Sin winced at his mother’s effortless vulgarity. The complexities of the mind were beyond his ken. Perhaps he ought to have warned Callie of his mother’s singular new vocabulary beforehand.
“I would be more than happy to braid your hair for you, each day if you like,” Callie told her, using the brush to separate his mother’s hair into three equal sections.
“I would like that,” Mama agreed, smiling. Her fingers went still in her lap. “When will you be having the babe, Celeste? I am excited to become a grandmama at last, you know.”
Damnation. Of all the times for the not-so-distant past to return in his mother’s mind, now was not it. Sin could feel his wife’s gaze upon him, questioning. But he had revealed enough to her for one day. He could not bear to relive the death of his daughter as well.
“I am not certain,” Callie said, her voice hesitant as she began weaving the strands of his mother’s hair into a braid.
“Why do you look so bloody Friday-faced, Ferdy?” Mama asked him. “You know I cannot abide by sadness. Smile, if you please.”
Sin did as his mother asked. For her, he would always find a smile.
Chapter Eighteen
How wicked is the heart, dear reader, that it leads to such vile treachery?
~ from Confessions of a Sinful Earl
Callie stared at her reflection in the looking glass, wondering if Sin was going to come to her. Her hair was unbound, and she had already had her bath, partially in the hopes he would interrupt.
But he had not.
He had been quiet after their visit to his mother’s chamber. Withdrawn and cooler than he ordinarily was. He had excused himself and told her that she ought to go to bed without waiting for him. She had sensed he had not been ready to discuss everything that had been revealed to her this evening.
Of all the secrets she had suspected him of keeping, she had never supposed that one would be a beautiful, white-haired woman who had lost her mind. Or that his former wife had been pregnant with his child, a child who had obviously not survived. The haunted expression on her husband’s face had revealed far more to her than his mother’s confused jumble of memories ever could.
Her heart ached for him.
The love he felt for his mother had been apparent. And as the elder woman had wandered in and out of the past and present, mistaking him for another and then seeming to remember him for a moment, Callie’s inner anguish for him had grown. As had her compassion. Although her relationship with her own parents had never been close prior to their deaths, she could not imagine how difficult it must be for him to know his mother no longer recognized him.
And yet, he had navigated the situation with effortless aplomb, answering to Ferdy, smiling for his mother when she had demanded it. His mother had been in good spirits when they had left her in the care of her nursemaid. And as for Callie…well, something had shifted for her tonight.
The more time she spent in his presence, the more apparent it became that there was much more to the Earl of Sinclair than she had previously supposed.
Deciding she had spent too much time awaiting him, Callie took a deep breath and straightened her dressing gown. Beneath it, she was nude. Not even a night rail. After the tattered remnants he had left her last gown in, she had deemed it best. Besides, there was something about her naked flesh against the softness of her robe that heightened her awareness.
If only her husband would come to bed. Or invite her into his.
She knocked on the door joining their chambers and received no answer. Suspecting he had yet to come to bed, she opened the door to find his apartments empty, just as she had thought. There was only one solution to her problem—if Sin would not come to her, she would go to him.
Callie made certain all the buttons on her dressing gown were buttoned up and she was not showing any excess skin lest she cross paths with a servant, and then she left her chamber. It did not take long to find him, for there was a light glowing beneath his study door.
She knocked.
“What is it now, Langdon?” her husband asked, his tone irritated. “I thought I told you and Eloise to go to bed.”
Callie opened the door and crossed the threshold, closing it at her back. Sin was standing near the fireplace, holding a glass of amber-colored liquid in his long fingers. His dark gaze settled upon her, seeming to devour her from where he was, halfway across the room.
Her nipples went hard beneath her dressing gown.
“It is not Langdon,” she said quietly, feeling unaccountably nervous.
Perhaps he wanted to be alone. Mayhap he did not wish for her company. Surely there was a reason he had delayed in coming to bed. Why would he prefer to remain in his study, drinking, by himself?
“I would like to think myself capable of telling the difference between my wife and my butler and his dog,” he said, passing a hand over his angular jaw.
“Have you spoken with him?” Callie asked. “About a cottage in the country?”
“I have.” Sin raised his glass to her in a mock toast. “The stubborn old goat insists he must remain here, where he is needed.”
She had wondered whether or not Langdon would truly wish to leave. And whether or not her husband would make him. It would seem she had her answer. Sin’s mother had been right. Her beautiful son did have an endless heart.
“You will allow him to stay?” she queried.
Sin took a sip of his drink and raked his fingers through his hair with his free hand. “If the curmudgeon will not go, what am I to do?”
“Perhaps we can persuade him to train a younger domestic in the art of being a butler,” she suggested. “That will give him a sense of purpose and it also may make the notion of leaving here more palatable.”
“You are a clever woman,” he said. “Far more than I originally supposed.”
She was not certain if he meant the words as a compliment or an insult. But suddenly, she did not like the distance between them and what it represented.
Standing where she was felt foolish.
But so did getting in closer proximity to her husband.
Oh, well. Her feet had a mind of their own, padding across the threadbare rugs that would soon be replaced. She stopped a foot from him, her gaze traveling over the handsome contours of his face.
“I am not sure whether I should thank you or chastise you for that,” she said softly.
A wicked half grin kicked up the corner of his mouth. “It depends upon the manner in which you choose to chastise me, little wife.”
Heat flooded her. She was a wanton for him. Always.
“What did you have in mind?” she dared to ask.
He took another sip of spirits, watching her with an intensity that was at once unnerving and exhilarating. “You could tie me to my bed and have your way with me.”
His suggestion shocked and intrigued her. An image of him, gloriously naked, and bound to his bed, rose in her mind.
“I will admit, that would certainly even our scores,” she told him boldly. “I have still not forgiven you for being tied to the bed when you abducted me, you know.”
“Then I shall have to make it up to you.” He placed his drink on the mantel and closed the rest of the space keeping them apart.
One hand settled on her waist and the other took her wrist, raising it to his lips for a fervent kiss.
The soft feathering of his mouth upon her skin made an ache flare to life in her core. But she knew she must not forget her reason for seeking him out. Her tongue flitted over her lips, wetting them. His gaze tracked the movement with undisguised carnal intent.
“Thank you, Sin,” she told him.
He kissed her wrist again. “What is your gratitude for, sweet?”
“Trusting me tonight.”
He stilled, his expression unreadable. “You gave me little choice.”
“How long has your mother been like this?” she asked, instead of arguing.
“The past six years.” He kissed her wrist aga
in, then nipped her skin with his teeth.
“Why did you not tell me before now?”
“Why so many questions, darling?” he returned, kissing each of her knuckles before releasing her wrist and clamping his other hand on her waist.
He hauled her into him. Her breath faltered.
They were pressed together, hip to hip, chest to chest. If she rose on her toes, she could take his mouth. She wanted his kiss, very much. The subtle scent of spirits tinged his breath, suggesting he had not been tippling long. His eyes were lucid and clear. She wondered why he had lingered here on his own when he could have come to her.
“Mayhap I am attempting to understand you,” she told him, irritated with herself for the husky quality of her voice, the overwhelming manner in which his touch, his nearness, affected her.
All her good intentions fled.
Her heart was beating so hard, she would not be surprised if he could hear its frantic pounding.
“Sweet of you,” he said, his brilliant gaze dropping to her lips. “Perhaps you ought to have done that before you destroyed my reputation.”
His pointed barb hit its mark.
Regret washed over her, joining the desire.
“I am sorry.” The words spilled from her lips before she could think better of them, before she could contain them.
She had wronged him so badly. Little wonder he had been furious enough to hold her captive until she agreed to marry him. His properties were in ruins. His funds were depleted. He scarcely had any servants, and he had a mother who required constant supervision.
“Why are you sorry?” His hand slid from her waist to her breast, cupping it, his thumb unerringly finding the stiff peak.
She inhaled and arched into his touch. “I am sorry I destroyed your reputation. Sorry I wrote Confessions of a Sinful Earl. Sorry I hurt you.”
“You are not wearing a corset beneath this dressing gown, are you?” he growled.
Of course, he must feel she was not. He rolled her nipple, then plucked at it with devastating intent. Heat surged between her thighs. Need weighed her down. The very air surrounding them seemed to change, growing heavy and potent.
“I am not wearing anything beneath it,” she told him.
He exhaled, and the warmth of his breath flitted over her lips in the ghost of a kiss.
Sin pinched her nipple, sending an exquisite blend of painful pleasure through her. “You are sorry, princess?”
She nodded, unbearably aware of him. Her every sense was heightened to delicious acuity. “More sorry than I can say. It was wrong of me, making assumptions, leaping to the wrong conclusions, and then setting out to get my vengeance.”
“Show me,” he said, his voice a low, decadent rasp laden with sensual promise.
The ridiculous thought struck Callie that she would do anything he asked of her.
“How?” she whispered.
“I want you naked.” He released her breast, his fingers traveling to the line of pearl buttons down the front of her dressing gown. “Take this off for me.”
His words should have shocked her. Insulted her, perhaps. All Callie felt was a rush of desire so sudden and all-encompassing that it almost brought her to her knees. As quickly as he had yanked her into his tall, lean form, he released her and stepped away. He watched her with a hooded gaze, his countenance harsh and uncompromising.
She could not be certain if he intended to punish her or pleasure her. Strangely, she would accept either from him. She had wronged him. Grievously. And she could not deny the way he made her feel.
She trusted him. He would not hurt her.
With his gaze upon her, she brought her fingers to the buttons lining the front of her dressing gown. One by one, she slid the buttons from their moorings. He reached for his half-empty glass on the mantel, draining it in one gulp. As she reached her breasts, she fumbled a button, then hesitated, shyness overcoming her.
“Go on,” he urged in that smooth, delicious baritone that sent a frisson down her spine. “I want to see you.”
Finding her courage, she continued. The dressing gown gaped as she traveled farther down the line of buttons. Cool evening air bathed her naked skin, but her husband’s hot stare chased away the chill. She reached the end of the buttons, just above the apex of her thighs. Holding his gaze, she shrugged the fine cotton and silk from her shoulders, then pulled it past her hips.
The ivory garment fell to the floor in a whoosh, pooling about her ankles. Fighting the urge to shield herself from his dark gaze, she stepped free of the material, standing before him in not one stitch.
Silence fell as his eyes scoured her. Though he had seen her—and had touched, kissed, and caressed all of her—before, she could not shake the bashfulness warring with the desire.
“There is no need for shyness, darling,” he said, his voice thick with desire.
“I have done what you required of me,” she managed to return with nary a betraying tremble in her words. “What more do you want?”
“I want to look at you and to know you are mine. You are so bloody beautiful, do you know that?” His words held a note of reluctance, as if he hated allowing her to know she affected him.
He thought her beautiful?
“The Duchess of Longleigh is beautiful,” she said. “I am not.”
“No.” He shook his head slowly, moving toward her with steady, deliberate steps. “She is a faded comparison. The two of you are akin to fire and water. One could quench a thirst, and the other could burn a man alive.”
“Water is deadly as well,” she could not help but to remind him, even as she wondered which of the two elements he thought she was, compared to his ethereal former paramour. “Water can drown you.”
“Water is safer than fire.” He stopped before her. “You can swim through it for a time, if you must. Fire will consume you in seconds.”
“And which am I?” she dared to ask. “Fire or water?”
“Fire, Callie darling.” He ran one long, wicked finger over her lips. “Always, always fire.”
She parted her lips, and his finger dipped into her mouth. The invasion was strangely erotic. She instinctively sucked.
“Damn,” he muttered. “You are a dream, Lady Sinclair. A dream that emerged from a nightmare.”
He withdrew his finger, and she pressed a kiss to the fleshy pad, feeling as if she were a different woman entirely now. She had always been bold and eccentric—at least, in the wake of Simon’s death, she had—but the way she felt with Sin was different. He made her feel powerful and reckless and strong and wanted.
He made her feel desirable.
“I thought you said I was fire,” she whispered, locking gazes with him and commending herself to the moment, to the spirits of wickedness and truth mingling in the air all around them.
“You are a bloody inferno,” he said, sounding as breathless as she was. “And I have never wanted to be consumed by flame more.”
That sounded desperately familiar.
He traced his wet finger over her lips, then dragged it down her throat, following his progress with his intense stare. He watched her as if she were the most glorious sight he had ever beheld. As if she were riveting.
“I love the way you look at me,” she said, then inwardly kicked herself for revealing so much to him.
Too much.
Too soon.
“Mmm?” His approving hum made her pulse between her thighs as he continued his light, teasing touch. “And how do I look at you, little wife?”
His finger trailed over her clavicle, then over her shoulder, before proceeding in a languorous caress down her arm. She had never before realized her elbow could feel so alive aside from the times she had inadvertently thwacked it upon a hard surface. But this was new. His finger swirled around it, circling.
“You did not answer me,” he reminded her, still working his torture upon that most unlikely part of her body.
How could she unravel by a mere touch on her elbow? She
did not know. All she knew was that his finger was lightly swirling over her flesh, over her bone, making her ache there and everywhere else.
Especially between her thighs.
“You look at me as if you want to consume me,” she whispered.
His finger left her elbow at last, gliding down her forearm in a barely there touch that made her wild. He took her hand in his and brought her palm to his mouth, kissing her there. Slowly. His tongue flicked against her skin, tracing the lines, tickling and teasing all at once.
Another kiss, and then he raised his head, his gaze frank. “That is exactly what I want to do to you. I want to lick you until you come. I want to taste you everywhere. And then I want to bury myself inside you and get lost in your flames. In your sweet, decadent heat. In your tight, delicious cunny that is all mine.”
His revelations shocked her. Exhilarated her. For she felt the same way. He astounded her, made her feel a depth of emotion and passion she had not believed she would ever experience again. And if she were completely, brutally honest with herself, she would acknowledge that the love she had shared with Simon had never been this intense, this profound.
Her love with Simon had been sweet.
Effortless.
They had never shared more than kisses.
The way she felt for Sin was…different. Deeper, darker, more potent.
The realization stole her breath and sent an accompanying rush of guilt.
Guilt her husband stole when he lowered his head and sucked a nipple deep into his mouth. The wet heat and suction thieved her capacity for thought. He caught her in his teeth and tugged, always knowing what she wanted, what she needed, before she did. Her hands sank into his thick, luxurious hair. She felt giddy, as if she had consumed too much wine, as if her head were floating somewhere above her body.
His finger trailed down her belly next, circled her navel. Then traveled lower. Over her mound. Finding that hungry bundle of flesh with expert precision. She jerked into his touch, gasping, arching. Her knees threatened to give out. She did not care. Everything was alive. All her senses. Her lungs were filled with him. Her body was his to play with as he liked. And she was weak, so weak for him. So hungry for him. The salty taste of him was still in her mouth, and she wanted more.
Lady Ruthless (Notorious Ladies of London Book 1) Page 21