Engaged in Sin

by Sharon Page

  “Indeed. You know how I would feel?”

  “Yes, I do, because our marriage would hurt your family. You adore your family, and I will not be responsible for causing them pain. You would eventually resent me for that. Your sister Lady Cavendish was so kind to me. She called me a friend. If we wed, it would cause a huge scandal, and it would break my heart to hurt her. Your mother does not need any more pain. And there are your unmarried sisters. The soot on my reputation would tarnish them.”

  It was exactly what his mother had said. “We can try to make it work,” he growled stubbornly. “Once you are part of Society again—”

  “My answer has to be no. Always no. Nothing you can say will change my mind.”

  “You said you loved me.”

  She winced. “You are a wonderful man, but I—I am not in love. I don’t believe I could ever fall in love with anyone. I want to be independent, Devon. That is what I truly want.”

  Was she saying she had been so hurt by her past that she could never open her heart? “Anne, don’t be afraid of falling in love. I was. You helped me see I couldn’t hide in grief and fear forever.”

  “Oh, you don’t understand!”

  Devon watched her run to the door, her skirts swishing. He should follow, but he couldn’t make his boots move. When he’d made his proposal of marriage, he’d imagined that now, five minutes later, he would be a betrothed man.

  Not a confused one.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  MAY 1816

  XPECTING A BABY forced one to change plans, even about an independent life.

  Spring had brought the moors to life, and Anne smiled as she walked along the path to her cottage. This was one change: She could not stride swiftly back home from the nearby village of Princeton. Every few yards she had to stop and puff out a few breaths. She was now the size of a house, with a taut, rounded belly, swollen ankles, and hunger that seemed never to cease.

  Still, she was achieving everything she’d wanted. She was content—except for the great pain in her heart. Her heart was not growing any protective scar tissue at all. It simply hurt.

  At the post office, she had collected a letter from her great-grandmother, and it was tucked into her pocket. Lady Julia had agreed Anne must live quietly out of sight until she bore her baby, but they wrote regularly. In that, Devon had been right. Anne was so happy to have family. But she cradled her belly as she walked. “I hope, when you are old enough to understand, you can forgive me, little one. I fear you won’t. I don’t know if I could, if I were you. I do promise you will never want for anything.” It was true. Devon had not understood her refusal, but he had been very generous. Even though she had simply … left him.

  When she began her school in the Whitechapel stews, he’d sent her the settlement he’d promised in her contract. He’d also sent a generous donation. With it, she had been able to employ teachers and refurbish a large town house to use as both a school and a home for the girls.

  Three months ago she’d come here and rented a small cottage on the moors. Even with high-waisted gowns and voluminous skirts, she feared her pregnancy was too obvious. She could not cause a scandal, which would hurt her school and her students.

  And she couldn’t return to active involvement. Not unless she gave up her baby, and she was not going to do that. Her fear was that someday her child would learn a duke had asked for her hand in marriage, that he or she could have been born a legitimate child to wealth and privilege, except that his—or her—mother had said no.

  It was for the best. Devon’s sister Elizabeth was now engaged to a handsome earl, and the London scandal sheets were abuzz with the latest rumor about the Duke of March. In five days a ball was to be held at March House. It was the on-dit that he would announce his engagement at the ball. While there had been weeks of speculation as to the lady’s identity, it apparently remained a mystery. Still, in five days, Devon would belong to someone else.

  The path began to descend, slowly winding between boulders and gorse bushes. Sheep darted across the path, searching for grasses to nibble. Anne took slow steps, punctuating each sensible word that she spoke aloud with deep, hard breaths. “It. Is. For. The. Best.”

  A black-faced sheep looked up, eyed her doubtfully, and bleated.

  There were no trees on the sweeping hills of the moors. She had a clear view of her cottage. Given that she was pregnant and unmarried, she’d wanted to be isolated. In the winter, though, she’d been very, very alone. She’d kept busy during those long nights by sewing in preparation for the baby and by reading. Though reading made her think longingly of Devon—

  A carriage was rumbling up the track to her cottage. Sunlight lit an insignia on the door. It stopped near and the door swung open. Anne forgot to draw a breath, even when the outriders assisted an elegant lady to her path. It was Lady Cavendish, and, behind her, two other young women spilled out of the coach.

  The servants moved sharply forward again as a white-gloved hand gracefully extended from the shadowy doorway. Another elegant woman was helped down the steps, a rose-trimmed hat hiding her face. Could this be Devon’s other sister? Why on earth were they here?

  Lady Cavendish clasped Anne’s hands, then hugged her. She waved toward the two young ladies. “My sisters Elizabeth and Winifred. And this is”—she turned toward the tall lady who stepped gracefully forward—“our mother, the Duchess of March.”

  His mother? Anne blinked as the duchess approached and took her hand. Devon’s mother was beautiful, of course, with vivid blue eyes. A rueful smile lifted the duchess’s lovely mouth. Then she asked, “You are expecting my son’s child?”

  Anne couldn’t speak. She managed a nod, with her face burning, then tried to execute a curtsy. The duchess stopped her. “You did not tell him?”

  She felt so guilty for … for being pregnant and for not telling Devon she was. “I did not want to make things more complicated. He proposed to me, but marriage between us was impossible, and I feared that telling him about the child would …” Her voice died away.

  “You thought my son would insist on marriage.”

  Anne gaped at the duchess, who took her hand and led her toward the cottage. “Let us go inside and discuss this.”

  Panic hit Anne. “Oh, no, Your Grace. It is just a cottage. It’s very simple.”

  A musical laugh danced on the air. “I am quite sure it will be fine, my dear.”

  Caro moved close to Anne and whispered by her ear, “Mama wanted us to bring her to you so she could meet you. Devon has done nothing but slouch in a chair and stare at the wall since you left. The only time he showed any pleasure was when he went to visit your school.”

  He had gone to her school? It did not surprise her, but it touched her heart. He must be the only duke who had gone to a school for destitute girls in Whitechapel.

  Inside, Anne quickly lit the stove and set a kettle on top. She tried to pull out one of her chairs for the duchess, but Devon’s mother took it from her hands. “You will use this.” The duchess smiled as Anne slowly lowered to the chair. “You must know why we have come, Miss Beddington. It is to encourage you to change your mind and accept Devon’s proposal.”

  Was she in a dream? Anne pinched her arm and smothered a yelp of pain. “You could not want me as a daughter-in-law. I am ruined—”

  “My dear, you have behaved with exemplary discretion since you left my son. You have done a wonderful thing to help impoverished children. Devon glows when he speaks your name. It is pride and admiration but also because he loves you. I have always urged him to marry for love. He challenged me to accept his love for you. I am sorry to say I could not at the beginning. Now I can see how much it hurts him to be without you. Treadwell tells me he is exactly as he was when he first returned from battle. He is grieving and lost. You helped him once. You could do so again, if you love him. You must tell me. Did you reject him because you do not love him?”

  The duchess’s speech left Anne whirling. “No … I … I lov
e him very much. I said no to protect him and all of you! I do not want him to be the way he was before.” It truly couldn’t be because of her, could it? How could it be, if he was supposed to be ready to announce his engagement? She pushed up from the chair. “I wish to help him at once.”

  “I know, dear, and that is why I believe you must marry him,” the duchess said.

  Dark-haired Lizzie leapt forward. “Protecting us doesn’t matter anymore! Caro and Charlotte are safely married, and I am going to be wed in a month’s time. We would rather see Devon happy than watch him suffer his way through a duty marriage. Mama has refused to let any girl of the ton marry him, you know, when he is obviously so deeply in love with you. It would be a recipe for disaster.”

  “But isn’t Devon going to announce his engagement?” Anne asked.

  The duchess nodded. “I fear he has decided to marry someone he does not love.”

  Winifred, obviously the youngest of Devon’s sisters, hastened to the whistling kettle. “My plan is to marry the Earl of Ashton, although the earl doesn’t know it yet. It wouldn’t bother him at all if Devon married you, Miss Beddington.”

  “You are not going to marry the Earl of Ashton,” the duchess said swiftly. But then she sighed. “He loves you, Miss Beddington, and you love him. I want only to make this work. Tell me, are you willing to marry my son?”

  Devon shut his eyes. He was in his study at March House, and his sisters had just returned from a trip to see Anne. Through Lady Julia, they had learned that Anne had taken a cottage on the moors.

  He kept his eyes closed—what an irony that he was trying not to see. But Caro did not go away. She strode to him, and he heard Peregrine give a squeaky giggle as her swift pace bounced him up and down.

  “We went to convince her to come back and agree to marry you,” Caro declared. “But once we saw her, we knew it was impossible.”

  “Impossible?” He opened his eyes, jerked up in his chair. “Why? Has she found someone else?” Tension sent him off the seat and into rapid pacing on the study carpet. “Caro, she refused to marry me because of all of you—”

  “That was why we all went to her—Mother, Lizzie, Win, and I. Now that Lizzie is engaged and Win has set her heart on Ashton, there is no need to be worried about marriage prospects.”

  “Win is not going to marry Ashton. And there is your husband to think of, Caro, as well as Charlotte’s.”

  “Oh, rubbish, Devon. You asked her once already! This didn’t bother you then—”

  “He’s afraid!” He turned as Win rushed through the study door. “He is afraid to ask her again, in case she says no. Our brother is afraid she refused him because she doesn’t love him.”

  Caro said softly, “She loves you, Devon. That was why she refused you in the first place.”

  He winced and turned away. “That makes no sense. And she said she wasn’t in love.”

  “When a woman loves a man, she does not want to hurt him. Of course she said she doesn’t love you. She believed she had to walk away. But she is enceinte, Devon.”

  He spun on his heel to see Caro glaring fiercely at him. “She is expecting your child. It was quite obvious she is very, very near her time. Peregrine arrived early. You might have very little time to marry her before the baby comes.”

  “Yes!” Lizzie popped her head around the door. “There is no other choice, Devon. You must go to her. And you must hurry!”

  Caro waved his other sisters away. She opened her mouth, but Devon stopped her with a shake of his head. “She told me she wants independence, Caro, not marriage.”

  “Devon, she is going to have your child!”

  “I should force her into marriage out of duty and responsibility?”

  “If that gets her to the altar, I would use it. I know she loves you. Before we left, I asked her if she believed it was right to deny you the chance to be a father to your child.”

  He blinked. He’d never known Caro to be so blunt or so harsh. “What did she say?”

  “What could she say? She tried to look stoic and determined. She tried to bluster through an excuse. But she knew, in her heart, nothing could justify denying both you and her the chance to have a loving family. Please go to her, Devon. If you don’t, Lizzie, Win, and I have decided we will work together to make your life a nightmare.”

  He quirked a brow. “How so?”

  “Do you remember all the ways you used to tease us? Salamanders in our beds. Flour in my face powder, and a noxious-scented liquid in Lizzie’s first bottle of perfume. The things we can do to you will be worse. If you refuse to marry Anne, I will throw giggling young women at you until you go mad.”

  Go mad. Ten months ago he’d thought he was going mad. Anne had forced him out of his self-imposed darkness. Now she was the one hiding.

  “Do you still love her, Devon?”

  “I’ll always love her, Caro.”

  “Then go! Go marry the woman you love, Devon. After all the pain you’ve endured, I want you to have a happy ending. We all do.”

  He knew she was right. But he asked, “An ending?”

  “Of your bachelor life. The beginning of a much richer and more wonderful life, I promise.”

  “No need to promise, Caro. I believe you.”

  Devon ducked beneath the eave of the low roof and rapped on the cottage door. He waited but heard nothing moving inside. He pounded again. His fist slammed into the door so hard the leather of his gloves split over his knuckles. “Anne! Are you there?”

  There was no sound except the mournful moans of the wind. It was a typical English spring day on the moors—rain pelted his greatcoat and wind whipped across the back of his neck. His blood felt icy for reasons that had nothing to do with the weather on the moors. Was he too late? Where was Anne?

  Panic gripped him. The same fear and tension that had haunted him in battle. Something is wrong. It was almost crippling, but he fought through it and headed for the stone stable. A pony munched hay, and as he stalked around the building, he almost collided with a stableboy.

  “Where is your mistress?” He prayed the lad wouldn’t say she had gone into labor. What if something had gone wrong? “I am the Duke of March,” he added awkwardly. “A friend.”

  “My mistress went walking along the path.” The lad pointed to a narrow track that went along the hills. “Up to the tor.”

  Then he saw her. A small figure trudging up the path. She was walking. Alone. Even from here, he could tell she was very rounded. Caro had said she could go into labor at any minute.

  Next thing he knew, he was running up the path, pursuing her as fast as he could. Before he’d left, Lizzie had admonished, You gave up far too easily! Win had added, If you love her, you have to keep fighting for her heart and never give in. They were two of the most romantic girls in England. But they were right. He should have fought for her. For seven months he’d been introduced to every eligible gently bred girl in England, which had proven his point. No other woman could capture his heart as Anne had. And because he hadn’t pursued her, he’d missed all those months while she’d been enceinte. He’d missed the chance to see her glow and change as their baby grew. “Anne!” he yelled. “Stop!”

  She did, turning slowly. Rain lashed her. “Devon?”

  He ran to her and swept her up in his arms. But she gave a squeak as he pressed her belly to him, and he immediately put her down. “Angel, I’m sorry.” He had been an idiot. In battle, would he have given up so easily? He had struggled for hours to take a few yards of land, but he’d been willing to let the love of his life go. He hadn’t wanted to treat Anne like someone who should be conquered. He’d loved her and he’d wanted her to have what she wanted. Even if it was a life that didn’t include him. That was what his sisters didn’t understand.

  When a man was in love, he couldn’t throw a woman over his shoulder and drag her back to his bedroom. He had no right to pursue a woman at any cost, as he’d done with Rosalind. Love meant accepting her choice, even if i
t broke his heart.

  He was going to fight for her, but if she refused him again, he had no choice but to let her go.

  “Devon, why have you come here? In four days you are supposed to be getting engaged.”

  “That was an unfounded rumor. But I’m hoping to get engaged today. Here. Now. There is no one for me, Anne, but you.”

  Her face paled. She touched her belly suddenly. He gathered her into his arms and began to carry her down the path. “All right. Not here,” Devon said. “You shouldn’t be walking in your condition. Certainly not alone, up a rocky path, in a storm.”

  “And you should not be carrying me, Devon. I fear we’ll both fall.”

  A tender look came to Devon’s eyes. Anne swallowed hard. It was a look that could steal a woman’s heart. She loved him. Seven months had done nothing to change that. She still loved him breathlessly. Endlessly. Hopelessly.

  “I came in hopes of sweeping you off your feet. Instead, I have to put you back down.” He did so but tucked her hand into the crook of his arm. “You’re right, as always. I can’t sweep you away and make you do what I want. I tried to do that before—when I hauled you to your great-grandmother and insisted you go into Society. I wanted you so much, I unfortunately became the soldier I’d been in battle and tried to win you as I would a military mission. I hope you will believe I’ve learned my lesson. Years ago I felt I had to capture the woman I wanted. Now I’ve realized that loving you means I have to give you the choice. I want you, but I can’t come and take you by force. All I can do is give you my offer one more time and hope you will say yes.”

  When Devon, a duke, said, I’ve learned my lesson, Anne went weak in the knees.

  “I love you, Anne. I have the blessing of every member of my family to pursue you.” He grinned. “They did more than give me their approval. They demanded I come to you at once.”

  She wanted to believe it. Once upon a time, she’d been a gently bred young lady who could dream of romance and love. Survival had made her practical. She loved this man, too much to allow him to make a choice he would eventually regret. “Your sisters told me I won’t hurt their marriage prospects, but the scandal of our marriage will still hurt them. I was a whore,” she said flatly. “How can I marry a duke and become a duchess? I’ll never be accepted. I have to think of our baby. My tarnished reputation will affect our child.”