House of Sin

by Lacy Danes

  Sibila appeared in the doorway holding a candle, her hair down in waves of black to her waist. She was a striking woman. If only her heart was as beautiful.

  He abruptly stood.

  “Did you have a nice night, Adam?” She walked to the washstand and set the candle at its edge.

  “Stay away from Devlin.” He stared at her. He could not stand the idea of her manipulating him. Hurting him.

  She spun about her eyes narrowed. “You cannot tell me what to do, Adam. Serrrrvvvant. You and I are the same. Here for their pleasure. We find solace and peace where we can. You have made your choice.” She turned her head and stared at Emily in the dim light. “In doing so, I have made mine.”

  Adam shook his head. “No. You will leave Devlin be.” His throat tightened. “He…”

  “I know who he is, Adam. I know all about your mother. I know all about everyone here. I won’t do as you say. I never have. Following rules never got me anywhere. Go back to your sweet Emily.”

  He clenched his teeth and fisted the cloth in his hands so tightly his fingers cramped.

  “Leave, Adam. The sun is rising and today is a new day. Leave.”

  Adam turned from her. Think, think. You can’t allow her to be with Devlin. He blew out a breath. Damn Sibila. She knew what she was about, but he needed to know more. “What is your wish, Sibila?”

  “My wish is something you cannot grant me. Though if you leave Miss Grey alone, I will think about what you can do to make it up to me.”

  “And you will leave Devlin be.”

  “Only if you leave her to me. I had a plan, and you are destroying it.”

  Adam squeezed his eyes shut. Miss Grey or Devlin. He blew out a breath. He would not give either. “We shall see.” He walked from the room, his mind lost in the fog of all this house ruined.

  “Oh, indeed we shall.”

  Chapter Eight

  Emily awoke to the sound of rustling cloth and the faint light of a single flickering candle on the bed stand. “Time to rise, dear Emily,” Sibila said brightly. “Fires need a light and breakfast needs to be served. I shall do the sons’ rooms. Please do the guests’ rooms and the rooms on the main floor.”

  She stretched and glanced toward the wall. Adam was gone.

  “He left,” Sibila said in a casual tone.

  Emily turned back to Sibila. “Oh.” She pushed herself up onto her elbows.

  “Make haste. Lots to accomplish this day, dear Emily.” Sibila walked from the room.

  Emily sprang from her bed and yanked her livery off the chair where she had folded it the night before. Chores and a reference were why she was here.

  She glanced back at the bed. The sheets were rumpled as if two had slept in it. Adam. She wanted to know him. Never had she imagined doing what she did here in this house. But Adam… He filled her dreams. A man who would protect her. A man who made her feel as special as the moon. A grin turned her lips.

  She wished she had seen him as he woke this morning. A lion stretching as he awoke from his den. Bed-tussled hair and that sleepy expression. The faint candlelight flickering against the arch of his brows as his eyes danced with that light and mischief which seemed to always reside there.

  She walked to the washbasin. If he were part of her encounters here, she could survive. Last night proved that. After splashing water on her face, she turned back to the bed, grasped a piece of cloth and wiped the cool water from her skin. But what of Sibila? Her words were vague about this place and she thrust Emily into of all this without truly giving her something to anchor to. Well, beyond Adam.

  Grabbing the candle on the stand, she walked into the hall and headed down the stairs to gather coal for the fires. She stepped into the corridor and walked the wall of windows which led to the master’s sons’ rooms. She turned her head toward the view.

  Bright rays of sun peeked out from the trees as the night became day. In the red dawn light, Adam stood in the middle of the lawn below, facing the house. Christon circled him, a whip outstretched dragging behind him like a snake in his hand. Emily froze.

  Adam was to be punished for his actions with her last night. The hit had not been enough. The long switch Christon held in his hand would cut open Adam’s skin.

  Oh no. She couldn’t stop it. She shook her head and her heart sank. It had already happened. Red lash marks cut through his white shirt, and blood stained the edges of the fabric. It had happened.

  Her throat closed off and her hand shot to her mouth. She turned and ran for the stairs. He had taken a lashing for her again. On the landing, she glanced out onto the lawn. They were gone. Where did he go? She turned and continued down the rest of the stairs and into the kitchen. Sibila stood by the coal bin, a filled bucket in her hands. “Here, light the fires, then come back down for repast.”

  Emily stared at the bucket and out the dry laundry door to the carriage house. “I want to find Adam first.”

  “No. Chores first, Emily. Then fun. Now, make haste. The last thing the master wants is his guests waking to cold rooms.”

  Adam would be at repast. She could talk to him and comfort him then. She grabbed the bucket handle from Sibila. Sibila picked up an already filled bucket from beside the coal bin. “I will follow.”

  She turned back toward the hall. Sibila walked close behind her. When she finished, she would seek out Adam at repast and make sure he was well.

  Emily entered the kitchen for the early servants’ repast. Adam sat in the same seat he had the night before, where she had ridden him to oblivion. Her cheeks heated as the remembered sensations caressed her body. She walked down the table’s edge, passing the other servants already eating their meal. His red hair was freshly combed and hung in soft curls about his head. His brown livery and crisp cotton collar set off the fiery tone. He appeared fine, yet he had to be in pain. Her heart beat wildly, and she swallowed hard. He had held her all night. Wrapped in his strong arms, she had drifted to sleep with ease. He made this place tolerable for her, and she made it hell for him. She grasped the wood chair beside him and pulled it out.

  “Good day, Adam.”

  His dew-colored eyes glanced at her, filled with a contradiction from his usual playfulness. Something weighed on him heavily­—no doubt the whipping he had received. “Good day, Miss Grey.” His long, strong fingers lifted his cup to his lips.

  The red welts on the back of his hand had turned a deep blue and yellow. He had done that for her…and today he had taken more lashes. Worse whacks. She wanted to touch his back to soothe him. She stared at his shoulder. The sight of his white shirt cut open and tinged with blood came back to her.

  Her throat tightened. His plush lips pressed to the cup rim, and he swallowed a mouthful of coffee. The remembered sensation of his lips on her skin shivered through her. She needed to touch him, to let him know she cared about him and appreciated what he had been doing for her.

  “Adam.” She reached out and trailed her finger up his forearm to the dark line on his hand. She gently traced the welt, wishing she could take all the pain away with her simple touch. “I wanted to ask you something. Do you have a moment to talk? If not now, later?”

  Adam turned toward her. His emerald eyes churned. “To talk?” He shifted in his chair.

  The unique scent of the man he was enfolded her. She lowered her gaze from his intense presence as heat bloomed in her belly. Gracious, he smelled good in a way she’d never expected a man to smell.

  His eyebrows went up. “What is this about, Miss Grey? Speak now.”

  “It is about the house and the master. About you, me and Sibila. And—”

  He glanced to the left and back to his coffee cup as if the black brew held the answers. “What about the house and the master?” he asked, not looking at her.

  Her brow pinched and a chill raised the hairs on her arms. She nervously wet her lips. “I saw you out on the lawn this morning. I-I…I am sorry.” She glanced around the room to the other servants eating their first meal of th
e day. Not one of them cared to acknowledge them, still, she dropped her voice to a whisper. “You have done so much for me here to protect me from Portage Place. You and Sibila both. I—”

  Adam’s lips turned down. “Be wary.” He glanced to Sibila, then back at her. “Do not readily trust Sibila. She is not always forthright.”

  “Pardon?” That was a peevish thing to say to her when he did not know what Sibila had done for her.

  “Simply, she does what she wants and protects only herself.” Adam continued to stare into his cup.

  Had Adam and Sibila had a disagreement? “I don't believe that, Adam. She has been nothing but kind to me since I arrived.”

  “Indeed she has.” He half laughed and lightly shook his head. “Did she once ask you what you wished?”

  “No.” But why would she? This was all so odd. Why was he acting this way? Last night, Adam had been sweet and protective, and this morning… She didn't understand. She stared down at her bowl of mush. It had to be the whipping. He was still smarting from it. She would leave him be for a bit. “It is of no consequence, Adam. I-I will figure it out on my own.” She stood from her bowl and walked away from Adam, the table and the servants who couldn’t have cared one whit about her. She paused in the doorway and glanced back at Adam. He sat with his head tilted down, staring into his coffee.

  What had happened after she’d fallen asleep in his arms?

  She had never been whipped. Viewing the scene was ghastly even from afar. A black chill washed over her. She turned out the door and into the wet laundry room. She had no idea what the day would bring, but a bad sensation in the pit of her stomach gave warning that the day would not go well.

  She wanted to spin back around and go to Adam, to ask him to take off his shirt and let her tend to him. She squeezed her eyes tightly closed. Foolish. He would have said something to her if he had wanted her help.

  She opened her eyes and forced herself to work. In the large stone laundry sink, she picked up one of the dirty sheets from the pile and dunked it into hot, steaming water.

  Sibila walked by the door in the kitchen. What if Adam was correct about Sibila? She shook her head at the thought. She didn’t like that she struggled with whom to trust in her new situation. Sibila was nice, a wanton for sure, but her heart was engaged. Emily’s fingers worked in the warm water and she grabbed a bar of soap from the sink’s ledge. She rubbed the rose-scented soap against the fabric, then glanced up through the small rectangular window onto the back lawn.

  The significant Portage Place lawn. No good happened there. The men had gathered there and watched her against the glass. Adam had been whipped there. That scrap of soil was one of the places that made this house shocking, if such a thing as a lawn could be so.

  Across the grass, Dr. Benson strode from the stables and toward the side door that opened to the parlor. His lean figure was draped in a dark puce plaid jacket with brown breeches and brown boots. He carried a long strap in his left hand and his doctor’s bag in his right. His words, I will do all in my power to enlighten and protect you, rolled through her mind.

  He had seemed kind, in a peculiar way. However, no matter how she tried, she still saw a handsome apparition before her. Someone of this world, but a fey. His long legs and polished brown boots slashed through the grass with purpose. She would talk to him.

  She glanced behind her into the kitchen. None of the other servants had left the dining hall. She could go after him, at least to express her desire to talk to him more. Indeed, she would. She stepped out into the dry laundry and onto the same red dirt path she had followed Adam down toward the barn. The day was anything but as beautiful as yesterday had been. Dark clouds hung low and heavy with rain, one more certainty that the day could and would spin about. Her boots cut across the dry red dirt, and she turned the corner onto the crisp green lawn. The doctor rounded the edge of the carriage house. Emily followed, keeping her body close to the wood-and-stone structure. The sky darkened and Dr. Benson stood facing her. She flinched and stopped, the tips of their boots touching beneath the long, soft skirt of her livery.

  “Miss Grey. May I be of some assistance?” His mint-scented breath warmed her nose, he stood so close.

  Her cheeks heated. “I—um. Sir. You had said you would answer questions if I had any.”

  His lips curled into a smile. “So I did. What may I oblige you with, Miss Grey?” He twisted and dropped his satchel and strap to the ground.

  “I have questions, though not about how a man and woman get along. I suppose some might say I am gossip-hunting, which I am sure is not what you meant when you said you would guide me.” No. No, it was definitely not what he had meant. Silly Emily. Don’t waste this good man’s time.

  She shook her head. “I am sorry, sir. F-forgive me.” She turned and stepped toward the house.

  The doctor’s fingers wrapped tightly about her forearm. “It may not be what I meant, Miss Grey, but I shall do my best to help you settle in here. Please ask anything you wish.”

  “Anything I wish… All right.” She leaned against the side of the barn. “I had no choice when I took this post.”

  “Most who come here don’t. For all, there is a hardship in taking this post. Yet Lord Gregor and Mr. Waterton will provide you with excellent references so long as you follow the rules. No matter how short a time you stay. Most don’t realize this. Many stay too long. Some stay until the hurt eats them alive inside and they lose themselves. Do not allow that fate to befall you, Miss Grey. Leave before you twist yourself to fit in here.”

  Emily’s brows pulled tight. “You are not the first to warn me I don’t belong here, sir. Thank you for your words. I will heed them.” A small smile tipped her lips.

  His white-gloved fingers wrapped her hand. “Your question, Miss Grey?”

  She nodded. “Can you tell me about Adam and Sibila? Their behavior confuses me. Both appear to be willing to assist me. Yet I feel as if I am stuck in some jest between them, at times.”

  He glanced over her shoulder. A gust of wind blew around the corner, and pieces of her long hair pulled loose of her pins and up between them. “The rain will come soon.” The doctor’s blue eyes slowly darkened as if part of the storm. “Men are often seen in different ways to those they care about. My guess is Adam is drawn to you. You are untainted. Pure. But more. You enchant someone as jaded as me.” His lips came down softly on hers.

  Emily’s eyes flew wide, and her hands came up to push him away. This was not what she’d expected.

  “Pardon me. That was uncalled for.” The doctor stepped back and then was harshly jerked away from her body. Emily blinked and blinked again. Dear God! Adam spun the doctor away from her. Her heart lodged in the throat. Oh no!

  “What’s this about?” The doctor’s words barely left his mouth before Adam’s hand whipped through the air and punched him in the chin. The doctor staggered back, then stepped forward and shifted his head to the side as if stretching his chin. He raised his fists. “Are you certain this is what you wish, Adam? I have a pugilism pin from university. If you wish to fight me, I am more than able.”

  Adam shoved against the doctor’s chest. Hard. His lips turned down and the dark sky reflected the anger in his green eyes.

  The doctor barely moved. “You obviously wish to fight.”

  Emily pressed herself up against the barn. Oh, this would never do. She stepped between them. “Adam. Please don’t.”

  Adam stared at the doctor as if he didn’t see her in front of him. He refused to acknowledge her.

  “Adam. This was not what you think!”

  “Tell me, Doctor, what did you find? Was checking her virtue not enough? I know only the finest is good enough to be plucked by these scoundrels. Did you decide you needed to sample the serving offered up this day?”

  The doctor’s fist flew through the air, and Emily turned away from them, her heart pounding and a sickening sinking in her stomach. No, no, no. This was not what she had wanted. Not at al
l. She wanted Adam. And this house…this house was bewitched by the devil.

  She ran, not looking back. The clouds cracked and opened in a downpour worthy of Cheshire, not Cornwall. Her feet traveled down the soiled path from the barn, the red mud jumping up to bite at her soul. Tears ran down her face and her heart pinched. Adam couldn’t look at her, yet he fought for her?

  No. No reference was worth this confusion. She couldn’t stay. She couldn’t. She would leave and find something else. These theatrics were simply too hard to bear.

  The image of Adam’s bright red face as his fist cut through the air flashed to her conscience. No. She hated that expression. Disappointment, anger, and the worst…mistrust.

  Her heart squeezed tight. She wanted nothing more than to curl up in a ball and shake. She stared about her at the piles of cloth lain about the small space. The laundry needed doing, and that was what she was here for. Not for Adam. Not for Sibila. And certainly not for any of this wretched pain. She would find Sibila and inform her she was leaving. It was the only sensible choice. What she would do when she left, she didn’t know, but Portage Place was simply too much for her to bear.

  Chapter Nine

  Adam stood staring at the doctor. The scoundrel. The master’s pet had let his pecker at a woman. His woman. How dare he? The rain pelted his coat in dark drops, seeping through to the torn skin on his back.

  Miss Grey was…well, she was special and divine. He fisted his hands at chest level. The doctor simply stood. His penetrating blue eyes and pale complexion were now marred with a red patch on his chin. How anyone could find him attractive was beyond him, but everyone did. Especially men.

  “Well, Adam. I never saw this coming.”

  “Indeed, I certainly imagine not, seeing as backgammon is your preference.”