Seven Years to Sin Read online

  When Hester struggled to her feet, Sarah assisted her back to bed. Regmont slept on in his room, blessedly oblivious.

  “I pray you tell his lordship soon,” the abigail whispered, arranging the pillows for Hester’s comfort.

  Closing her eyes, Hester heaved a sigh. “I believe part of his affliction is me, and I don’t know how to address that. Why else would the men in my life battle such demons?”

  But when she saw Edward at the dining table a few hours later, her husband looked far from afflicted. Indeed, he looked extremely fit. His smile was bright and his spirits high. He kissed her cheek when she moved to pass him en route to her chair.

  “Kippers and eggs?” he queried before walking over to the row of covered platters on the buffet.

  Her stomach roiled. “No, thank you.”

  “You don’t eat enough, darling,” he admonished.

  “I took toast in my room.”

  “But you join me for breakfast anyway.” His smile was glorious. “You are too wonderful. How was your evening?”

  “Unexceptional, but enjoyable all the same.”

  She almost dreaded these moments of normalcy. The pretense that all was right in their world, that no malevolence lurked in the darkness, that he was a wonderful husband and she a contented wife. It was like staring at a box one knew would burst open at some point and not knowing if the surprise would be terrifying or not. There was agony in the waiting.

  Her gaze strayed and moved around the room. Their home was lauded by friends for its bright cheery colors, such as the soft cream and bright blue vertical stripes she’d used on the walls of the dining room. They’d purchased the town house just before their wedding; it was to have been a fresh beginning for both of them, a place free of any taint of the past. But now she knew how futile that hope had been. The taint was on them … in them, and they carried it with them wherever they went.

  “I shared a drink with Tarley last night,” Regmont said between bites. “He was seeking refuge from the debutantes. The strain of being hunted is beginning to take its toll, I suspect.”

  Hester looked at him. The tempo of her heartbeat changed, increasing inexplicably. “Oh?”

  “I remember those days well. You saved me in more ways than you know, my love. I’m providing assistance to Tarley via a release of tension. He learned of my interest in pugilism, and we’ve agreed to a match.”

  Dear God. She knew well how swiftly Regmont could move and how relentless he could become. He couldn’t tolerate losing; it exacerbated his already overwhelming feelings of insecurity. Her stomach knotted further. “A match? Between the two of you?”

  “Would you happen to know how skilled he is in the sport?”

  She shook her head. “He sparred with Alistair Caulfield in our youth. That’s all I know of his interest. He and I were close once, but I’ve seen little of him since you and I wed.”

  “A wager easily won, then.”

  “Perhaps you might suggest he consider a less learned opponent?”

  He grinned. “You fear for him, do you?”

  “Jessica thinks very highly of him,” she prevaricated.

  “Everyone does, so I gather. No need for concern, love. It’s all in good fun, I assure you.” Glancing at one of the two footmen standing at the ready, he said, “Lady Regmont will take buttered toast and jam.”

  She sighed, resigning herself to eating whether she wanted to or not.

  “You look pale this morn,” he noted. “Did you not sleep well?”

  “Well enough.” Hester reached for one of the day’s papers that lay on the table by her elbow. She was thrown unaccountably out of sorts by the thought of Michael fighting Regmont, especially when his motivation might be aggravation over choosing a proper wife. In that respect, she could be of more assistance than her husband. There was very little she didn’t know about the women of the ton, from the most established matrons to the newest debutantes. Perhaps he would accept her help.

  It would do her heart much good to see him content with his lot. He certainly deserved happiness.

  Regmont set his silverware atop his empty plate. “I should very much enjoy squiring you about the Park this afternoon. Tell me you don’t have other plans.”

  If she had, she knew to cancel them. When Edward wanted her time, he expected to have it. She was his wife, after all. His. Irrevocably owned until death parted them.

  Looking up from her paper, she managed a smile. “A lovely thought, my lord. Thank you.”

  There might come a moment this day when she could share the news that she was breeding. Outside in the sunshine, surrounded by the peers he so wished to impress, might be the perfect time and place to present the opportunity of a new beginning for them both.

  She hoped so. Maybe there was a miracle in that as well—sometimes, she still had hope. She couldn’t afford not to have it. There was no other way out.

  Miller knocked on Jess’s cabin door shortly after one o’clock with a request for her to join Alistair on the deck.

  Trying to pay no mind to the nervousness brought on by uncertainty, she followed Miller up the companionway stairs and into the open air. Her last discussion with Alistair under moonlight had been fraught with tension. His invitation to visit his cabin had lingered in her mind for hours after they parted. It was not an offer she could act upon, and she believed he knew that, but it hung between them now like a gauntlet thrown at her feet. There was a part of her—the part he incited into mischief—urging her to indulge, but her greater nature overrode such abandon.

  What did he wish to say to her? In a relatively short acquaintance, a multitude of searing intimacies had passed between them. She was now completely preoccupied by thoughts of him, in a way she’d never been with anything or anyone else. Jess had difficulty understanding how he could so thoroughly engage her physically and then capture her mental faculties as well, but he had. Alistair had left it to her to decide what to do about it, while making it clear he would not desist. She doubted there was anything Alistair Caulfield wanted that he didn’t eventually attain.

  As they turned toward the stern, the salt air hit her back in a rush, awakening all her senses. Invigorated and anticipatory, she slowed at the sight of a large blanket spread across the deck, anchored at each corner by crates of cannonballs. It was covered with several pillows and a shallow basket brimming with food.

  A picnic. At sea.

  Alistair stood on the other side of the counterpane, waiting. He was perfectly dressed in buff slacks tucked into polished Hessians, tan-striped waistcoat, and brown tailcoat. His hair had been styled by the wind in a fashion resembling the way he looked after she ran her fingers through it.

  As many women did, Jess thought him the handsomest man she’d ever seen. Exotically so. Blatantly seductive. More than slightly dangerous.

  Delicious. She wanted to strip him to the skin, to appreciate the full impact of his powerful form without the impediment of clothing. She couldn’t resist such thoughts now, with their desire for one another bared so openly between them.

  It was impressive to see him on the deck of such a fine ship, surrounded by men who worked for him. She could scarcely recall the scapegrace who’d accepted every wager and lived on the fine edge of a hazardous margin. But she knew he was there beneath the flawless surface. Tempting her with wicked promises she knew he’d keep.

  “My lady,” he greeted her, bowing.

  “Mr. Caulfield.” She looked around the deck, noting how the dozen or more men about them kept their gazes carefully averted.

  He gestured for her to sit, and she sank to her knees. He joined her, then dug into the basket, withdrawing a loaf of bread he tore in half. That was followed by a hunk of dry cheese and a quartered pear. He collected her portion in a large napkin and passed it over.

  She accepted with a smile. “An impressive offering for ship’s fare.”

  “Soon enough, you will pine for variety.”

  “Some might consider a pic
nic on a ship’s deck to be a form of courtship,” she pointed out, deliberately using a teasing tone. “It could certainly be considered romantic.”

  “My aim is to please.” He flashed his infamous smile, and a tingle moved through her. How easily he charmed women when he wanted to, while keeping his tone so light as to take any intensity from his words. She couldn’t decide if the practiced, noncommittal discourse was meant to soothe her nerves, or make her long for his usual fervency.

  He ripped off a bite of bread with his perfect white teeth and somehow made the act of chewing arousing, too. And he seemed not to do it on purpose, which was in keeping with her belief that sensuality was simply innate to him.

  Taking a small bite of the cheese, she looked out at the endless expanse of ocean. The sun sparkled off the water, and although the day was a cool one, she thought it quite lovely. All the anxiousness she’d previously felt around Alistair had altered into a different sort of awareness, one she savored for how alive it made her feel.

  She’d been raised to maintain a certain distance between herself and others. That space had been easily established through her speech and deportment, and most men were swiftly discouraged by lack of progress. Alistair, however, was challenged by her demeanor. He would not allow her to withdraw, which forced her to acknowledge that she didn’t really wish to. She wanted to be right where she was—on an adventure with an infamously wicked man.

  And then there were the memories of what he’d done to her body. She’d shared similar intimacies with Tarley, and had had no difficulty facing him over a breakfast table in the morning. With Alistair, she found herself flushing often and without warning, her body heating and softening in welcome just from his proximity. Somehow, his touch seemed more intimate to her than even her own husband’s. How was that possible?

  “Did you sleep well last night?” he asked, drawing her attention back to him.

  She shook her head.

  “That makes two of us.” He stretched out along his side with his head propped in the palm of his hand. He watched her with those brilliant blue eyes that saw too much. Those windows to the soul aged him, revealing a darkness that shouldn’t be there in one still young. “Tell me what happened the other day when you fled from the helm. What were you running from? Me?”

  Jess shrugged awkwardly. “There was so much noise and activity. I felt … off balance.”

  “Does the lack of hearing in your left ear contribute to that sensation?”

  She looked at him with raised brows. In hindsight, she realized he always whispered in her right ear. “You noticed.”

  “Michael told me.” His eyes were kind.

  It was a topic she would never discuss. She was so violently opposed to even the notion of such a discussion that she resorted to speaking about other topics she wouldn’t have otherwise. “I was not running from you.”

  “No?”

  “Tarley has been gone only a year.”

  The arch of his brow mocked her. “And you honor his memory with chastity? For how long?”

  “Exactly twelve months, apparently,” she said dryly.

  “You are ashamed of your desire for me. That won’t sway me.”

  Ashamed. Was that the right word? It wasn’t shame she felt. Confusion was more apt. She had been raised to live in a particular world under particular rules. An affair with Alistair moved her into an entirely new realm. Remembering his dance analogy, she would say she didn’t know the proper steps and so was stumbling around. She’d been rigorously trained against stumbles and missteps, and found it extraordinarily difficult to forsake those hard-taught lessons.

  “An affair isn’t necessary,” she began, “to enjoy sex. It’s certainly possible and respectable—albeit unfashionable—to find pleasure in the marital bed.”

  “Are you suggesting we marry?” His tone was dangerously low and sharply edged.

  “No!” She winced at the rushed manner with which she’d replied. “I shan’t be marrying again. To anyone.”

  “Why not? You enjoyed your first marriage.” Alistair reached for a pear.

  “Tarley and I had a rare affinity. He knew what I needed, and I knew what he expected. We were able to blend the two into a harmonious arrangement. It’s highly doubtful I’d be as fortunate again.”

  “Meeting expectations is important to you.”

  Jess met his gaze. As always, there was something in the way he looked at her that challenged her to be more than who she knew herself to be. Challenged her to speak aloud the thoughts she rarely contemplated even in private. “When expectations are met, there is harmony.”

  Alistair’s head tilted, considering. “To value harmony, one has to know disharmony.”

  “Can we speak of something else?”

  There was a long pause, then, “Whatever you like.” She nibbled at her bread for a few moments, gathering her thoughts. Why did it always seem as if he could see into her? It was unfair when he was a mystery. “Was it your choice to pursue the path of enterprise you follow?”

  “Why wouldn’t it be?”

  “You said your father acquired the plantation and ship for you. I wondered if you requested those things, or if you simply made do with the avenue Masterson provided.”

  He looked down at his hand. “I wanted nothing from Masterson, but accepting his largesse meant a great deal to my mother. I suggested sugarcane because I knew it would be profitable and that the distance inherent in the cultivation would be appealing to Masterson. I’ve been a source of displeasure for many years.”

  Jess remembered saying something similar to Hester long ago, and felt remorse for the cruel thought. She’d prejudged him by assuming he had no ambition or mind for business. She had dismissed him because of the order of his birth. Also, because she’d bristled at Hester’s admiration. She could admit that now. Although Hester’s praise had been offhand and merely conversational, it had roused envy in Jess and territorial feelings.

  “Some fathers mean well when they express affection in harsh ways,” she offered. “Their methods may leave much to be desired, but the intent is laudable.” She didn’t credit such lofty ambitions to her own pater, but that did not signify.

  “By what basis would you know?” he challenged softly. “You have always been perfect. I have always been far from it.”

  “Perfection, if that’s what you choose to call it, isn’t effortless.”

  “You make it seem so.” He held up a hand when she would have demurred. “Masterson’s affection is for my mother. She is the sole reason he showed any generosity. I am grateful for that and even for the least of what he did for me on her behalf. For all the ill will between us, his love for her earns my appreciation.”

  “Why is there ill will?”

  “When you share your secrets, I will share mine.” Alistair’s smile was devastating and soothed the sting of his refusal. “You are a very mysterious woman, Jessica. I would be best served by keeping you equally intrigued with me.”

  Jess chewed thoughtfully. His belief in her extraordinariness made her wish she was as remarkable as he saw her to be. Her tutelage had been so strict, and any deviation so strenuously punished, that she’d been certain anything noteworthy about herself had withered and died.

  But Alistair made her wonder if she was wrong. He made her wonder what it would be like to be the sort of woman who was equal to a man as fascinating as he was to her. A man who was so darkly sensual and flamboyantly handsome that women paid for the privilege of possessing him, if only briefly.

  Her imagination ran away with the idea, inventing a past interesting enough to make her notable.

  “I suppose I could tell you about my time in captivity with the maharaja …” she began.

  “Oh?” A very wicked gleam brightened his gaze. “Please do.”

  Chapter 10

  Alistair’s fascination with Jessica deepened with every day that passed, and he feared this afternoon’s picnic might seal his fate. What would her fictional tale
reveal about her? The mere fact that she’d conceived of the idea to begin with told him a great deal—she could be imaginative, adventurous, playful …

  But he’d known she had hidden facets. He had seen a glimpse of this other side. More than anything else, it was that affinity—that recognition of another soul who retreated behind an affected guise to survive—which drew him to her. He could hardly wait for the day when she knew herself better. What a formidable woman she would become when she accepted and exploited her many hidden charms.

  Her head turned, shielding her face from his gaze. “I was traveling with a Bedouin tribe. We were transporting salt slabs on camelback when our party was raided by a rival tribe.”

  Such an exotic setting for a woman best known for being a proper English lady. And a damsel in distress? He loved the story already. “What were you doing in the Sahara to begin with?”

  “Escaping the winter chill.”

  “Were you frightened?”

  “At first. I had no notion of what they would do with a female in such a hostile place. I was taken to an oasis and the tent of the sheik.”

  A captive. The tale grew spicier by the moment. “Were you bound?”

  “Yes.” There was a betraying hitch in her voice. “My wrists were.”

  He relished an inner smile. As much as she professed a desire to command him in sexual matters, it appeared she might also carry a desire to be commanded. It was a highly provocative thought. “What was the sheik like?”

  “He was younger than I expected. Attractive.”

  “What did he look like?”

  Jessica glanced at him with a mysterious smile. “You.”

  “Delicious,” he murmured, pleased to know he’d been included in her whimsical tale. It might also be telling that Tarley was not, but he would have to hear more to be certain. Perhaps her impeccable husband would be the hero, rescuing her from the clutches of the lascivious sheik. “What did he say when he saw you?”