The Art of Sinning

by Sabrina Jeffries

  Or rather, she hoped she didn’t. The last time she’d fancied herself in love with a man who kept secrets, it had ended so awfully that she no longer trusted herself when it came to men.

  Still, she hadn’t given up hope that one day a gentleman would sweep away all her fears and she would know he was the one she could marry. Recently she’d even begun to hope it might be Jeremy. But he seemed bent on dashing that hope.

  Fighting to hide her tumultuous emotions, she asked, “What about the Widow Miller? Was she in love with you?”

  He shook his head. “She was still mourning her late husband. But we shared common interests and were both young and lonely and randy as hell. So it was probably inevitable that we ended up in bed together.”

  Inevitable? Yvette snorted. If the woman had possessed a pair of eyes and Jeremy had been even a tenth as handsome as he was now, it had definitely been inevitable. Especially for a widow, who needn’t worry about losing her innocence. Widows were notoriously wanton, she’d heard.

  And having spent time in Jeremy’s arms, Yvette began to understand why.

  He stared down at his hands. “When I learned Hannah was bearing my child, I wasn’t exactly overjoyed. I had big plans—to go away to Philadelphia, about three hours from Montague, and study painting at the Pennsylvania Academy of the Fine Arts. Then I’d planned to travel and view the world’s masterpieces.”

  A sad smile twisted his lips. “Hannah knew of my dreams and didn’t want me to give them up for her. When I proposed marriage, as I knew I must, she said she would only marry me if I continued with my plans. She suggested that we go to Philadelphia together as husband and wife.”

  His voice hardened. “We were so naïve. We thought we would merely march into my father’s study, announce we were getting married, and he would happily send us off to Philadelphia with his blessing. And my usual allowance.”

  The bleak look in his eyes made her want to cry. “It didn’t happen that way.”

  “Hardly.” He straightened on the stool. “My father wasn’t about to permit his only son to run off and become an artist. He’d always meant for me to manage the family mills, as he’d done from the day he’d married my mother.”

  Jeremy clenched his hands into fists on his knees. “The branch of the Keanes that moved to America hadn’t been wealthy. He’d always craved what his rich relations had, so he was eager to marry Mother and get his hands on her mills, since she was her father’s only child and heir. After Father and Mother inherited the company, he was determined I would be his successor.”

  “But you didn’t want that.”

  “I never wanted that. I respected the work it took for him to keep them running, but I didn’t see why I had to do it, too. By the time I’d turned eighteen, he already had competent managers. He didn’t need me. Or so I thought.”

  A muscle worked in his jaw. “But when I told him I wanted to marry Hannah and go study painting in Philadelphia, he made it quite clear that he wouldn’t countenance that. He said he’d cut me off if I pursued art as a profession; everything would go to Amanda.”

  “That’s awful!” She was irate on his behalf. “In England a father can’t cut off his son like that, you know. Or not easily, anyway.”

  “Well, then, I suppose there are some advantages to the English system of inheritance.” Anger flared in his eyes. “I wanted to tell him to give my inheritance to someone who gave a damn, but I couldn’t. I’d soon have a wife and baby to support. So Father had me where he wanted. He said he’d give his blessing to the match if I agreed to stay at Montague and learn how to run the mills.”

  His voice grew choked. “Hannah told me I should refuse his conditions. We would go to Philadelphia without his money. She would give lessons and I’d find a position somewhere until we could save enough for me to attend the academy.”

  He paused, as if fighting for composure, and Yvette choked down tears of sympathy. She could see how much it cost him to tell her this. Should she even have asked him to speak of it?

  Yes, she’d been right in that. Any man who kept such torment bottled up inevitably found himself dragged down by it. She’d seen it happen to both Edwin and Samuel after Mama’s death. Neither of her brothers had ever fully faced their grief, as she had. They’d simply twisted it into something else. For Edwin, it had been cynicism and melancholy. For Samuel, it had been recklessness.

  But Jeremy’s tragedy had run far deeper than theirs. To lose a wife and child in one fell swoop! How had he borne it?

  He drew in a long breath as if to steady himself. “But I feared that Hannah and I striking off together on our own was beyond my abilities. I had no experience at anything but being a rich man’s son. How was I to find a position that paid well enough to take care of a family?”

  A fierce expression crossed his face. “I refused to have my pregnant wife attempting to support me while I tried futilely to find a post. No child of mine would grow up eating gruel because I was too proud and stubborn to be the man my father wanted. So I gave in to Father’s demands.”

  “You had no choice,” she said softly. “No matter what your late wife said, following your dreams would have meant enormous sacrifices for her and your child. She must have been a very fine woman to consider living a harder life just so you could one day pursue schooling in art.”

  “She was a fine woman indeed.” He rose, his face a mask of regret. “Yet despite knowing that, I couldn’t . . . I never did . . . love her. I liked her, mind you. I enjoyed her company. I even convinced myself that I could be happy married to her and running the mills, if that was to be my whole life. But deep down, I knew that would never satisfy me. I already resented giving up my dreams, settling into a life that didn’t suit me.”

  He walked up to the bed to stare at her. “Don’t you see? A lovely woman of character—one carrying my son, for God’s sake—still couldn’t engage my heart, couldn’t change my innate selfishness. We lived together as husband and wife for six months, and that never changed.” His voice grew choked. “That’s when I knew.”

  “Knew what?” she asked, her own heart in her throat.

  “I’m not the kind of man who falls in love. Mother always said I would learn to love Hannah eventually, as she had learned to love Father, but I knew that would never happen for me. And when Hannah went into labor, and I wasn’t—”

  He scrubbed a hand over his face. “Let’s just say that I had already become the same sort of selfish being my father always was. Like him, I was clearly not the sort to feel deeply. And what woman wants a man with no heart for a husband?”

  “But you have a heart!” Yvette jumped up. “I’ve seen it countless times—your kindness to Damber, your kindness to me in what you saw as a foolish quest. Those do not speak of a heartless man. Or a selfish one who can’t love.”

  “That’s not love. That’s basic human decency. But from everything I’ve been told, a woman wants more than that. She wants a man who will happily sacrifice for her, give up his future and hopes and dreams if that’s what it takes to secure her. I was incapable of that sort of selflessness then, and I doubt I’m capable of it now.”

  “You’re basing your opinion of who you are on what you did and felt when you were eighteen. Good Lord, you were barely grown. You were thrust into a marriage before you fully knew what you wanted out of life. How you reacted to the weight of such responsibility then says nothing about the man you’ve become.”

  “You don’t understand—”

  “I do! I, too, had an early experience with someone who made me wary of marriage. But at least you had the good sense to recognize the true nature of your feelings for your late wife. I was more foolish—I let myself be blinded by infatuation and flattery into fancying myself in love. Looking back on it, I know I had no idea what being in love truly meant.”

  His gaze narrowed on her. “You’re talking about Lieutenant R
uston.”

  She sighed. Of course he would recognize that. “It’s neither here nor there who it was. My point is—”

  “Oh no, you’re not going to escape that easily.” He bore down on her. “You said you wouldn’t tell me your secrets unless I told you mine. Well, I have. Now it’s your turn.”

  “But we’re not finished with your story! I still don’t know how you ended up at art school after your wife’s death or why you’re at odds with your mother.”

  “There was no reason to stay after my wife and child died,” he said blandly, “and definitely no reason to run Father’s mills. He realized that and agreed to let me leave, so I did. And I’m not at odds with my mother.”

  “Liar.”

  A shutter came down over his features. “Don’t read more into it than there is.”

  “But Jeremy—”

  “Enough.” He urged Yvette to sit on the bed, then sat beside her. “Tell me about Lieutenant Ruston.”

  A pox upon it. “You’ll think me a peagoose.”

  He smiled faintly. “I doubt that.”

  “You were not the one who fell for the blandishments of a practiced scoundrel. I assume that your late wife didn’t set out to seduce you to gain your hand in marriage?”

  “No, she did not. If anything, I seduced her. Why do you think I proposed marriage? I knew I was at fault. And we’re not talking about me, anyway.”

  She sighed. He wasn’t going to let it go, was he? She should never have brought it up. This was what came of sharing confidences—all of one’s flaws were unveiled. “It was long ago. I’ve practically forgotten it.”

  “Yes, I can see that,” he said with some sarcasm. “Here, I’ll make it easier for you. I know that the man proposed marriage when you were twenty, and I know that he was found afterward to be a fortune hunter. I also know he left Stoke Towers with his tail between his legs. I assume that your father or Blakeborough discovered his mercenary aims and had him packed off.”

  “My, my, your spy Damber is quite the chatterbox, isn’t he?”

  “Yvette—”

  “Oh, all right.” She steadied her shoulders. “It wasn’t Papa or Edwin who sent the lieutenant away. It was Samuel. He was the one who saved me.” She lifted her gaze to Jeremy. “Why do you think I want so desperately to find his child? Because it’s the least I owe him for thwarting Lieutenant Ruston’s attempt to blackmail me.”

  Eighteen

  A roaring filled Jeremy’s ears. “Blackmail! That ass blackmailed you? How? Why?” He frowned. “Never mind that—I know why. To force you into marriage.”

  She bobbed her head. “You think you were naïve at eighteen? I was a veritable idiot at twenty, I assure you.”

  “I don’t believe that.” He seized her hands. “Some men are bastards who take advantage of everyone they meet, even clever young women.”

  And the thought of some fellow trying to force her into marriage for his own mercenary purposes made Jeremy want to hit something. Or someone, preferably the lieutenant.

  He fed that rage to keep from dwelling on the fact that he’d revealed so much of his past to her. Not all of it, though. Never all of it. If she knew how truly selfish he’d been, she would never speak to him again. And as wise as that might be, he couldn’t bear it.

  So he focused on her association with Ruston instead. “But how did the man blackmail you, exactly?”

  Her cheeks blushed a bright crimson. “This is so embarrassing.”

  Fear of what she might say seized him by the throat. “He didn’t hurt you, did he? Because if that ass harmed anything but your pride, I swear I will hunt him down and lop off his ‘horn’ myself.” When she looked startled by his vehemence, he added hastily, “I mean, just so I could make sure he never used it against any other innocent female.”

  She looked skeptical of that reasoning, but murmured, “Well, he didn’t even use it against me, so you’ve no need to worry on that score.” Even as relief coursed through Jeremy, she added, “But he taught me to doubt myself. My instincts.” She squeezed Jeremy’s hands. “For that, I can never forgive him.”

  “Understandably.” He gazed at her lovely face and wondered how any man could want her just for her money. “So, what exactly did he do? How did he even end up here at Stoke Towers?”

  She blinked, then said tartly, “What? Your spy couldn’t unearth that?”

  He ignored her sarcasm. “Apparently not. All he said was that the man visited here for a few weeks one holiday.”

  Pulling her hands free, she nodded. “He came here with Samuel, who was his shipmate. They were given leave for Christmastide, and the lieutenant was an orphan with no family, so my brother invited him home.”

  Jeremy choked down the impulse to point out that the brother she credited with saving her had also brought the snake into Eden in the first place. “Did your father agree to the invitation?”

  “Papa didn’t know or care. He was off in London as usual, doing whatever he always did there. After Mother died, we almost never saw him. Edwin had already reached his majority years before, so Papa left him in charge since Edwin, who never really liked society, was content to run things.”

  “So Blakeborough was the man of the house while Ruston was here paying court to you.” And still just as oblivious to how deeply his sister felt.

  “Yes.” She rose to walk over to the fire. “I’d met Lieutenant Ruston a few times before, when Samuel was on leave. Samuel had mentioned him in letters often, and the lieutenant would send me words for my dictionary through my brother. I had come to consider him a friend.”

  Crossing his arms over his chest, Jeremy saw the stiffness of her back, heard the unsteadiness of her voice. Her sense of betrayal was evident in every line of her body. “But he was not.”

  “He seemed to be, at first.” She turned halfway toward Jeremy, putting her in profile. “He was gentlemanly and courteous and said lovely things that made my heart go pitter-patter.” A chill froze her voice. “I was so stupid.”

  He wanted to jump up and go hold her. Out of sheer self-preservation, he stayed seated. “It isn’t stupid to take someone at their word. Scoundrels are convincing liars.”

  He waited for her to make one of her usual observations about how he ought to know, being a scoundrel himself. When she didn’t, it tightened his chest the same way her words had earlier.

  But you have a heart!

  God, he hoped she was wrong. Hearts got trampled on. He’d been through enough pain without the crushing agony of a broken heart. Yet he didn’t want her thinking him a scoundrel, either. As usual, he wanted to have his cake and eat it, too.

  Exactly like Samuel and the lieutenant. He winced. “Besides, your brother vouched for him. And you probably trusted your brother.”

  “At that point, I was still naïve enough that I did. Though truthfully, I don’t think he realized Lieutenant Ruston’s real motives.”

  Jeremy kept his doubts about that to himself.

  “Nor can I blame my brother for my weakness for handsome men.” She shot Jeremy a rueful glance. “In his navy uniform, Lieutenant Ruston fairly blinded a silly young girl like me.”

  “I can’t imagine that you were any more a silly girl then than you are now.”

  A furrow appeared between her eyebrows. “Oh, but I clearly was, or I’d have known better than to believe his flatteries. I should have been on my guard from the moment he called me ‘a delicate flower.’ I haven’t been delicate from the day I was born.”

  Out of nowhere, he remembered what she’d said the day Knightford had shown up: God forbid I look like anything but a delicate flower for my portrait.

  Like Shakespeare’s famous heroine, the lady clearly protested too much. Ruston had succeeded with her because he’d found her weakness—her secret desire to be considered as dainty and delicate as other English ladies.
That was why she’d initially chosen such boring clothes for her portrait, why she’d melted when she thought Jeremy had made her look pretty in his first sketch.

  She might be fierce and bold, but even Yvette desperately wanted to be seen as feminine. Unfortunately, in her society the feminine ideal was dainty and delicate. It made him want to shake her, then kiss her until she was left in no doubt about her femininity.

  He chose his words carefully. “You aren’t re­­motely delicate, that’s true.” When her gaze shot to him, vulnerable, uncertain, he added softly, “Because delicate things break. They don’t withstand the blows of life. You are made of stronger stuff, made to persevere, and thank God for it. The world needs more women like you.”

  Hannah had been delicately made. Perhaps that was one reason he’d always found it so difficult to be close to her. Even though she possessed ample strength of character and conviction, he’d always been afraid he might hurt her physically somehow.

  Odd how he never feared hurting Yvette physically. What he feared was that he wouldn’t get enough of her. That he wouldn’t assuage his need hard enough, fast enough, deeply enough—

  Oh, God, don’t think of her like that, or you’ll soon be doing more than just sitting on this bed.

  He cleared his throat and bent forward, hoping to mask his wayward prick. “And just because the lieutenant proved to be a devil in the end doesn’t mean that what he said about your charms was a lie.”

  A snort was her only answer.

  “So,” he said, to prod her on, “he pretended to be your friend.”

  “And more.” She played with the ties of her wrapper. “He persuaded me to go with him unchaperoned on long walks through the woods. He persuaded me to let him steal a kiss here and there.”

  Jeremy’s arousal vanished, replaced by a jealous anger that he dared not show—that he didn’t even approve of, for God’s sake. “More than one kiss, then,” he said, hoping he sounded nonchalant.

  “Yes. Toward the end of his stay, he mentioned marriage. I told him I’d be honored to marry him, and I would wait for him to ask permission of my father in London.” With her head bent, her hair veiled her face, but he could hear the consternation in her voice. “That’s when he became . . . a bit strange.”