Lady Ruthless (Notorious Ladies of London Book 1)

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Lady Ruthless (Notorious Ladies of London Book 1) Page 25

by Scarlett Scott


  The answers were no clearer to Sin now than they had been before. Perhaps if he throttled the man? Planted him a facer?

  “Bloody hell,” Westmorland breathed, looking suddenly pale and dazed. “I am to be an uncle?”

  An uncle?

  His brother-in-law’s words reached him as if from afar, from the opposite end of a tunnel. A babe.

  Callie was already carrying his child?

  It seemed impossibly soon, and yet, they had been married for nearly a month. She had not had her courses in all that time. It had scarcely concerned him, so besotted had he been with his wife. Sleeping with her in his bed each night, making love to her until they were both limp and sated, had become commonplace. He had not stopped to contemplate the possibility she could be with child so soon.

  “As I said,” Dr. Gilmore spoke again, piercing the haze that seemed to have settled upon Sin’s mind, “it is early. But all indications suggest that you will indeed be an uncle, Your Grace. And you, Lord Sinclair, will be a father.”

  A.

  Father.

  Those two simple words nearly knocked him to his arse. The notion of an heir had been distant and removed. Indistinct. Unlikely, even. He swallowed against a knot rising in his throat. Terror and elation struck him at once, rendering him immobile and speechless. He could say nothing. Could not move. He stood there like a fool, until at last his reluctant brother-in-law broke the spell.

  “You ought to go to her, Sinclair,” the duke muttered. “You are her husband, after all.”

  Sin did not miss the bitterness lacing Westmorland’s words, particularly husband. Part of Sin was pleased Callie’s brother seemed to be every bit as protective of her as she was of him. The bond between brother and sister was undeniable. Ultimately, it had been what had driven Callie into Sin’s arms, into his bed, had made her his wife.

  He nodded, feeling as if the heavens had fallen upon his head. “Go to her. Yes. I shall.”

  Sin moved toward his wife’s chamber, but paused, his fears still rising like the ocean’s tides. “You are certain she is otherwise healthy, yes?”

  “Yes,” Dr. Gilmore affirmed with a nod. “Her ladyship is in excellent health.”

  Relief pummeled him like a fist. There was a rushing in his ears he had not experienced since the day he had seen Celeste’s lifeless body, enshrouded in her coverlets, in that selfsame room. It was little wonder he wanted Callie to spend each night in his own chamber. There remained so many ghosts haunting this home, haunting him.

  But there was also hope, astonishing and brilliant and equally petrifying.

  He barely found the presence of mind to thank the doctor—Westmorland’s personal physician, of course—before entering his wife’s chambers. He found Callie seated on the chaise longue she had so recently selected. She smiled when she saw him, but the smile did not reach her eyes.

  The Duchess of Westmorland rose upon his entrance, giving Callie a brief, though warm, embrace. “I shall leave you to visit with your husband. Send for us if you need anything, and visit when you are feeling well. Tante Fanchette is returning to Paris soon. You must not forget to call. She is missing you.”

  “I shan’t,” Callie reassured her sister-in-law with a grateful smile. “Thank you for sitting with me, Isabella. You are the sister I have always wanted, and I am so happy to see you and Benny together at last.”

  “You are the sister I have always wanted as well.” The Duchess of Westmorland smiled wistfully before turning a frank stare upon Sin. “Lord Sinclair, you are, of course, most welcome to join Lady Sinclair in her visit. In fact, I insist you do.”

  The fierce, golden-haired duchess was not what he had expected. She was formidable. A beauty in her own right, but in spite of that, undeniably…unique. He would wager she kept Westmorland on his toes. Sin liked her. He liked that she cared for Callie. And he liked that she appeared more willing than her forbidding husband to give him a chance.

  He bowed. “It would be my honor, Your Grace.”

  The duchess smiled. “Please, we are family now. You must call me Isabella.”

  Oh, yes. Far more willing to give him a chance. Thank God. “Isabella, then.”

  She cast a quick, questioning glance from Callie to Sin, then back to Callie. “I shall leave the two of you alone to discuss what Dr. Gilmore discovered then, shall I? Westmorland and I will see the both of you soon.”

  Sin waited until his new sister-in-law had excused herself from the chamber and the door had closed behind her to go to his wife. She was still pale, and she looked very much unlike herself.

  He hated that.

  He seated himself on the edge of her chaise longue. “How are you feeling, sweet?”

  “Shaken,” she admitted with a wan smile. “I had not thought enough time had passed since we wed, but Dr. Gilmore assured me that it had. You have heard the news?”

  He swallowed. Nodded. “I have.”

  She bit her lower lip, worrying its lush fullness. Her right hand fretted with the fall of her skirts. “You are pleased, then?”

  Pleased. Shocked. Panicked. Terrified. Elated.

  Any of those would do.

  He was going to be a father again. The notion seemed impossible and yet, he was startled by how much he wanted it. And with Callie.

  “Of course, sweet.” He covered the hand that had been plucking at her gown, staying her motions. “You know I am in need of an heir. I had not expected it to happen this quickly, but I am pleased. And I am relieved you are well. Are you still dizzy?”

  Sin tried to resurrect memories of Celeste, when she had been carrying their daughter, and he could not. It was as if his mind had obliterated all painful recollections. He did not know what to expect. He did not recall Celeste being dizzy or swooning. But every woman was different. He could only suppose a pregnancy was different for each woman as well.

  “Somewhat, yes, and tired.” Her voice was subdued.

  It was as if the spirit had been stolen from her.

  This faded, weary, quiet version of the woman he had wed weighed down upon his chest as heavily as a stone. “Do you need to rest? A nap, perhaps?”

  “Yes.” She nodded, then closed her eyes. “Mayhap a nap would be best. I may have overexerted myself today in my delicate condition, without realizing it. Paying a call to Jo, facing my brother’s outrage.”

  Callie seemed…distant. Unlike herself. He did not like it. Earlier, before Westmorland had arrived, before she had swooned and the doctor had been summoned, everything between them had been so different. Now, he could not shake the feeling that something had been severed.

  “I am sorry about the scene with your brother. Had I realized you were enceinte, I would not have countenanced leaving you to an interrogation.” Sin frowned. “What can I do now? Shall I ring for your lady’s maid?”

  “Please.” Callie sighed. “Whitmore will know just what to do. She always does.”

  The ease with which she would dismiss him rankled. Part of him had been hoping she would ask for him to remain instead. But Sin stood, then stalked to the bell pull.

  For the first time in his life, he was jealous of a bloody lady’s maid.

  He could not help but to wonder how Whitmore would know what to do when he had not one fucking inkling.

  He was going to be a father again.

  Bloody hell.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Be warned, dear reader. I ruin everything I touch. Sooner or later, I will ruin you, if you let me.

  ~from Confessions of a Sinful Earl

  Sin was sotted.

  So sotted, the walls of the Black Souls club were swirling around him. Churning, dancing, taunting him. The ceiling was a whirling blur. His ears rang with the sounds of his fellow club members laughing and talking. Occasionally, the dulcet giggle of a woman, a smooth voice, joined the din.

  He blinked and struggled to focus his gaze upon Decker, who was dressed all in black this evening, from his shirt to his neck cloth, waistcoat,
and coat. He looked like he had been torn from the bowels of Hades.

  Ironic, that. Sin felt as if he had been torn from the bowels of Hades as well.

  He struggled to recall why he was here, within four walls he had not inhabited in months. And then it all came rushing back to him in one befuddled mess. His argument with Callie, facing an irate Westmorland, her sudden swoon and the fear it incited, the doctor’s unexpected announcement, Callie pushing him away… Always, always, back to her.

  And the babe growing within her womb.

  His child.

  God, he was elated and terrified and weak in the knees, even though he was sitting down. He was sitting down, was he not? Sin glanced down to confirm, lest he fall on his arse.

  “I am going to be a father,” he announced, slamming his glass on the table before him.

  Closing one eye, he peered into the empty vessel. He supposed he had drained it. Again.

  Blast.

  “So you have said, and so I have offered my felicitations,” Decker said. “No less than five times now. Would you care for another whisky? Or perhaps you would prefer another form of distraction?”

  Even as soused as he was, Sin bloody well knew what another form of distraction was at the Black Souls. He had not forgotten. A woman, for his pleasure. Warm, soft lips on his cock. Or something more. Bindings. Birches. Once upon a time, he had experienced all the depravities this club had to offer.

  Why the devil was he here now?

  Ah, yes. He had been looking for Decker in the wake of the realization his wife was going to have his child. He had been in need of support. Commiseration. Hell, anything. But Decker had not been at home. Instead, he had been at the club—one of the many businesses Decker owned.

  And so, Sin had come here. Because he had been lost in a vast sea. Because he had not known where else to go. Because discovering his wife was carrying his child had rocked him, shaken him. Dinner had been a bleak affair as she had still been feeling unwell. She had gone to sleep in her own bed for the first time since their marriage had begun.

  Alone.

  At her request.

  And no matter how much he told himself he should not mind, that his objective had been achieved, that he could now carry on his life as he once had, he could not deny the truth: he did not want to.

  “Sin?” Decker prodded, breaking up his whirling thoughts. “Another whisky? Some quim?”

  “Do I look like I need more whisky?” he asked his friend. “Or anything else, for that matter?”

  “You look like shite,” Decker told him, unrepentant. “But you have been a boring, married chap, shagging your wife silly every night. If you are here at the Black Souls, especially after receiving such happy news, I can only assume you have come to your senses and you are once more ready to throw yourself into my den of iniquity.”

  “No petticoats,” Sin grumbled, for the notion did nothing for him. Not even a twitch of his cock. Rather, it made his stomach churn and bile rise in his throat. “And do not speak of my wife, lest I be forced to plant you a facer.”

  There was only one woman for him now.

  What if she no longer wants you?

  He told the insidious voice to go to the devil and banished it.

  “I ought to call for the books and memorialize this occasion, the Earl of Sinclair turning down a tumble,” Decker said, grinning.

  “Go to the devil,” he returned. But, if he were honest, he would admit the nettling brought to life his old demons, mingling with the new.

  Even in his inebriated state, Sin knew his friend’s mockery was well-intentioned. It was a joke, a lark, not at all biting. Not meant to cut him to the marrow. And yet, it did. He had read every word of Confessions of a Sinful Earl. And each one of them returned to him now. All the ugly accusations, the hideous representation of himself. What if that was what his wife still believed of him? His reputation had been wicked before she had started her serials, and there was no denying it. Not without reason.

  An endless onslaught of questions rained down upon him.

  What if, now that she was possibly carrying his heir, she intended to put up a wall between them? What if tonight was just the beginning? What if their child was stillborn? What if Callie died in childbirth?

  The thought of a life without his fiery, beautiful, dark-haired wife with the honey-and-chocolate eyes was impossible. Unacceptable. He could not bear to lose her, now that he had her. Over the course of the last month, everything he had never believed possible of changing…had.

  And so had Sin, along with it.

  “Why are you here, old chap?” Decker asked, his tone softening, marked with concern.

  Decker rarely showed emotion. But he was the closest Sin had to a brother. Their friendship was old and deep. It spanned years. They were both pariahs in their own way. Always had been. Perhaps, even, always would be.

  Sin sighed and blurted the words that had been doing their damnedest to escape him all night. The whisky he had consumed finally made it easier. “I think I am in love with her.”

  Decker whistled. “Good God, I was right. You have read the serials, have you not?”

  He rubbed his jaw. “Of course I have.”

  “And you do know she is a wrongheaded, vindictive bitch? One who believed you capable of committing murder and made certain the rest of the world did as well?”

  Sin winced. “She was wrong about me, but I cannot entirely blame her. I hardly have the reputation of an angel. Be fair warned, however. If you ever dare to refer to her thus again, I will beat you to a fucking pulp, Decker.”

  “Not in your current state,” his friend pointed out.

  True.

  Sin was not entirely certain he could stand. But he could still throw a punch. Could he not? Yes, he decided, he damn well could.

  “Shall we test it?” he asked, raising a brow.

  “I would prefer not to have an altercation with my oldest, best friend.” Decker’s voice was stinging. “Especially not over a woman who did her utmost to destroy you.”

  “She is not what you think,” Sin found himself defending Callie as his whisky glass was miraculously refilled. “She loved her brother. Her devotion to him is…”

  Something he envied.

  As was her devotion to her dead former betrothed.

  Because Sin wanted it for himself, curse her.

  “Her devotion to him is enough to make her mad?” Decker guessed. “Because from where I stand, madness is the only excuse for what she did to you, Sin. She almost decimated you. How can you love such a treacherous—”

  “Enough,” Sin bit out, scowling at his friend, who was becoming more blurry by the moment. It was a distinct possibility there were two Deckers. At least, according to his eyesight. “I will not hear another ill word about her, and that is final.”

  “Fair enough.” Decker inclined his head, his gaze searching. “But answer me this, Sin. If she is such a bloody angel, why are you here tonight? Why are you not at home, reveling in the marriage bed, reciting poetry to each other, that sort of tripe?”

  Salient questions. Sin could not deny that, even if he hated them.

  “She does not want me there,” he admitted. “She was ill tonight, and she wanted her bloody lady’s maid to attend her.”

  Instead of him.

  That still hurt.

  Fucking hell, how was his glass empty once more?

  “Another whisky?” Decker asked him.

  Sin ought to say no.

  “Yes,” he said instead. He was not ready to return home.

  Home to his wife who had been…strangely withdrawn in the wake of the news she was carrying his child. Home to his wife who had been pale and quiet. Home to the realization that everything between them was about to change. Home to the fears that had not ceased to torment him ever since bloody Dr. Gilmore had made his announcement that Callie was carrying his child.

  Thoughts of his daughter, stillborn, returned.

  The realizatio
n he could lose another child, and that he could lose Callie too, slammed into him with the force of a fist.

  His glass was full once more. He took a long, steady draught. The burn down to his gut was not enough to make him forget. But it was enough to distract.

  For now.

  She was going to be a mother.

  How impossible it seemed.

  Alone in the sitting room of her apartments, Callie rested her hand upon her belly. The chamber was eastward facing, which meant that whenever it was in abundance, rich sunlight spilled into the room, bathing it in warmth. On ordinary days, she adored this cheerful room. She spent time in here reading. Once, Sin had surprised her and made love to her on the divan. Another occasion, upon the newly replaced carpets.

  But the joy she ordinarily found in this chamber was nowhere to be found today, and those memories of lovemaking haunted her like bitter ghosts.

  It was still so much to comprehend, Dr. Gilmore’s shocking proclamation the day before, that she was pregnant. Initially, she had been stunned. Utterly flabbergasted. For all that she and Sin had been making love at every opportunity, she had somehow foolishly believed that growing a child in her womb would take time. That it would not happen immediately.

  However, fate had proven her wrong.

  When Sin had come to her, she had been in shock. She had been dizzied, tired, and terrified. She still was tired. Still terrified. But now, she was also plagued by another painful truth: her husband had not returned home last night. He had left her as she had asked, and he had never come back.

  The hour was nearing two o’clock in the afternoon.

  Each tick of the arms on the ormolu mocked her. Like everything else in this newly decorated room, she had chosen the ornate bronze clock with a warrior as its focal point. The pictures on the walls, including one of Moreau’s, filled her with bitter sadness. In the last month, she had made changes upon this home. It had begun, gradually, to feel like a place where she belonged.

  As had Sin.

  Where was he? And why? Had he decided that, having secured the possibility of an heir, he no longer needed to share her bed? Had he gone to his club? To another lover? To the ethereally beautiful Duchess of Longleigh?

 

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