“And your wickedly handsome husband who makes you smile like a besotted fool,” her friend added.
Jo’s grumbling told Callie that perhaps her friend was, at last, ready to relinquish her role as wallflower and seize her life. “No one said you cannot find a handsome husband of your own who also makes you smile like a besotted fool.”
Jo sighed. “I shall have to live vicariously through you, I am afraid. There is no such handsome gentleman forthcoming. All the lords I know are empty-headed and weak-hearted and dreadfully uninteresting. Not all of us can be carried off by an earl named Sin, you know.”
Callie smiled at her friend’s sally. “I should hope not. If he is off abducting others, I will box his ears.”
Jo took another sip of her own tea, wrinkling her nose. “This is wretched, is it not? Forgive me, darling, I will ring for a fresh pot. One that does not leak.”
The teapot had, indeed, leaked. It had rendered Jo’s pouring quite humorous. The two of them had collapsed into a fit of giggles over it.
“Fresh tea would be wonderful,” Callie agreed. “Now tell me about this list of yours, if you please. I cannot wait to hear what is on it…”
His wife had been gone for—Sin checked his pocket watch—three hours.
Precisely.
He paced the length of his study, newly refurbished with fresh, plush Axminster. All the way to the door. He threw it open.
“Langdon!” he bellowed.
“My lord? How may I be of service?”
As if conjured, Dunlop, the younger domestic Langdon had been tasked with training in the role of butler, appeared. He was far too handsome for Sin’s liking. Callie had chosen him, and Sin had eagerly foisted all the duties concerning the household off upon her. But now, he found himself regretting his decision. For Dunlop was too young as well. Sandy haired and blue eyed, with a mild manner and an easy disposition that made Sin instantly suspicious of him.
“I called for Langdon,” he snapped at the butler-in-training. “Where is he?”
“He is having a nap with Eloise,” Dunlop explained, his voice calm and tranquil, as if he were dealing with a recalcitrant child. “How may I help you, my lord?”
He did not want to ask this whelp for anything. Indeed, as Sin looked upon him now, he feared the blasted fellow was too pleasing of face and form. There was no paunch about the middle, no thinning hair.
All Celeste’s indiscretions slammed into him in that moment. Her every betrayal. All the pain he had buried and done his damnedest to ignore. He looked at Dunlop, and he saw Callie kissing him. He saw Dunlop in Callie’s bed.
Fuck.
Sin ran a hand from his jaw down his throat, feeling itchy in his own skin. Callie had never betrayed him. Nor had she given him any indication she would. But his mind was playing evil, wicked tricks upon him, returning him to the days when his wife had bedded half his staff with glee.
He told himself this was different, that Callie was nothing like his last wife. And yet, his mind would not cease. He could not stop his thoughts, tumbling over each other like the waves in a waterfall. Threatening to inundate him, to drown.
Celeste had taken great pleasure in hurting him.
So had Callie.
Curse it, was he doomed to continue repeating the same mistakes?
“My lord?” Dunlop prodded him, returning Sin to the present.
Reminding him that he was a jealous, foolish wreck. That he was a man who had been married for the span of a month, whose wife had hired a handsome young butler and then disappeared for hours.
“Has Lady Sinclair returned from paying calls?” he forced himself to ask like a normal, rational husband.
He told himself it was Celeste and her machinations that made him feel so uncertain.
That it was not Callie.
She had pledged to be true to him until she gave him an heir and spare, had she not?
“She has not yet returned, my lord,” Dunlop told him. “Shall I report to you when her carriage arrives?”
“No,” he snapped, feeling foolish, before thinking better of his response. What need had he to guard his pride? “On second thought, yes, Dunlop. Please do. I have a matter of urgent import to discuss with the countess.”
That was a lie, of course, but the young, handsome, far-too-muscular butler did not bloody well need to know that.
“Of course, my lord,” said the new domestic. “I will report to you as soon as her ladyship returns to the residence.”
With a proper bow—which Sin found himself rather aggrieved he could not even offer improvement upon—Dunlop turned on his heel and disappeared. Grinding his molars, Sin watched the new servant stalking away. If the bastard even sent a lingering glance in Callie’s direction…
No.
He could not forever allow himself to be entrapped by Celeste’s actions. Could he? Celeste had been mad. Not like Mama, who was confused. Celeste’s mind had been different. She had been wild, determined to destroy anything that was good. But Callie was…
Callie.
Different.
Unique.
Beautiful and bold and so very unlike every other female he had known. Not even Tilly had made him feel the way his new wife did. All the more reason for his concern, for his fear. Sin knew better than anyone that his past did not exactly mean that he was capable of following his heart.
His heart?
Fuck.
Sin slammed his study door and commenced pacing. There it was again, that unwanted, persistent feeling nettling him just as it had every day since he had made her his bride. Emotions were dangerous. Emotions could not be trusted. He had to cure himself of the lust fog inhabiting his brain. Surely that was all this was? Decker had been convinced of it.
One quarter of an hour later, a knock sounded.
His wife was finally home from paying all her calls. She crossed the threshold, wearing purple boots trimmed with rosettes and matching divided skirts. Her blonde-lace-adorned bodice emphasized her petite curves.
“Lady Sinclair has returned,” Dunlop announced.
Sin cast the butler-in-training an irritated scowl. “As I can plainly see. That will be all, Dunlop.”
Dunlop wisely made himself scarce, closing the door and leaving Sin and Callie alone. Silence reigned, broken only by the muffled sound of Callie’s boots treading over the new carpets. She stood before him in half a minute, her dark gaze searching.
“Is something amiss, Sin?” she asked. “Dunlop said there was an urgent matter you needed to discuss with me.”
How the hell was he supposed to concentrate when she was wearing those bloody boots? All he could think about was finding the hidden closures on her divided skirts and tearing them open.
“Sin?” she pressed.
He blinked, telling himself he could not act like a ravening beast because his wife had been gone from beneath their roof for a mere three and one quarter hours. And then he told himself he did have a reason for summoning her immediately upon her return.
But curse him if he could recall what it was.
“I do not like the replacement butler,” he blurted.
There, that was true enough.
“Dunlop?” Her eyebrows rose. “But he has only been with us for two weeks. How can you find fault with him after such a short period of time?”
“He is too young.” And far too handsome.
“He is older than the both of us,” Callie argued, frowning. “I think we should give him more time to grow accustomed to our household before we make any decisions.”
“I do not like him,” he repeated, feeling childish.
But he also did not care for the manner in which his wife continued to champion the blighter.
Her brow furrowed. “Are you displeased with me?”
No, damn it all. He was displeased with himself.
He forced his whirling mind to calm. Callie was not Celeste. His rational mind understood that. But the old emotions remained. He was a wary, j
aded beast. Every modicum of good sense he possessed told him his trust was not wisely placed in a woman who had done her best to destroy him.
“I am not displeased,” he gritted, finding the words difficult to say. “I am merely hesitant. My last marriage did not precisely imbue me with a great deal of trust in others, particularly the fairer sex. You were gone for quite some time.”
“I was visiting my friend, Lady Jo Danvers.” She laid a soothing hand upon his forearm. “We had tea. We chatted for a few hours. The teapot leaked, and the tea grew cold, and we had to ring for another pot. Now I am home. I hardly think my short absence cause for concern.”
Her touch seared him through his shirtsleeves. He was being an arse, and he knew it. He inhaled and then exhaled slowly, trying to calm the jumbled mess of his thoughts.
“Celeste would disappear for days.” He ran his hand through his hair. “I am sorry, Callie. Forgive me. I know you are not her, but the circumstances of our marriage hardly lend themselves to trust. Not long ago, you were doing everything in your power to ruin me.”
She flinched as if he had struck her, withdrawing her hand from his arm. “Do you think I was calling upon other men? Do you… Do you think I am enamored with Mr. Dunlop? Is that what you are telling me?”
Curse her. She was making him feel again. There was that rush, uncontrollable, threatening to overwhelm his good sense. He wanted to drag her into his arms and kiss her senseless. To ravish her upon his desk. He wanted her naked on his lap, his cock buried in the welcome warmth of her tight cunny.
He turned away from her and stalked to the other end of the chamber, attempting to gain control over himself. Callie brought out the best in him and the worst in him, all at once. There was no denying that.
And of course, she was chasing him down in those delicious purple boots, determined to give him a piece of her mind. When he turned to find her close enough to kiss, he was not at all surprised.
“Answer me,” she demanded. “Do you not trust me?”
“It is complicated,” he bit out. “I do, and I also do not. I cannot explain it.”
“What have I done to make you doubt me?” she asked, her voice softening.
Her honey-and-chocolate eyes glimmered with the traces of tears.
He was a bastard for making her cry. Once, he would have enjoyed her tears. He would have adored bringing her low, making her weak. But that had been before he knew her. Before he had slept with her in his bed each night. Before he had been inside her.
“Sin,” she prodded, cupping his jaw as she searched his gaze. “What did she do to you?”
He wanted to tear himself away from her touch, and yet, simultaneously, he never wanted to move. He wanted her to caress his jaw and gaze upon him with such a tender need to understand him forever. No one had ever looked at him thus.
And this, from a woman who had believed him a murderer.
“Tell me,” she whispered, stroking his cheek with her thumb.
“We were young when we married,” he remembered. “In love, or so I thought. But after I inherited the earldom, she changed. She became consumed by the social whirl. After our daughter was stillborn, it grew worse. She hated me, blamed me. Celeste refused to allow me to touch her, to comfort her. She pushed me away, and she threw herself back into society with a vengeance. Before I knew it, she was gambling away everything she could, disappearing for days. Once, I caught her with two of the footmen.”
Callie’s soft gasp cut through him, settling deep, lodging somewhere perilously near to his heart. Her eyes were luminous. “Oh, my darling. I am so sorry.”
My darling.
It was the first time she had used a term of endearment for him. The effect it had upon him was furious and wild. Suddenly, the last thing he wanted was her tenderness, her sympathy. The compassion in her gaze, in her dulcet voice, threatened to crush him. He could not bear it. He had no wish to relive the dark days of his marriage with Celeste.
Rather than continue unburdening himself, he lowered his head and took his wife’s lips. Her kiss was laced with tea and sweetness. Her tongue slid against his. He kissed her as if he could devour her. Because that was what he wanted to do. He wanted her naked on his desk, wearing nothing but those purple boots of hers.
Hell, he was a monster. His wife had gone for tea with her friend, and she returned to a jealous fiend who all but accused her of planning to bed the bloody butler. There was no excuse for his reaction. His feelings for Callie had him desperately confused.
He did not want to feel.
Feeling made him vulnerable.
He wanted the physical. Lust roared through him, along with the frantic need to possess her. His heart pounded. He nipped Callie’s lush lower lip, then kissed away the sting. Dragged his mouth down her throat. His hands found her rump. Delicious handfuls. He ground her against his aching cockstand, letting her feel what she did to him. How badly he wanted her.
“I am an arse,” he whispered against her creamy throat. “Forgive me.”
He sucked on her flesh. Her exotic, floral scent invaded his senses.
“Sin,” she murmured.
Her small hands were on his shoulders, caressing, holding him close. He would do penance with desire. Make her come. This was what he knew best—sensuality. All he had to do was figure out how the hell to get her out of her divided skirts.
His heart was pounding harder. Louder.
Too loud.
“Sin?” she breathed, a question in her voice. “Dunlop is knocking.”
Curse the blighter.
“My lord? My lady?”
“Go to the devil,” he called.
“The Duke of Westmorland is requesting an audience, my lord,” said the butler-in-training. “He says he will not leave until he has seen her ladyship.”
Damn it all.
His wife stiffened and extracted herself from his embrace. “Benny! Oh dear heavens, he must be returned from his honeymoon. He will be furious with me, I expect. And you as well.”
The desire coursing through him died.
“Send him in, Dunlop,” he called grimly.
The timing was bloody poor, but he had always known that sooner or later, Westmorland would return, and Sin would have to face his reckoning. Perhaps it was just what he needed, a means of reminding himself of all the reasons why he would be better served to forget about his maddening infatuation with his countess.
Chapter Twenty
I am dangerous, dear reader. I am a bad, bad man. If you see me about Town, run.
~from Confessions of a Sinful Earl
Callie braced herself for her brother’s wrath. Struggling for composure after her husband’s painful revelations followed by his potent embrace, she smoothed her fingers over her hair. She probably looked as if she had been properly ravished. Then again, any time she was within close proximity to her husband, that seemed to be quite common.
Benny was going to be furious with her.
And hurt.
And confused.
“What are we going to tell him?” she asked Sin, making certain he had not dislodged any of the buttons on her bodice.
Her husband scrubbed his hand over his jaw. “The truth, I expect.”
She bit her lip. “You intend to tell Benny about Confessions of a Sinful Earl?”
“No, wife.” He raised a brow, his countenance uncompromising. “I expect you to tell him. You are, after all, the one responsible for the straits in which we now find ourselves.”
She found herself frowning at his choice of words. Was he referring to their marriage, or to her brother’s impending interrogation? She did not have the chance to seek clarification, because the study door opened and Dunlop announced their Graces, the Duke and Duchess of Westmorland.
Benny stalked into the chamber looking utterly enraged as expected. His new wife Isabella was at his side, looking fretful.
“What the devil is the meaning of this, Sinclair?” he demanded.
Callie wi
nced, rushing forward to place herself between her husband and her brother, lest either of them come to blows. “Benny, please do not be angry,” she begged.
Sin took his place at Callie’s side, sliding a possessive arm around her waist. “Westmorland, Duchess. How lovely to see you both. Have you come to welcome me into the family?”
“I have come to beat you to a bloody pulp,” Benny snarled.
Isabella placed a staying hand on his coat sleeve. “Darling, you promised you would be calm.”
“Has he harmed you in any way?” her brother asked, his gaze searching hers. “How the devil did he coerce you into marriage? Aunt Fanchette swears the two of you are a sudden love match, but I would sooner eat my own shoe than believe such tripe.”
“I have not harmed her,” Sin said, exhibiting more of his signature sangfroid. “I did, however, abduct her from London and persuade her of the wisdom of saving herself from a ruined reputation by marrying me.”
Isabella’s eyes went wide. Benny stalked forward with a clenched fist.
“Benny, stop,” Callie intervened, holding up a staying hand. “Please, listen to what I have to say before you do something you will regret.”
“I will not regret planting this bastard a facer,” her brother growled.
“My love, you are turning into a snarling bear,” Isabella protested.
“He forced my sister into marrying him whilst I was out of London on my honeymoon,” Benny accused, turning a glare upon Sin. “Do not think I have not immediately consulted my solicitor. If you coerced her…”
“He did not coerce me,” Callie denied. “At least, not in the way you think.”
“Perhaps we should sit down,” said her husband coolly. “Ring for tea.”
“Not unless you want it pitched in your face,” Benny threatened.
“Only if you would care for a broken nose in return,” Sin bit out.
Callie lost her patience. “Stop it, both of you! Benny, I am the author of Confessions of a Sinful Earl. Sin discovered I was behind the serials, and that I was responsible for the complete ruin of his reputation and his betrothed crying off.”
Lady Ruthless (Notorious Ladies of London Book 1) Page 23