The Sinner

by C. J. Archer

  He found his mother in the high great chamber on the topmost floor, where she liked to spend most of her time. She sat sewing on her large throne-like chair, with her maids seated on lower chairs around her. They rose upon his entry and curtsied.

  "Son," his mother said, holding out her hand to him. "You're home."

  She sounded surprised, even though she would have seen his arrival through the windows. It irked him that she'd not come down to meet Cat, but perhaps it was better this way.

  He kissed her cheek and held her thin hand in his own. She looked a little more tired than usual, her skin too pale, but her eyes were as sharp as ever. "Good afternoon, Mother. I hope I find you in good health."

  "My health is as it always is."

  It was her usual answer and told him nothing. He supposed it was better than listening to a catalog of ailments, but he would like to know if she felt unwell instead of hearing it from her ladies. At least his last absence hadn't been particularly long. With his friends and his latest target not far away at Sutton Grange, he'd been able to come home before heading off to Sussex and Slade Hall.

  "Any news?" he asked. "Crane tells me the servants are all well." Hughe would speak to his land steward later to find out how his farmers fared, but the man was as efficient and capable as Crane, and he knew all would be in order.

  "We have no news," his mother said. "Oxley House carries on well enough when you're not here. Indeed, it's on the few occasions that you do return that everything is thrown into disorder. You seem to bring madness with you, Hughe. No more so than this time." She said it sweetly enough, but he heard the coolness to her tone. So did her ladies, if their worried glances were an indication.

  "Cat is looking forward to meeting you," he said.

  His mother arched her eyebrow at him. "You're marrying a cat?"

  "Her name is Catherine. She likes to be called Cat."

  "Does she also like to live in the barn?"

  "Mother," he said on a sigh. He'd known it would be like this, but still he'd hoped her relief at finally marrying him off would override any issue she had with Cat's status.

  "When will you wed?" She continued stitching as if they weren't discussing one of the most important events of his life.

  "Next week. Perhaps longer if I cannot return sooner."

  "Not waiting for all three banns to be read, I see?"

  "I've sent a man to obtain a special license."

  "Is there a particular reason to hurry?"

  Her ladies blushed and bent their heads lower over their sewing. "She is not with child," he said, not caring if he offended anyone by his directness.

  His mother lowered her sewing to her lap and fixed him with a stare that had not become frail over the years like her body. "Then why are you marrying her?"

  "Because I want to."

  "And what is she bringing to the marriage?"

  "Herself."

  The tiny lines around her mouth drew together. "Who are the Slades? I admit to knowing nothing about them."

  "A baronial family in Sussex. Cat is the widow of the second baron."

  "Baron." Her huff told him what she thought about that. "And her own family?"

  "Her father was a gentlemen farmer. He's dead, as is the rest of her family. She has no one in the world."

  "Her husband's connections?"

  "There is a brother-in-law, the new baron Slade. He's insignificant and takes out his frustration over that fact on his late brother's widow."

  "Ah. Now I see."

  He didn't know what she saw. How could his brief introduction to Cat's situation have told her anything of importance?

  She took up her sewing again, effectively dismissing him. He would not be dismissed, however. He had to leave in the morning and he couldn't go with a clear conscience if his mother and Cat got off to a turbulent start.

  He strode to the window and looked out upon the driveway and the knot garden to its left with the low hedges and roses in full bloom. Cat had told him she enjoyed being in the garden. If the weather stayed pleasant and his mother became difficult while he was away, at least she had somewhere to retreat to.

  "You don't approve," he said, leaning on the window sill.

  She took so long to answer he wondered if her hearing was failing. "Young men should not be allowed to choose their own wives."

  "I don't see why not. I think I chose rather well."

  She paused mid-stitch. She didn't say anything straight away, or make any sound at all, but somehow everyone in that room knew she was displeased. Hughe could hear the maids swallowing from where he stood as they glanced furtively at their mistress.

  "Leave us," she told them.

  They couldn't get away fast enough. They didn't even bother to pack up their sewing and just left it on their chairs. Hughe waited until they were gone before returning to his mother. He picked up the shirt one of the maids was working on and studied it without really noticing a single thing about it.

  "I've got things to do," he said. "If you want to shout at me, get on with it."

  "Don't," she bit off. "I allow your glibness most of the time, but not about this. It's much too important."

  He set the shirt down on the table and sat on the chair. "Then let's be frank with one another. I am marrying Cat. I've promised her, in front of witnesses, and there's no going back."

  "You can get out of a spoken agreement."

  "I don't want to."

  She pressed her lips together and laid her sewing in her lap. "I don't understand you, Hughe."

  "You never have."

  To his surprise, she flinched. How could that truth hurt her? They were very different people and she'd had little to do with him throughout his life. He hardly knew her, and she him.

  "You've fought me on this issue for years," she said.

  "Then you should be pleased that I've finally settled on a bride."

  "But why her? I've presented you with so many options from the best families in the country. Beautiful, good girls, and some not so good ones too in the hope they could entice you. Yet none of them pleased you."

  He shrugged. "I didn't particularly like them."

  "You hadn't even met half of them!"

  "Perhaps that was the problem."

  "For goodness sakes. You cannot be expected to meet everyone, particularly when I don't even know where you are much of the time, and cannot arrange meetings at the drop of a hat. Your insistence upon being introduced to these girls was an impossible demand."

  He shrugged again. There was simply nothing to say to that. She was right. He had wanted to meet his potential bride first, but he was rarely home and never divulged his plans to his mother.

  She shook her head. "All of those lovely, eligible girls from excellent families, and you chose a baron's widow. And not even an important baron, but somebody I haven't even heard of."

  "To be fair, there are a lot of barons, and her husband wasn't particularly fond of going to court. Secondly, I don't need a rich wife or a well-connected one. I have more money than I know what to do with and enough connections of my own."

  "There's no need to boast."

  Was there no pleasing her? "I think you get my point."

  "I do not. Sometimes it's not about the money and connections they bring. How can I put this?" She searched the ceiling as if she could pluck the answer from the beams. "It's about legacy. The joining of two magnificent families serves to strengthen both and ensure the line remains healthy, long after husband and wife have passed on."

  He knew all that of course, but he'd never been very good at doing the right thing. That was why he liked being an assassin. It was perhaps the least acceptable thing for an earl to do, and he reveled in his role. His friends too were not the sort a nobleman should have, but Hughe had never let that worry him. He knew he could trust them with his life and that was all that mattered.

  "How many children does she have?"

  Her question caught him off guard, although he prob
ably should have seen it coming. Marriage was, after all, about getting heirs. "None."

  Her eyes widened. She leaned forward as if she hadn't heard him correctly. "None?

  "None."

  "You chose a barren wife! Have you lost your mind?"

  Sometimes he wondered that himself. "The lack of children could have been her husband's fault. Indeed, I think it may have been, since he had many mistresses and had no children from them either." He'd had his men ask the servants and villagers, and all had reported the same thing. Cat's husband had taken many women to bed over the years and there'd been no children born to any of them that could be attributed to him.

  His mother conceded his point with a huff. "It's still a gamble."

  "Would you have preferred I bedded her and waited a few months to see the result?"

  She didn't answer and he wondered if he'd been right. He knew his mother wanted to ensure the Oxley line wouldn't end with him; she had told him as much on numerous occasions. It was why he felt sure she would come to accept Cat in time. She may not be his mother's choice of bride, but she was the only way he was going to get an heir now. Besides, Cat was amiable. His mother would have loathed sharing her home with a silly girl.

  He stood and kissed her white lace cap. "Whatever you think of my actions, Mother, do not take it out on Cat. Be civil to her."

  "I am always civil."

  "Then be nice."

  She said nothing and Hughe left, wondering if he could waylay their meeting a little longer.

  ***

  Cat had expected the dowager countess to be a large woman who looked down on everyone else from a great height. From the answers the maids had given her, as they helped her dress in the dark green gown, Cat had thought her future mother-in-law would resemble a dragon. But she did not.

  The woman Hughe presented her to in a pretty chamber on the topmost floor was feeble and small. One side of her face drooped and a walking stick leaned against her chair. Her pale skin was mostly smooth, except around her mouth, eyes and the bridge of her nose where wrinkles gathered. It wasn't any of these things that struck Cat, however. It was her eyes. They were so like her son's, as ice-blue as a frosty February morning. She did not rise when Cat entered, but did look up from her sewing.

  Cat curtseyed low.

  "You may rise," Lady Oxley said in a tone more imperial than the queen's, despite the slight lisp. "Sit."

  Cat sat on the chair one of Lady Oxley's three companions vacated for her. Hughe gave Cat an encouraging wink. If he was nervous about this meeting, he didn't show it.

  "You may go, Hughe," his mother said.

  "I'd rather stay," he said.

  "Nevertheless."

  Cat caught his attention and gave him a reassuring smile. He bowed. "It would seem I'm not needed," he said.

  All the women watched him go. The dowager's companions were about her age, which must have been fifty or so. They sat on chairs lower than the dowager's, their backs to the wall of windows that overlooked the front drive and the pretty views of Hampshire beyond.

  "This is a lovely room," Cat said, meaning it. She could understand why the ladies had been here ever since her arrival, since the dowager was most likely not very mobile.

  "Are your eyes good?" Lady Oxley suddenly asked.

  Cat blinked. What an odd question. "I, uh, yes."

  "Do you sew well?"

  "Quite well." Cat's needlework was excellent, but she didn't think it a good time to boast.

  The dowager handed her the garment she was working on. "It's a shirt for my…" She cleared her throat as if something had gotten stuck there. "For your betrothed. The light grows too poor for me to continue."

  The daylight was indeed fading, but Cat could probably see well enough for another half hour at least. After that, if enough candles were lit, she could continue through the evening. She almost laughed at the thought. Of course candles would be lit and likely dozens upon dozens of them at that. By the look of the opulence greeting her in every room, the expense of candles could be spared. They wouldn't be tallow ones either, she'd wager.

  "Has my son shown you around the house?"

  "Crane has, my lady. Hughe was busy attending to estate matters."

  She arched a brow. "'Hughe?'"

  Cat blushed to the roots of her hair. "His lordship asked me to call him that."

  The dowager huffed and turned her face away. Cat supposed meeting one's future daughter-in-law was taxing enough, particularly when that daughter-in-law wouldn't have been her first choice. Perhaps not even her hundredth.

  The ladies resumed their conversation after a few moments of strained silence. Although they didn't specifically draw Cat into their chatter, she joined in anyway where it felt appropriate to do so. She only wished the dowager would, too. Whether she was always this silent, or whether it was only because Cat was there, she couldn't tell, since the lady had closed her eyes. Perhaps she'd fallen asleep.

  When it grew too dark to continue sewing, one of the ladies rose and lit all the candles. Two kitchen maids entered, carrying trays laden with cheese, dried figs and small tarts for supper. Cat looked past them to the doorway, hoping Hughe would join them, but he did not. She ate with Lady Oxley and her companions and wondered when it would be polite to leave. She still had much investigating to do. She'd only tried on two gowns after her bath. One was far too big, the other, the green one she'd left on, was a better fit, although it was somewhat out of fashion.

  "You didn't bring many belongings with you," Lady Oxley said, rubbing crumbs from her fingertips. "Only one trunk." So she had seen them arrive.

  "I brought only what I needed."

  "Hmmm."

  What did that mean?

  "Where did you meet my son, Catherine? May I call you that?"

  "I prefer Cat."

  "I don't."

  Cat sucked in a breath along with some patience. "I met him at Whitehall. Didn't he tell you?"

  "You've been to court?"

  "Twice."

  "As often as that?" The sarcasm dripped from her tongue like poison.

  Cat concentrated on her food. She would not be drawn into an argument with this woman. She had a feeling she wouldn't win and it would only make her blood boil more.

  "I would have gone more often but Lord Slade didn't like court. He preferred hunting."

  "Most men do."

  "Hughe doesn't seem to. Does he hunt? There looks to be a lovely forest out there. Is it well stocked?"

  The dowager arched her brow again. "It is, but my son doesn't hunt often. He's got more important things to do than pursue animals."

  "Of course. I'm sure the estate keeps him busy."

  Lady Oxley picked up her wine and pressed the glass to her lips. "Oh no, Catherine. Didn't he tell you? His land steward takes care of the estate. That frees Hughe to pursue…other interests."

  Cat lowered her gaze to her trencher. She no longer felt hungry. The last two days had been so pleasant that she'd forgotten about Hughe's 'other interests'—his mistresses. Of course, it was unlikely he'd give them up and she had no right to ask him to do so. Still, she hoped, in time, that he would find all he needed in his wife at home. She lifted her gaze to Lady Oxley's. "Other interests," she echoed, "but not animals."

  Lady Oxley flinched, wrinkling her nose. Cat frowned back at her. She got the feeling the dowager hadn't meant to imply that he was pursuing females. So what had she been referring to?

  "If you'll excuse me," Lady Oxley said. "I'm tired." One of her companions handed her the walking stick then two of them helped her to stand. "Good night, Catherine. I hope the bed is to your liking."

  "Thank you, my lady. Good night."

  Lady Oxley's ladies flanked her as she slowly hobbled out, leaving Cat alone. After a moment, she picked up one of the candelabras and blew out the others.

  She found her way back to her rooms easily enough. Her two maids were sitting together in one of the lesser chambers, altering her new gowns. Sh
e sat with them for a while and helped until she sent them off to bed when the younger one yawned.

  With both girls sleeping on the truckle beds on her bedchamber floor, Cat doubted Hughe would visit her, so she was surprised when a knock on her door sounded.

  "It's me," Hughe called out.

  One of the maids opened it and let him in, but he stepped only as far as the end of Cat's bed. "My apologies," he said. "I lost track of time. I had hoped to speak with you tonight, but I see I've woken you. I can only apologize for the intrusion over and over."

  "Please, don't," she said, laughing. "It's quite all right." She wanted to tell him he could visit her any time, but she didn't think she knew him well enough for that. Besides, her maids were there and the wedding hadn't yet taken place.

  "How did your meeting with my mother go?" he asked.

  "As well as can be expected."

  "As badly as that?"

  She grinned. "It went well enough. She just needs time to adjust to having me here. I'm of the opinion that she wasn't expecting you to bring home a bride."

  "True. Usually it's a batch of letters and a new piece of jewelry. Cat," he said, growing serious. "I have to leave tomorrow."

  Leave? Already? "Oh." It wasn't her place to ask him why or to plead with him to stay, but she had to bite her tongue to stop her questions.

  She waited for him to offer more information, but he didn't. He came around to the side of her bed and took her hand. A jolt of heat and something else whipped through her, setting her body alight. They'd touched before, but either one or both of them had always been wearing gloves. Not this time. To her surprise, his hands weren't soft and fine, but strong and calloused. They weren't a dandy's hands. He bowed then pressed her knuckles to his lips. Now they were soft. Warm. She would like to feel those lips on other parts of her body, trailing kisses down her throat, her breasts, her belly, her thighs.

  Her breath hitched, the sound audible in the silence.

  Hughe jerked upright as if she'd flicked him off. His back and shoulders were as rigid as marble. Perhaps he had been as shocked by the connection as she was. It was too dark to see his eyes, but she imagined them to look smoky with desire and pent-up passion, only because she knew her own told a similar story. Her entire body tingled and it hadn't even been a proper kiss!