Wedded in Sin

by Jade Lee

  “Don’t bother,” she practically growled. “If it’s an apology, I won’t believe it. If it’s a carefully contrived lie, I still won’t believe it.”

  “And if I were to admit that I was a scheming cad?”

  “I would hit you again.”

  He nodded, agreement with both her judgment and her punishment. “You intrigue me more and more every minute,” he finally said.

  “And you disgust me more and more,” she snapped.

  Again he agreed. “That is because you are a discerning woman. Quite the most amazing one I’ve ever met.”

  She glowered at him. “Do all the women in your life fall at your feet?”

  He thought about it then finally nodded. “All except my brother’s wife. But she is also possessed of uncommon intelligence. Sadly, her moral pomposity detracts far too much to make her the least bit interesting.”

  She didn’t answer except to increase her speed. Fortunately, his longer legs easily matched her pace.

  “This changes nothing, you know,” he said congenially. “I still intend to win our wager.”

  “Then go do it,” she groused. “Because I have grown heartily sick of you.”

  He sighed. “Well, that is with uncommon speed. Usually it takes women a week or more to tire of me. But as I said, you are highly discerning. I find that most amazing.”

  She slowed then and cocked her head a bit as she studied him. Bit by slow bit, he saw the anger fade from her eyes. Not completely. She had too much fury built up for it to fully disappear. But there was a lessening, and for that he was grateful. Meanwhile, she was speaking, and for the first time ever, he heard the weariness in her. As if the weight she bore had finally taken her to the last dram of her strength.

  “I cannot decide if you are daft or brilliant, my savior or simply annoying. Either way, I am done in for today, Mr. Morrison. Pray just leave me alone.” And with that, she started walking away again. Her steps were steady, but heavy. Gone was the energy that had livened her aspect all day. And that saddened him as nothing else could.

  He had hurt her, he realized with shock. Not the situation, not the bastard who had killed her parents and stolen her home. No, it had been he who had given her the last blow. The only reason she hadn’t crumpled here was that she had to keep moving, keep living, or she and her brother would starve.

  And rather than ease her pain, he had added to it by playing at her life and toying with her affection. Ladies, as a rule, treated him as a plaything, and so he played right back. He solved their silly mysteries, delighted them in bed, and when they grew tired of him, he went on his merry way looking for another to interest him.

  But Miss Shoemaker was not of his usual ilk. She was not a bored society woman, nor was she a silly maid like Jenny to be teased and flirted with, but never touched. She was somewhere in between, and her life was not a game. Her affections certainly weren’t. And he was the veriest cad for what he had done.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, though she could not possibly have heard him. And worse, he knew she would not believe he truly felt remorse.

  How odd that it was beyond his prodigious brain to determine what he could do to make amends. All he could do was follow along behind her, making sure she did not come to harm on the walk back to the dress shop. He didn’t speak to her. He could tell that it would be more of a burden to her. So he stepped along behind her, resolved not to speak, not to seduce, but simply to give her exactly what she wanted: her home and her livelihood back.

  So he set his mind to that difficult task. He already knew the steps he needed to take, but it entertained his mind to guess at what the results would be based on a variety of possibilities. Sadly, that took only a part of his attention. The rest remained fixed upon the shift of Miss Shoemaker’s bottom as she walked, the determined tilt to her pert chin, and the tight ripple of her shoulders.

  Quite an impressive woman, he decided as he watched her walk. But where was all that anger from? He speculated on a number of possibilities, but mostly he thought of the many ways to release her tension. Pleasurable ways. With him. In bed.

  And so passed a rather pleasant half hour as they made it to the dress shop.

  When they finally arrived, Miss Shoemaker stopped at the door. She leveled a long, heavy stare at him that made him decidedly uncomfortable. His mother used to look at him that way sometimes, and it never failed to make him feel guilty. Usually because he was guilty of something.

  “Go and win our wager, Mr. Morrison. I am ho—” Her voice broke and he knew she had been about to say “home.” But of course, this shouldn’t be her home. Her real home was currently being occupied by that ass Cordwain.

  “Yes,” he interposed smoothly. “We have arrived, but please allow me to—”

  His next words were lost as the door was abruptly pulled open. He should have seen it coming. By God, he should have heard the footsteps if not the twist of the doorknob, but his mind had been on Miss Shoemaker. Never had a woman so absorbed his senses as to obliterate all else. So he was caught unawares as Penny started to fall backward. Fortunately a rather large young lady was rushing out just as Penny was falling in. The two collided in an embrace that was startling for everyone except the virago who had hauled the door open.

  “Oh, goodness, Penny. I have just heard. Of all the dastardly things! I swear I have never heard the like. Oh, Penny!”

  Penny recovered easily, returning the embrace with a soft sob as she twisted to press her face in the girl’s shoulder. Samuel watched, the feeling of being unneeded growing inside. This was a female moment, one he usually shunned as being frivolous. But he couldn’t force himself to leave Miss Shoemaker’s side. Not until he was assured that she wanted this girl’s attention.

  It was a silly thought. From the way Penny was gripping the girl, he knew that they were friends. But he allowed himself the lie as sometimes even the best of friends could be an annoyance. He would not allow anyone to bother Penny more this day.

  Meanwhile, the girl was still hugging and talking all at once. “Never you fear, Penny. You shall have work and money aplenty. I have seen to it.”

  Penny drew back, a frown on her face and her eyelashes spiked from tears. “What?”

  “Why, my wedding, of course. I have just doubled the size of my bridesmaids and I have insisted that they all come here for their clothing and their shoes. And my mother and Anthony’s mother, too. Plus all the aunts and cousins. I swear! And you shall be my maid of honor. Say you will, oh please, say yes.”

  Penny stared, her mind obviously overcome. “But, Francine—”

  “You have become a dear friend over these last few weeks. Please, will you stand with me?”

  Penny blinked and Samuel watched with surprise as a myriad of emotions slid across her features. He cataloged at least surprise, delight, confusion, and worry. But at the end, she landed upon a quiet kind of pleasure. “It would be my honor, Francine. Thank you.” The words were heartfelt. Even standing to the side, Samuel could hear the gratitude in her voice. And then she took a deep breath, exhaled as if she were drawing her focus in, and spoke. “How many are in the wedding party, Francine? How many ladies need shoes? Your wedding is just a few weeks away.”

  Samuel groaned inwardly. He could see it as clearly as he saw the rubbish on the side of the street and the soft fold of the excellent-quality wool that made up this Francine’s dress. Penny was pleased at the honor, but shuddering under the weight of the work. So many shoes in so short a time. It would help her financially, but the work…

  Samuel shook his head, speaking clearly and firmly though he had no right to do so. “Not today, Miss Shoemaker. Not today.”

  Both women turned to stare at him, their mouths opened in shock at his audacity. But it was the bride-to-be who recovered first.

  “I’m sorry. Do I know you?” The words were delivered as tartly as any duchess might address an encroaching mushroom. In fact, if he had to guess, he would say that she had learned just th
at tone from Penny.

  “Oh,” said Penny with a shake of her head. “I’m sorry, Francine. This is—”

  Samuel raised his hand to cut her off. Then he said the eight words that had never passed his lips before. “I am not of any significance at all.” There it was, his secret fear spoken aloud. Sadly, it had no impact whatsoever. Francine drew breath to speak, but he rushed on, reaching for his wall of words to hold her off. “Miss Shoemaker is exhausted. And whereas I am sure that she is enormously grateful for the position in your wedding as well as the additional shoe work, it cannot be addressed today.”

  At that point, Penny drew breath, no doubt to attack him for daring to interfere with her business choices. Again, she was quite right in her outrage, but he prevented it while continuing his wall of words.

  “Furthermore, this is not something that should be addressed in the doorway. The air is growing chill. Miss Shoemaker should be inside by a fire, her brother playing at her feet and a lavender compress on her eyes. It must be lavender, mind, and if you have not got any, then someone should send round for it. I believe there is a shop not more than two blocks away that should have an adequate supply at an acceptable price.”

  He began walking forward, using his larger size to push the ladies into the shop. But once inside, they were met by the rest of the shop workers, including a tall man who hovered near Francine. They were all drawing breath—almost like a Greek chorus—but he forestalled them.

  “Upstairs, if you please, Miss Shoemaker. You will wish to cool your face and sit down for a moment. I am sure Tommy can be brought to your side. Ah, here he is, and chewing on a very handsomely wrought glove. Lord Redhill’s, I wager. Nonetheless, upstairs, if you please. Ladies, Miss Shoemaker needs a moment to compose herself. You can direct your questions to me, if you would.”

  “Just one bloody moment, you cheeky toff!” bellowed Penny.

  That was it. The words he was dreading. He had already learned that his usual techniques didn’t work on Penny. That she stood strong against him now when she was so clearly done in just emphasized how formidable a woman she was. Especially as everyone grew silent to stare at Penny.

  “Yes?” he asked sweetly, though inside he quailed.

  “You have no right to take control of everything like this.”

  He nodded. “True enough, but I am. Do you wish to have me thrown out?”

  “Yes,” she snapped. Then she immediately shook her head before Francine’s man—probably the groom-to-be—could do the deed. “No.” She turned to the room at large. “Everyone, this is my cheeky daft toff, Mr. Morrison. If you could get a straight answer out of him, then you are better at it than me. I am going upstairs.”

  “To sit by the fire and close your eyes for a moment.” He was pushing his luck for sure, but he saw a flash of gratitude in her eyes.

  “Yes. But just for a moment.”

  “And I shall bring you tea.” When her eyes narrowed in suspicion, he held up his hands. “Just tea, Miss Shoemaker. I shall be the soul of propriety, I swear.”

  He didn’t like swearing something that wasn’t true, but in this, he assuaged his guilt. He would deal with the ladies, brew the tea, and then he would proceed to give Penny exactly what she needed.

  A physical pleasure that only he—and a few Tantric masters—could give.

  Chapter 9

  Penny felt her nose twitch, the scent of strong tea filtering through her mind. Then between one breath and the next, she bolted upright.

  She’d fallen asleep!

  Even before she could blink and focus her eyes, she heard his voice, low and soothing. It both quieted her slamming heart and cleared the cobwebs from her mind at the same time. Even before she could understand the words, she thought what a nice voice he had. She could wake to his words every morning and not grow tired of it. It wasn’t that he spoke sweetly. Far from it. But the simple recitation of facts settled her as nothing else could.

  “You have been asleep for nearly two hours. Tommy is downstairs along with the other ladies being pampered as any boy—toddler or not—would enjoy. In fact, I heard laughter not more than three minutes ago, so I am sure all is well below. I have learned nothing else of note except that Cordwain did indeed appear this afternoon while we were at my brother’s home.”

  Her eyes shot open at that, but she didn’t speak. Instead, she focused on his face, where it was illuminated by the fire. She saw the harsh angles of his jaw and nose, smiled slightly at the wildness of his hair, and then steadied herself by looking into his calm, steady gaze.

  “Nothing untoward happened,” he continued. “Cordwain demanded to see you. They said you were not here. He made blustering threats which, as you may guess, got him nothing but the door slammed on his nose.” Samuel shrugged. “He wants the likes, as you anticipated, but will not find them here.”

  Penny exhaled slowly, her body sinking back into the chair as she reviewed everything he’d said. Nothing more than she expected and a good deal less than she’d feared.

  “Tommy is well then?” she finally asked. She didn’t need to. She could hear the low murmur of happy voices rising up from below.

  He answered anyway as he poured a cup of tea for her and passed it into her waiting hands. “He is doing very well. I gave him Cook’s tart that you saved. Last I saw, he was covered in it and the ladies were discussing a bath in the workroom tub.”

  Actually, he had been the one to think of saving the tart, not she, but she didn’t say that. She was too busy sipping her tea. Good solid brew, thick, dark, and hot. She frowned at the steam, wondering how he had managed it. He answered even before she could ask.

  “I guessed that you would wish to be woken within a couple hours’ time. My mother used to enjoy waking gently with the smell of a hot pot of tea.”

  “It is the best way in the world,” she concurred.

  His smile flashed for a brief moment. “Perhaps I could suggest some other ways. Maybe at another time.”

  She blinked, wondering if he was flirting with her by suggesting something scandalous. Of course he was, but he did it so gently—when he was usually so blunt—that she wondered if he knew what he was about. Of course he did, she thought as she sipped her tea. But that didn’t mean it was any less effective. She was intrigued.

  She smiled over her teacup at him, marveling at the quietness of the moment. A nap followed by strong tea. She shifted in the chair. Someone had put a blanket over her, so she was warm and comfortable. And a handsome gent was being kind.

  “Will wonders never cease?” she drawled to herself.

  He heard, of course, and he cocked his head. She didn’t answer except to shake her head. And to her surprise, he accepted it with a nod.

  “You will want to be about soon,” he said softly. “I know that is inevitable. I have already tallied the ladies associated with Miss Richards’s wedding. Most will need likes made.” He indicated a page of foolscap and the names he had written down. A single glance told her it was easily a dozen names. “Is this the design for the bride’s shoes?” he asked, holding her sketch pad open to one of her best designs.

  “Yes,” she answered, surprised she wasn’t more annoyed with him for finding her sketches.

  “It’s beautiful,” he said as his hand stroked over it. “I have not spent much time studying women’s footwear, but even I can see the art in all your work.” He carefully turned through page after page of designs.

  She flushed with pride as he touched the embellishments she’d added, the rosettes and ribbons. A stroke of his finger across one sketch of a heel told her he’d noticed the curve to the wood as it echoed the upper stitching. She’d labored well into the night on each one of those designs. She knew every stroke and shaded pearl. And now he was seeing them, too.

  “You have a startling talent,” he said, still paging through the designs. “And quite a fascination with wedding shoes.”

  She flushed. Every bride in England cherished her wedding shoes. The b
ride and groom’s names were inscribed in the sole along with the date of their wedding. And then, after the wedding, the shoes were placed on the mantle for their children to admire. Of course she would dream of wedding shoes. What little girl didn’t? And of course, as a shoemaker, she had sketched her ideas.

  “I started creating designs well before I could read,” she said, completely avoiding the topic of weddings. “I knew the process of making shoes by the time I was six. By seven, I was begging to create something of my own.”

  “He never let you?” Samuel asked. “Your father?”

  Penny shook her head. “No. Not ladies shoes and nothing of my own design.”

  “You will be a great success,” he stated as simply as if he were speaking of the evening’s meal. In his mind it was a foregone conclusion, and she was stunned speechless by that. He flipped back to the sketch of Francine’s bridal shoes. “You won’t have the time to do this design for all the bridesmaids, not with full likes for a dozen women. But I believe you are clever enough to find a solution.”

  She nodded slowly, forcing her mind back to the logistics. She’d need an apprentice for the carving. She already had her eye on a likely child. A daughter of a furniture maker who was also being overlooked by her father. The girl was smart and had clever hands. She would do well in the shoe trade.

  After the base measurements were done, the slippers could be made quickly enough. Without even a fully accurate like. She was not to make walking boots, but fine slippers for a wedding. Those were more delicate to stitch, but with a steady enough hand, they could be made faster and in time for the wedding.

  Her mental list skipped on to the money she would make from these shoes. To what it would pay for and how she would survive these next weeks or months. For the moment, she and Tommy would survive. And if things continued like this, they might even thrive.

  Her breath exhaled in relief.

  “Better then?” he asked. “You have worked it all out?”