stone, wiped clean of all emotion, as he stared at her. Suddenly she realized they weren’t alone. A tall, gaunt man wearing Derby livery stood at attention beside the door. She gave him a tentative smile. He acknowledged her with a brief flicker of one eyebrow.

  “Pemburton,” Sinjun began, “I’d like to present to you your new mistress, my wife, Lady Derby.”

  Pemburton’s carefully composed expression went slack with shock. “Your … your wife, my lord?” he sputtered.

  “Aye. Lady Derby has traveled from Scotland to join me. Summon the staff. I want them all lined up in the foyer in fifteen minutes to meet their new mistress.”

  “As you say, my lord,” the usually unflappable Pemburton intoned as he disappeared into the dark regions of the house. Though the poor man tried not to appear ruffled, Christy suspected Pemburton had been overwhelmed by her unexpected arrival.

  “Why did you tell him that?” Christy demanded. “I’m not your wife and you know it.”

  “You’re wrong, Christy,” Sinjun rasped. “I never filed the annulment with the courts. Sorry to disappoint you, but we’re still married. If you’ve already wed the Cameron chieftain, that makes you a bigamist. If you’ve bedded him, that makes you a wh…”

  Rage exploded inside Christy’s brain as she drew her arm back and slapped him. “Bastard!” she hissed from between clenched teeth. “How dare you call me names! Misbegotten wretch. Rogue. Wastrel. How many women have you bedded since you left Scotland?”

  Sinjun raised his hand to his reddened cheek. “I would advise you not to try that again,” he snarled. “You’re the one who wanted to dissolve our marriage. You wrote that blasted letter. You didn’t even have the courtesy to tell me how our child died.” He grasped her shoulders, giving her a rough shake. “Did you think I wouldn’t care?”

  “Ahem. My lord, my lady. The servants are gathered as you requested.”

  Christy’s face flamed. Arguing in front of servants was not well done of either of them. Not that it mattered what the servants thought of her. She couldn’t remain in this house. Not with a husband who hated her and a child who needed her else-where. Regardless, Sinjun began the introductions as if nothing had happened.

  The plump, bespectacled woman was Mrs. McBride, the cook. Then there were three pert Irish maids, Peggy, Megan, and Bridie. Two young brothers, Jesse and Jerry, helped with odd jobs in the kitchen and drove the equipage when needed. John Coachman, whom she’d met before, had charge of the stables. Pemburton, she learned, ran the household with an iron fist.

  When told to select a personal maid from among the three young women, Christy chose Peggy, a saucy brunette with lively blue eyes. After the introductions the staff filed out, leaving Christy and Sinjun alone to continue their argument.

  “I’ll show you to your chamber,” Sinjun said, propelling her up the curving staircase.

  Christy waited until they were inside the large, elegantly appointed bedchamber before rounding on Sinjun. “Why are you doing this?”

  “You chose to come to London, so I naturally assumed you wished to take up where we left off.”

  “That’s not why I came to London.”

  “Why did you come, my love?” His gaze traveled the length of her trim form, lingering on her full breasts an unsettling moment before returning to her face. “Having a child changed … certain things about you,” he said. “I don’t recall you being so well endowed.”

  You’d be well endowed, too, if your breasts were filled with milk and ready to burst, Christy thought with asperity.

  “I have to leave, Sinjun. Gavin and Effie will be worried about me.”

  “They know where to find you. What happened to Rory and Margot? I expected to see them with you.”

  “Margot is with child.” She glared at Sinjun. “Unlike some men I know, Rory wanted to be with Margot for the birth of his child.”

  “Dammit, Christy! You know why I had to leave. I had every intention of returning, until I received your letter. I had no idea you were so enamored of the Cameron chieftain. Why isn’t he with you?”

  Christy sought ans
wers to Sinjun’s questions and couldn’t find it in her heart to tell more lies. “Calum is in Scotland. I … we didn’t suit.”

  “So you came to London to win me back,” Sinjun accused derisively.

  “No! That’s not true.”

  “Why did you come to London? Did you think to choose another husband from among my friends? Rudy, perhaps?”

  “I don’t need a husband!” Unable to bear his false accusations, she started toward the door. “I refuse to stay here a moment longer than necessary.” Sinjun was there ahead of her, leaning against the panel, arms crossed over his chest, his smile mocking.

  “Tell me what brought you to London.”

  “I never intended our paths to cross again.”

  “Liar!” Sinjun shouted. “You wouldn’t have attended the ball if you wanted to avoid me.”

  Christy glared defiantly. “That was a mistake, and that’s all I’m going to say. Move away from the door.”

  Sinjun’s temper soared. Never in his life had he been so summarily dismissed by a woman. But despite his anger, his utter confusion, his body stirred with desire. He remembered Christy as she had been last night. Eager, passionate, a flame in his arms. He suddenly felt alive again. The air around them was charged with energy. His body vibrated with a seductive languor that made his breath labored and his senses intensified.

  Anticipation quickened the beat of his heart. He needed to be inside her. Desire raged like a wildfire in his blood. The only thing stopping him from stripping her and carrying her to his bed was the knowledge that nothing she’d told him made sense. She had spun so many tales in the past that he was having difficulty separating truth from fiction.

  “I want the truth, Christy. I know you’re hiding something. What is it? Who are you protecting?”

  Christy paled. “I … I…” Hell would be preferable to what she was going through now.

  “How did my child die? Did I have a son or daughter? You owe me answers.”

  “A son!” Christy blurted out. “He never drew a breath. We buried him the same day.”

  Sinjun seemed to collapse inwardly, and Christy felt as if her own heart were breaking. It was as if a dam had burst inside her, and suddenly she knew she couldn’t continue like this. Dishonesty was a terrible sin. That long-ago lie she’d told Sinjun had compounded until untruths piled one atop another. God would never forgive her. She never considered herself a bad person, but she knew Sinjun would judge her harshly.

  “Sweet Virgin! I cannot continue like this. I’m sorry, Sinjun, so sorry.”

  Tears streamed down her cheeks as she faced Sinjun squarely. Whatever Sinjun thought of her was nothing compared to how she judged herself. “I’ve lied, Sinjun. So many lies. ‘Tis time for the truth. I cannot cheat you of your—”

  “Cheat me of what?” His voice was clipped, hard, judgmental. Christy suddenly felt as cold as his voice sounded. Being despised by the man she loved was the worst kind of hell. How could she explain? How could she make him understand that she’d done her best to save his life? Perhaps if he saw his son first he wouldn’t hate her so much.

  “I owe you the truth, Sinjun, and you shall have it,” Christy began. “Allow me to return to my lodgings to … get something I left behind, then you’ll know everything.”

  Sinjun gave a bark of laughter. “You must think me a fool. Once I let you out of my sight, you’ll disappear again.”

  Did it matter to him? “Why do you care?” If he had a wee bit of feeling left for her he might find it in his heart to forgive her.

  Sinjun shrugged. That simple, careless act dashed any hopes Christy might have harbored.

  “You’re my wife. I have a right to know what you’re hiding before I send you back to Glenmoor. Having a wife in London will restrict my lifestyle. I’ll appoint another bailiff to look out for my interests and keep tabs on you. I don’t ever want to hear that my deceitful wife is cuckolding me with another man.”

  “What about the annulment?”

  “Forget the annulment. You belong to me whether you’re in London or at Glenmoor.”

  “Please let me return to my lodgings, Sinjun. I promise not to disappear. One hour, that’s all I ask,” Christy begged, desperate to return home to nurse her son. “When I return, I’ll explain about the letter and … and everything else.”

  Sinjun stared at her, one dark brow arched upward. “Another lie, wife?”

  Christy shook her head. “Not this time, Sinjun. Trust me this once.”

  Christy held her breath, aware of the struggle being waged inside Sinjun. She knew she’d given him no reason to trust her, but this time was different. She wanted no more lies between them. He must have read the truth in her eyes, for he nodded, though he still seemed a bit skeptical.

  “Very well, Christy. I’ll drive you to your lodgings and wait for you inside. If you fail to keep your word, I’ll drag you from wherever you’re hiding. Understood?”

  Christy understood more than she wanted to. She had exhausted his patience, and he’d given her all the leeway she was entitled to. “Understood.”

  A few minutes later they were tooling down the street toward her house.

  “You don’t have to accompany me inside,” Christy said when they reached her lodgings.

  “You’ve been living here?” Sinjun asked, scowling his disapproval at her choice of living quarters. She saw the shabby facade of the building through his eyes and realized how it must look to someone accustomed to much more.

  “It’s not so bad. The neighborhood is still good.”

  Sinjun didn’t reply as he handed her down from the carriage and grasped her arm as if he expected her to bolt. He propelled her up the stairs and opened the door. Christy stepped inside, suddenly aware of the difference between the grand foyer of Derby Hall and the dingy entry hall of her own modest abode.

  “Christy!” Effie cried, rushing down the stairs to meet her. “Gavin told me about his lordship and we’ve been worried sick. What happened? How did ye—”

  Effie’s words halted in mid-sentence as Sinjun stepped around Christy.

  “You remember Lord Derby, don’t you?” Christy said, jumping into the void.

  Effie bobbed a curtsey. “Good day, yer lordship.”

  “Show Lord Derby into the parlor, Effie, and serve him some refreshment while I … pack my belongings.”

  “But Christy, I’ve already packed everything ye’ve brought from Glenmoor.”

  Christy pretended not to hear as she pushed past Effie and mounted the stairs.

  Sinjun was convinced Christy was hiding something … or someone, the Cameron chieftain, perhaps? Hadn’t Effie said she’d already packed? He waited until Effie left the drab parlor before acting on impulse and following Christy up the stairs. He paused on the top landing, frowning when he heard soft crooning coming from one of the rooms. He followed the sound to a closed door, one of three on the upper floor. Not bothering to knock, he turned the knob and barged inside.

  What he saw was almost too much for his mind to grasp. The color drained from his face, and he staggered backward against the door. Christy was seated in a chair before the window, holding a bundle in her arms. His gaze riveted on the bundle; it was squirming and making slurping sounds that sounded suspiciously like … a baby suckling. Stunned, he lifted his gaze and met the challenge in Christy’s green eyes.

  “Whose baby is that?” He knew, oh, aye, he knew, but he had to hear it from Christy’s lying lips himself.

  “I can explain, Sinjun.”

  “I doubt that, madam, but proceed anyway.”

  “Would you like to see your son?”

  “My son?” he repeated, clearly stunned.

  “Aye, Sinjun. A wee healthy laddie.”

  Rooted to the spot, Sinjun couldn’t breathe, much less move. He recalled all those weeks he’d mourned his dead child, and resentment filled his heart. How could Christy do this to him? Anger propelled him forward, rage made him seize the child from his mother
’s breast. Deprived of his meal, Niall opened his mouth and bellowed.

  “Give him back to me, Sinjun,” Christy demanded. “He’s waited too long for his meal as it is.”

  Sinjun’s dark gaze lingered on her naked breast. A drop of milk clung to the engorged tip, and he felt his loins clench despite his anger. With difficulty he tore his eyes away from the bountiful feast of Christy’s breast and stared down at his squalling son. He opened his heart, and love found its way inside. The pure, melting kind of love he’d never experienced before. His son was the most beautiful child he’d ever beheld. Dark hair, large brown eyes, round little mouth rimmed with the residue of Christy’s milk, and a sturdy little body, what he could see of it.

  His child. Not dead, but very much alive. He lifted his gaze from his son and found Christy staring at him. A curious thickening clogged his throat as a myriad of conflicting emotions warred inside him. Though he wanted to flail Christy with angry words, only one word came to mind.

  “Why?”

  “I’ll explain everything, just give me my bairn. He’s still hungry.”

  With marked reluctance, Sinjun returned the child to his mother. The moment she put him to her breast, his plaintive cries ceased. Sinjun watched him suckle for a long, silent moment before dropping down into a nearby chair. He could find no reason beyond hatred for him that would make Christy tell him their child had died. What had happened after he left Glenmoor to change her? Where did the Cameron chieftain fit into all this?

  Unwilling to upset his son, Sinjun remained silent while the lad suckled. But as soon as his mouth fell away from Christy’s nipple and his eyes closed, Sinjun took him from Christy’s arms.

  “Where is his cradle?”

  “Through the door. There’s an adjoining nursery.”

  Sinjun settled his sleeping son in his cradle and returned to Christy, all evidence of tenderness gone from his face. He could forgive Christy many things, but this wasn’t one of them. He found her sitting exactly where he’d left her, her breasts decently covered, her head bowed as if meeting his gaze was too painful.

  “I’m taking my son,” he said without preamble.