Seven Years to Sin

by Sylvia Day

  Temperance glanced up with an expression Jess swore was akin to exasperation.

  “Very well,” she said reluctantly, unable to refuse that look. “We’ll go a bit farther.”

  They rounded a corner and Temperance paused, sniffing. Apparently satisfied with the location, the pug presented her back to Jess and squatted in front of a tree.

  Smiling at the bid for privacy, Jess turned away and took in her surroundings, deciding to explore the trail more thoroughly in the light of day. Unlike so many estates where the gardens and woodlands were invaded by obelisks, reproductions of Grecian statues and temples, and the occasional pagoda, the Pennington estate displayed a welcome appreciation of the natural landscape. There were places along the pathway where it felt as if civilization and all its inhabitants were miles away. She had not expected to enjoy the feeling so much but found she did, especially after hours of meaningless interactions with people who cared only for the title she was marrying into.

  “I shall enjoy walking you through here,” she said over her shoulder, “when the sun is up and I am properly attired for the activity.”

  Temperance finished her business and moved into view. The pug started back toward the house, tugging on the leash with notable impatience after taking so long to find a proper piddle spot. Jess was following when a rustling noise to the left put Temperance on alert. The dog’s dark ears and tail perked up, while her tan muscular body tensed with expectation.

  Jess’s heart beat faster. If it was a wild boar or feral fox, the situation would be disastrous. She would be devastated if something untoward happened to Temperance, who was the only creature on earth who did not judge Jess by standards she struggled greatly to meet.

  A squirrel darted across the path. Jess melted with relief and gave a breathless laugh. But Temperance did not stand down. The pug lunged, ripping her leash from Jess’s slackened grip.

  “Bloody hell. Temperance!”

  In a flash of tiny limbs and fur, the two creatures were gone. The sounds of the chase—the rustling of leaves and the pug’s low growling—quickly faded.

  Tossing up her hands, Jess left the walkway and followed the path of trampled foliage. She was so focused on tracking, she failed to realize she’d come upon a large gazebo until she very nearly ran into it. She veered to the right …

  A female’s throaty laugh broke the quiet. Jess stumbled to a startled halt.

  “Hurry, Lucius,” the woman urged breathlessly. “Trent will note my absence.”

  Wilhelmina, Lady Trent. Jess stood unmoving, barely breathing.

  There was a slow, drawn-out creaking of wood.

  “Patience, darling.” A recognizable masculine voice rejoined in a lazy, practiced drawl. “Let me give you what you paid for.”

  The gazebo creaked again, louder this time. Quicker and harder. Lady Trent gave a thready moan.

  Alistair Lucius Caulfield. Inflagrente delicto with the Countess of Trent. Dear God. The woman was nearly a score of years his senior. Beautiful, yes, but of an age with his mother.

  The use of his middle name was startling. And, perhaps, telling … ? Aside from the obvious, perhaps they were intimate in a deeper sense. Was it possible the roguish Caulfield had a tendre for the lovely countess, enough that she would have reason to call him by a name not used by others?

  “You,” the countess purred, “are worth every shilling I pay for you.”

  Dear God. Perhaps not an intimacy at all, but a … transaction. An arrangement. With a man providing the services …

  Hoping to move on without giving herself away, Jess took a tentative step forward. A slight movement in the gazebo prompted her to still again. Her eyes narrowed, struggling to overcome the insufficient light. It was her misfortune to be bathed in the faint glow of the waning moon while the interior of the gazebo remained deeply shadowed by its roof and overhanging trees.

  She saw a hand wrapped around one of the domed roof’s supporting poles and another set a short ways above it. A man’s hands, gripping for purchase. From their height on the beam, she knew he was standing.

  “Lucius … For God’s sake, don’t stop now.”

  Lady Trent was pinned between Caulfield and the wood. Which meant he was facing Jess.

  Twin glimmers in the darkness betrayed a blink.

  He saw her. Was in fact staring at her.

  Jess wished the ground would open and swallow her whole. What was she to say? How was one supposed to act when caught in such a situation?

  “Lucius! Damn you.” The weathered wood whined in response to its pressures. “The feel of your big cock in me is delicious, but far more so when it’s moving.”

  Jess’s hand went to her throat. Despite the cold, perspiration misted her forehead. The horror she should have felt at finding a man engaged in sexual congress was markedly absent. Because it was Caulfield, and he fascinated her. It was a terrible sort of captivation with which she viewed him—a mixture of envy for his freedom and horror at the ease with which he disregarded public opinion.

  She had to get away before she was forced to acknowledge her presence to Lady Trent. She took a careful step forward …

  “Wait.” Caulfield’s voice was gruffer than before.

  She froze.

  “I cannot!” Lady Trent protested breathlessly.

  But it was not the countess Caulfield spoke to.

  One of his hands was outstretched, extended toward Jess. The request stunned her into immobility.

  A long moment passed in which her gaze remained fixed on the twin sparkles of his eyes. His breathing became harsh and audible.

  Then, he gripped the pole again and began to move.

  His thrusts began slowly at first, then became more fervent with a building tempo. The rhythmic protests of the wood battered Jess from all sides. She could see no detail beyond those two hands and glistening gaze that smoldered with a tangible heat, but the sounds she heard filled her mind with images. Caulfield never took his eyes from her, even as he rutted so furiously she wondered how the countess could take pleasure in such violence of movement. Lady Trent was nearly incoherent, coarse words of praise spilling from her lips between high-pitched squeals.

  Jess was riveted by this exposure to a side of sexual congress she’d been mostly ignorant of. She knew the mechanics; her stepmother had been most thorough. Do not cringe or cry when he enters you. Try to relax; it will decrease the discomfort. Make no sound of any kind. Never voice a complaint. And yet Jess had seen the knowing looks of other women and heard whispers behind fans that hinted at more. Now she had the proof. Every pleasured sound Lady Trent made echoed through her, tripping over her senses like a stone skipping over water. Her body responded instinctively—her skin became sensitive and her breathing came in quick pants.

  She began to quiver under the weight of Caulfield’s gaze. Although she longed to run from the purloined intimacy, she was unable to move. It was impossible, but it seemed as if he looked right through her, past the façade forged by her father’s hand.

  The bonds holding her in place broke only when Caulfield did. His serrated groan at the moment of crisis acted like a spur to her flank. She ran then, clinging to her shawl with both arms crossed over full and aching breasts. When Temperance dashed out of a bush to greet her, Jess sobbed with relief. Scooping up the pug, she rushed toward the trail leading back to the manse.

  “Lady Jessica!”

  The calling of her name as Jess returned to the relative safety of the rear garden caused her to stumble. Her heart raced anew at being caught. She spun in a flurry of pale blue satin skirts, searching for the caller and mortified at the thought it might be Alistair Caulfield with a plea for discretion. Or worse, her father.

  “Jessica. By God, I’ve been searching all over for you.”

  She was relieved to see Benedict approaching from the direction of the house, but relief bled into wariness. He maneuvered through the yew-lined garden paths with such a brisk, determined stride. A shiver moved t
hrough her. Was he angry?

  “Is something amiss?” she queried carefully as he neared, knowing it must be to cause him to seek her out at this hour.

  “You have been gone at length. Half an hour ago, your abigail said you’d left to walk Temperance, and you had already been absent for a quarter hour when I inquired.”

  Her gaze lowered to avoid any appearance of challenge. “I apologize for causing you concern.”

  “No need for apologies,” he said in a clipped tone. “I simply wished to have a word with you. We are to be wed today, and I wanted to allay any nerves that might plague you before the event.”

  Jess blinked and looked up, startled by his consideration. “My lord—”

  “Benedict,” he corrected, catching up her hand. “You are chilled to the bone. Where have you been?”

  The concern in his tone was unmistakable. She wasn’t certain at first how to respond. His reaction was so different from the one her father would have had.

  Thrown off guard by her own confusion, she began to reply almost without thinking. As she relayed the tale of Temperance leading her on a merry chase after a squirrel, Jess studied her future spouse with more care than she’d invested in a very long time. He had become a staple in her life, an obligation she accepted without need for deep contemplation. Inasmuch as she was able, she had grown comfortable with the inevitability of sharing a life with him. But she did not feel comfortable now. She remained flushed and agitated by the way Caulfield had used her to further his own pleasure.

  “I would have walked with you, if you had asked,” Benedict said when she finished. He gave her hand a squeeze. “In the future, I pray you do so.”

  Emboldened by his gentle manner and the lingering effects of the wine she’d drunk too liberally of at supper, Jess pressed on recklessly. “Temperance and I found something else in the woods.”

  “Oh?”

  She told him about the couple in the gazebo, her voice low and faltering, her words tumbling over themselves because she lacked the vocabulary and confidence. She did not speak of the coin exchanged between the countess and Caulfield, nor did she divulge their identities.

  Benedict didn’t move the entirety of the short time she spoke. When she finished, he cleared his throat and said, “Damnation, I am horrified that you were exposed to such unpleasantness on the eve of our wedding.”

  “They did not seem to find the encounter unpleasant at all.”

  He flushed. “Jessica—”

  “You spoke of allaying my nerves,” she said quickly, before losing her courage. “I should like to be honest with you, but I fear overstepping the limits of your forbearance.”

  “I will advise you if that limit is reached.”

  “In what manner?”

  “Beg your pardon?” Benedict frowned.

  Jess swallowed. “In what manner will you advise me? With a word? A loss of privilege? S-something more … definitive?”

  He stiffened. “I would never lay a hand to you or any woman; I would certainly never fault you for honesty. I expect I will be far more lenient with you than with anyone else of my acquaintance. You are a great prize to me, Jessica. I have waited impatiently for the day when you would be mine.”

  “Why?”

  “You are a beautiful woman,” he said gruffly. Astonishment swept through her, followed by a rush of unexpected hope. “My lord, would you be displeased to know that I find myself praying for the physical aspect of our marriage to be … pleasurable? For both of us.”

  God knew she would not be able to dally as Lady Trent did. Such behavior was not in her nature.

  He displayed his unease with the topic by pulling at the elegant knot of his cravat. “I have always intended to make it so. I will make it so, if you trust me.”

  “Benedict.” She inhaled the scent clinging to him—spice, tobacco, and a fine port. Despite wading through a discussion he would certainly never expect to have with his lady wife, his responses were as direct as his gaze. She liked him more each moment that passed. “You are taking this conversation so well. I cannot help wondering how far I can press you.”

  “Please, speak freely,” he urged. “I want you to come to the altar with no doubts or reservations.”

  Jess spoke in a rush. “I should like to retire with you to the summerhouse by the lake. This moment.”

  His exhale was harsh, as were his features. His grip on her hand tightened almost painfully. “Why?”

  “I have angered you.” Averting her gaze, she backed away. “Forgive me. And pray, do not doubt my innocence. The hour is late and I am not myself.”

  Benedict pulled her hand to his chest, bringing her close again. “Look at me, Jessica.”

  She did as he asked and was made dizzy by his regard. He no longer looked at her with discomfort or concern.

  “We are mere hours away from the marriage bed,” he reminded her in a voice hoarser than she’d ever heard it. “I collect that the events you witnessed in the woods stirred reactions you do not yet understand, and I cannot tell you how it affects me to learn you are fascinated by your response and not repulsed, as some women might be. But you are to be my wife and you deserve the respect of that station.”

  “You would not respect me in the summerhouse?”

  For the length of a heartbeat, he looked taken aback. Then, he threw his head back and laughed. The rich, deep sound carried over the garden. Jess was smitten by how merriment transformed him, making him more approachable and—if possible—more handsome.

  Pulling her even closer, Benedict pressed his lips to her temple. “You are a treasure.”

  “From what I understand,” she whispered, leaning into his warmth, “duty lies in the marital bed, while pleasure exists outside of it with paramours. Do I reveal a defect in my character by confessing that I should prefer you to want me in the manner of a mistress rather than a wife, insofar as the bedroom is concerned?”

  “You have no defects. You are as perfect a woman as I have ever seen or become acquainted with.”

  She was far from perfect, as the remembered lash of a switch to the backs of her thighs attested. Learning to disguise her shortcomings had been a necessity.

  How had Caulfield sensed that she would be open to his request to watch him? How had he somehow recognized an aspect of her character of which even she was unaware?

  However he’d managed it, Jess was dizzily relieved to know that Benedict did not find her sudden self-awareness threatening or undesirable. Her betrothed’s acceptance gave her unusual courage. “Is it possible you might find such an interest in me?”

  “More than possible.” Benedict’s mouth sealed over hers, swallowing the words of relief and gratitude she meant to speak. It was a questing kiss, tender and cautious, yet assured. She caught at his lapels, her chest heaving from the effort to find the breath he was stealing from her.

  His tongue slid along the seam of her lips, then teased them apart. When he entered her mouth with a quick thrust, her knees weakened. He pulled her tighter against him, exposing his need in the hard ridge of arousal pressing into her hip. His fingers kneaded her skin, betraying a growing agitation. When he broke away and pressed his temple to hers, his breathing was labored.

  “God help me,” he said roughly. “As innocent as you are, you have nevertheless seduced me with consummate skill.”

  Lifting her into his arms, he carried her swiftly to the summerhouse.

  Sensitive to the highly charged situation, Temperance walked silently beside them. Then, she waited on the porch with unusual meekness and watched the sun rise.

  Chapter 1

  Seven years later …

  “I beg you to reconsider.”

  Jessica, Lady Tarley, reached over the small tea table in the Regmont family parlor and gave her sister’s hand a brief squeeze. “I feel I should go.”

  “Why?” The corners of Hester’s mouth turned downward. “I would understand if Tarley was with you, but now that he has passed … Is it saf
e for you to travel such a distance alone?”

  It was a question Jess had asked herself many times, yet the answer was moot. She was determined to go. She had been given a brief window of time in which she could do something extraordinary. It was highly doubtful she would ever be presented with the opportunity again.

  “Of course it’s safe,” she said, straightening. “Tarley’s brother, Michael—I should become accustomed to referring to him as Tarley now—made the arrangements for the voyage, and I will be met at the dock by someone from the household. All will be well.”

  “I am not reassured.” Toying with the handle of her floral-patterned teacup, Hester looked pensive and unhappy.

  “You once wanted to travel to faraway places,” Jess reminded, hating to see her sister so distressed. “Have you lost that wanderlust?”

  Hester sighed and looked out the window beside her. Through the sheers that afforded some privacy, one could see the steady flow of Mayfair traffic in front of the town house, but Jess’s attention was focused solely on her sister. Hester had matured into a beautiful young woman, lauded for her golden glamour and stunning verdant eyes framed by thick, dark lashes. She’d once been curvier than Jess and more vivacious, but the years had tempered both traits, forging a woman who was slender as a reed and serenely elegant. The Countess of Regmont had acquired a reputation for notable reserve, which surprised Jess considering how charming and outgoing Lord Regmont was. She blamed the change on their father, and his blasted pride and misogyny.

  “You look pale and thin,” Jess observed. “Are you unwell?”

  “I grieve for your loss. And I must confess, I have not slept well since you first announced your intent to travel.” Hester looked back at her. “I simply cannot comprehend your motivation.”

  Nearly a year had passed since Benedict had gone on to his reward, and he had been severely ill for three months prior to that. There had been time enough for Jess to reach a state of resigned acceptance to life without him. Still, bereavement clung to her like fog over water. Family and friends looked to her for the cue to leave the past behind, and she had no notion of how to give it to them. “I require distance from the past in order to grasp the future.”