The Singular Mr. Sinclair

by Mia Marlowe

  With every ounce of will he possessed, he forced himself to roll off her and stand. His breath came in short pants.

  “You’re about to become my wife,” he said, his voice far less steady than he’d hoped.

  “Exactly.” She sat up, her brow furrowed in frustration. “You can’t imagine I’d allow such liberties otherwise.”

  “Of course not. And that’s also why I won’t take you now. We’re so close to the border, so close to being man and wife, I won’t dishonor you by treating you like some milkmaid who’s ready for a roll in the hay.”

  She cast him a sly smile and ran the tip of her pink tongue along her bottom lip. “But what if I want a roll in the hay?”

  Is she trying to kill me? He started counting backward from one hundred in his mind. In Latin. But he still crowded his trousers so badly, he feared he might disgrace himself.

  He held out a hand, praying she’d take it so he could pull her to her feet. “Caroline, once we’re married, I will roll you whenever and wherever you’ll let me, but please God, help me get you safe to Scotland first.”

  Chapter 27

  Even though Mrs. Birdwhistle was a married lady at one time, she was free with her advice on how to arrange one’s life without a man. Why, oh why, did she never compose a treatise on how to live with one?

  —from Lady Caroline’s diary

  Riding was torture. Caroline ached all the way to the border. She’d never wanted so badly, even though she wasn’t quite sure where the wanting would lead. She was confident Lawrence knew how to still that ache, and that he’d take care of the confusing sensations still coursing through her body.

  Drat the man for his overblown devotion to what was right!

  But then, as her body settled a bit, she began to rethink things. She realized she should be grateful for Lawrence’s sense of honor. It meant his vow of faithfulness would be worth something.

  By the time she spoke the words with him at the first smith’s forge they came to once they crossed the border, she thanked God for Lawrence Sinclair. This good man would always care for her, always protect her, always put her needs first. His calm, steady soul was the sea on which she would launch her life.

  There was no one like him.

  And if I never see Zanzibar, I’ll still die a happy woman simply because I loved this man.

  Once the quick ceremony was over, Lawrence paid the smith for officiating and asked him if there was an inn nearby.

  “The closest lies another ten miles to the north, in the next glen but one,” the smith said with a grin. Then he took in Caroline’s elegant, albeit grass-stained riding habit. “I canna vouch for its cleanliness, though.”

  Lawrence glanced upward to measure the sun’s progress across the sky. “Can’t be much past noon. We can be back at Ware in time for supper.”

  Caroline bit back her disappointment, but she agreed it was the best plan. Her mother would be frantic if she didn’t return by nightfall. Bredon would likely organize a search party. He’d scour the hills with a pack of hunting dogs and hire every available villager to beat the bushes.

  They rode southward at a more leisurely pace. Once they passed the stone boundary fence that marked the northernmost edge of Ware, Lawrence began pointing out some of the landmarks to her. He had bought a meat pie from the smith’s wife so they’d have something to eat on the way. Both of them had skipped breakfast, so they stopped by a rollicking stream, hobbled their horses, and had a rustic picnic.

  “Never let it be said I neglect my wife’s appetite,” he said as he used his boot knife to slice the pie.

  “What kind of meat is it?” Caroline asked, eyeing the pie with suspicion.

  Lawrence shrugged. “It came from the place that gave the world haggis, so perhaps it’s best if we don’t inquire too deeply into the ingredients.”

  But whatever had gone into its making, the pie was delicious. Its crust was light and layered, the filling thick and well-spiced.

  “This might just be hunger talking,” Caroline said as she licked her fingers, “but that may be the best mysterious meat pie I ever ate.”

  Lawrence caught one of her hands and brought it to his mouth. Then he sucked a dab of filling off her pinky. His gaze intense, he watched her as he did it. That low ache inside her began again.

  “There are other kinds of hunger,” he said.

  “Never let it be said I neglect my husband’s appetite,” she said lightly. Then suddenly serious, she leaned toward him and pressed her mouth to his neck, tasting his skin, salty and warm. Beneath her lips, his pulse quickened. “But I don’t know what to do. Please, Lawrence. Show me how to love you.”

  “Just be your sweet self.” He gathered her in his arms and she melted into them. His hands slid over her, taking his time. He trailed his broad fingers over the charged surface of her bare wrists. Shivers raced through her.

  Then he turned his attention to her bodice, helping her out of her jacket and shirt until she was only in her chemise and stays from the waist up. She mirrored his movements, revealing more of the mysteries of this man as she discarded each article of clothing. She traced circles across his shoulders and then down his chest. She loved the feel of him, hard and hot under her fingertips.

  He found her mouth and poured himself into the kiss while his fingers worked the laces on her stays. After she wiggled out of her long, full skirt, he spread it on the ground. The yards of fabric made an admirable blanket. They rolled together on it as he kissed her again, more deeply this time. She helped him pull up her thin chemise, grudgingly breaking off the kiss only for the brief time it took to yank the fabric over her head. He made short work of her pantalettes.

  She was suddenly naked as Eve. Yet she felt no shame.

  His hot gaze traveled the length of her, from the crown of her head to her curled toes. It was right that he should. She was his, after all. “I’m glad you made us wait.”

  “I’m not sure how much longer I can,” he admitted, love shining in his dark eyes. “But I want this to be good for you.”

  “I’m with my husband. How could it not be?”

  He caressed her bare breasts, his hands warm and strong. Caroline felt as if she’d swallowed a sunburst. Blood sang warmly through her veins. That low ache became a throbbing drumbeat.

  She tugged at his trousers and slid them down his hard thighs.

  Caroline knew what men looked like. She and Freddie and Horatia had slipped away from old Anna Creassy’s watchful eye and sneaked into an exhibit of Greek statuary once. But nothing she’d seen preserved in marble prepared her for the glory of the real thing.

  Lawrence was ready for her, but when she touched him, he shuddered and pulled her hand away.

  “Not yet.” The huskiness of his voice told her he was struggling for control.

  Then he rolled toward her, and she found she’d moved off the blanket of her skirt. Her bare back was cushioned by grass. It was cool and soft against her skin, the long blades tickling her. She raised her arms over her head in surrender. Lawrence began exploring her with his mouth, down the side of her neck, grazing her collarbone, and finally suckling her.

  She arched into his mouth. She was his, totally and completely. Whatever he wanted, she’d give.

  But when he raised his head to meet her eyes, Caroline saw that her new husband did not intend to take. He wanted to give.

  And he surely did.

  Pleasure washed over her as he touched and teased her in the most surprising of places. He nuzzled her navel. He tongued the soft creases of her knees and elbows. His hands explored the dip of her back. Lawrence led her through an incoming tide of exquisite torment.

  “What do you want me to do?” she asked, gasping when his teeth lightly grazed her.

  “I’ll show you more later,” he said hoarsely. “This time is for you.”

  He mov
ed down her body.

  Caroline moaned his name. She writhed under him. She clutched at his shoulders. She begged him to stop.

  She feared he might.

  When he finally relented and started to enter her, she cried out in relief.

  He bit his lip, straining to hold back, but she urged him forward with incoherent little sounds. She couldn’t have formed a real word just then if her hope of Heaven depended on it. Then he pushed in with one long thrust. Pain ripped through her.

  She didn’t care.

  Lawrence was hot and hard and strong. The wonder of holding him inside her was such bliss, it far outweighed the quick pain. A tear slid down her cheek.

  He saw it and held himself motionless. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m better than all right. I’m yours. It’s a happy tear.”

  He began to move, and she answered him. Heart on heart, skin on skin, they were becoming one being. Slowly at first, then with increasing urgency, they strained against each other, surged into each other. Pleasure and pain blurred, but all that mattered was being joined to this man, this frustratingly honorable, this quietly unknowable, this singular man who was now her husband.

  Caroline had the strange sensation of standing with her toes hanging off the very edge of a precipice. Then suddenly she plunged over it. All sense of herself burned away in throbbing joy.

  She and Lawrence had created something new between them. Whatever happened in the future, wherever she went, she would always carry a piece of Lawrence’s soul with her, and he would carry hers. She’d never be alone again.

  What a strange thought. She wondered if she’d gone a bit mad.

  Then the madness seemed to subside. Lawrence rolled onto his back, pulled the skirt around her to cover her, and snugged her against his side.

  “At the risk of starting this marriage off on the wrong foot, I have to tell you, husband, you were right.”

  “I was?”

  “Yes. By waiting until after our vows, what we just did wasn’t the least bit wicked,” she said. Freddie and Horatia would never guess at some of what passed between a man and a woman in a million years. Not that Caroline had any intention of enlightening them. This was just for her and Lawrence. “Though I must admit, parts of it were quite surprising.”

  “I hope that means you approve,” he said with a chuckle.

  “Oh, I do. And it’s not just me. God does, too. All this falls under the creation story, you know, and the Bible tells us He called his creation good.”

  “I had no idea you were such a theologian,” Lawrence said. “Hmm. It’s been a while since I was in church, but I seem to recall that God said it was very good.”

  She tugged at his chest hair. “Is that your way of fishing for a compliment?”

  “No.” He grinned wickedly at her. “Just a repeat performance.”

  Chapter 28

  The Spanish claim that God told man to take what he wanted and then pay for it. As long as Caroline is by my side, I have everything a man could wish. I’ve yet to see a bill, but when it comes, I’ll pay happily, considering it a bargain well made.

  —Lawrence Sinclair, who was feeling more in charity with the world than ever in his entire life.

  The sun had already dropped beyond the western peaks and the sky was awash in pearl gray by the time Lawrence and Caroline rode back into Ware. He’d hoped to slip in unnoticed, but evidently, they’d been missed.

  Billy Two Toes was in the stables, where he’d taken up residence since arriving at Ware. After living rough on the streets of London, he hadn’t felt right in one of the servant chambers just under the rafters in the manor house. The haymow, however, suited him just fine, and he’d made himself useful, feeding, watering, and currying the estate’s small herd. Now he was quick to come take the reins of Lawrence and Caroline’s horses.

  But before they could dismount, Dudley came sprinting out to the stables. He’d evidently been watching for their return.

  “Oh, thank heaven you’re back, sir. Both of you. Safe and sound.” The valet had run so hard, he had to suck in a fresh lungful every third word or so. “Lady Chatham is beside herself, and Lord Bredon, he’s…well, he’s…”

  “Upset?” Lawrence supplied.

  “Oh, he’d have to climb down several rungs on the ladder to be only upset.” Dudley’s keen gaze raked them both.

  Lawrence realized they looked more than a bit travel worn. Caroline and he were downright disheveled. He reached over and plucked a foxtail from behind Caroline’s ear.

  “My brother will change his tune once he hears our news,” his lovely new wife said, lifting her chin. They’d been well and truly caught, but she was determined to brazen it out. “Shall we go tell them, Mr. Sinclair?”

  He doffed his hat. “With pleasure, Mrs. Sinclair.”

  Dudley gasped in surprise while Lawrence gave Caroline his arm. “Then that means Alice and me’ll be in the same household again, won’t it?”

  “As long as your Alice is a good sailor.” Lawrence realized suddenly that marriage meant he’d added yet another servant to his small household. He still didn’t think Dudley was of much use, but he was stuck with him, especially now that Alice would be coming with Caroline. Of course his wife would need a maid to attend her. He ought to have considered that. He just hadn’t considered paying Alice’s fare to India, as well as her wages, lodging, and board. The costs of acquiring a wife were probably much greater than he’d imagined. A major’s salary was looking smaller all the time.

  No matter. He wouldn’t undo this day for worlds.

  He and Caroline promenaded across the courtyard as if they were about to be presented to the king.

  The whole party was assembled in the parlor, and when Lawrence and Caroline came through the door, pandemonium erupted. Everyone began talking at once. His mother and Lady Chatham praised heaven for their safe return, clasping hands with a gentleman in a vicar’s collar to whom Lawrence had never been introduced. Caroline’s brothers loudly demanded to know where they’d been. Rowley nearly drowned them out in his effort to denounce Lawrence as the worst sort of rake. Frederica and Horatia almost knocked Caroline to the ground in their rush to hug her.

  Only Bredon stood in stony silence by the fireplace. He skewered Lawrence with a murderous look. When the general frenzy died down, he said in a low, but no less threatening tone, “I counted you a friend, Sinclair. How could you bring dishonor to my sister?”

  “I would never do such a thing. That’s why I married her.”

  The clamor began afresh. Lawrence raised both hands to quiet them back down.

  “We were wed in Scotland this morning. It’s done and there’s an end to it. I intend to take a major’s commission, and my wife and I will sail for India in a few weeks.”

  “I rather think you won’t,” Bredon said, his former scowl now turning into an enigmatic smile.

  Lawrence bristled. “You cannot stop us.”

  Then the man with the vicar’s collar cleared his throat loudly. “I believe I just might.”

  Ben put a hand on the man’s shoulder. “This is Philip Exeter, an old classmate of mine from Oxford. He’s recently taken the living at the parish church in the village here. When he was going through the old vicar’s desk, he happened upon something that might interest you.”

  “Yes, well, here it is.” Reverend Exeter held out a much-folded piece of foolscap, yellowed with age. A broken piece of wax still clung to it. The seal was embossed with enough of the crest of Ware to show its origin. Someone with access to the official seal of the earldom had written the old letter.

  “What is it?” Lawrence asked.

  “A letter from your father’s mother. It is addressed, if you can credit it, to the Almighty Himself,” Reverend Exeter said. “Evidently, it was given to my predecessor for safekeeping. I didn’t break the seal.
That was done long ago. But I must admit, I did read it.”

  “That’s all right, Philip,” Ben said to his friend. “I doubt the good Lord minds.”

  Lawrence took the letter and turned it over in his hands. “I never knew my grandmother.”

  “Perhaps not, but she was thinking, if not of you in particular, at least of the welfare of her progeny in general. Lady Ware wrote this shortly before she died. Her last confession, I’d say it was.”

  “What did she have to confess?”

  “Quite a bit, actually,” the vicar said. “I understand your father and your uncle were twins.”

  “Yes.” Lawrence stared down at the letter but couldn’t seem to make his eyes focus on the small, spidery script. “They didn’t favor each other much, but they did share a birthday.”

  “And therein lies the reason for this letter. Apparently, your grandmother convinced the midwife to collude with her to conceal the truth about which son was born first. She describes Henry, your father, as a seemly child, possessed of a full head of dark hair and a lusty cry. Harcourt, your uncle, was the runt of the litter—her words, not mine—and had the ruddy coloring of her side of the family. The smaller babe seemed so frail, so weak, she wanted to assure his place in the world should he reach adulthood, which she doubted. So your lady grandmother made her midwife swear that Harcourt was the heir, even though Henry was actually her firstborn.”

  Lawrence swallowed hard. “So my father should have been the earl.”

  “Not should have been,” Bredon said. “Was. Only no one knew it.”

  “Why didn’t your predecessor come forward with this letter sooner?” Caroline asked Reverend Exeter.

  The vicar’s gaze swept upward. “God knows. Perhaps your grandmother swore him to secrecy as well.”

  “Or he tried to bring the matter to light and your uncle paid him to conceal it,” Ben said.

  Lawrence thought it likely. It explained so much. No wonder his uncle had hated him since he was a boy.

  “I’m loath to believe a man of the cloth could be bought on such a matter, but avarice afflicts all flesh. It’s possible,” the vicar said. “But the main thing is, the truth has come to light now. Henry Sinclair was rightwise born the Earl of Ware.”