Tangled in Sin

by Lavinia Kent

  His shoulders went back. He always had been sensitive on that subject. “And who exactly are you, my lady?” He said the last with a sneer.

  With a sudden sense of victory, she spat out, “ ‘My lady’ is right. Lady Cynthia Westhope.”

  He stared. His jaw dropped open and stayed. “Sin.” There was something in his pronunciation that changed the nickname, just as it always had. “Sin? Lady Cynthia? Lord Westhaven’s daughter?”

  She didn’t answer, but only smiled—and not happily.

  His eyes roamed over her, moving from toe to top and back again. Finally, his gaze settled on her eyes. And she thought she saw the first glimmer of true recognition in his.

  “Bloody hell,” he whispered.

  —

  Those eyes. Those eyes, big and green and adoring. He’d known he’d seen them before, but he’d been very mistaken about where—and exactly what that look of adoration meant.

  As he stared at Cynthia, he felt the room change, felt her face change, the chin narrowing, the lips growing less full, everything about her smaller—except those eyes. Those eyes stayed the same.

  They’d been out early one Saturday morning, just as the sun rose, standing at the edge of his favorite trout stream on his father’s main estate. He’d agreed to take the girls as long as they agreed to be quiet and well behaved, a promise he knew better than to believe. All had gone well until Sin had cast her line into the water and almost instantly felt it jerk tight. Within seconds she was pulling in the biggest trout he had ever seen in that particular stream, the type of fish a man dreamed about and worked for years to capture, not the fish that a child with a worm should land with little effort. He’d been cursing to himself for bringing the girls when he’d seen the look of horror on Sin’s face as she drew the fish in and lay it flopping on the grass, its great gills heaving in search of water. She’d stepped back, her whole body stiff, her face without color.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked. “Don’t you like your dinner?”

  “Put it back,” she’d murmured. “Put it back. Don’t make me touch it.”

  He’d grabbed the line and lifted the struggling fish into the air. “Surely you don’t mean that. It’s one of the finest fish I’ve seen.”

  She gave him a look that warned he must have lost a good part of his wits. “I am not eating him. Put him back. Don’t you see he is in pain? He’s suffering. Please put him back.”

  Grabbing the fish firmly, he carefully dislodged the hook from its cheek and with a regretful sigh tossed it back into the clear stream. He watched as it flashed under the edge of a large rock, his mind already filling with just how he’d lure it back out the next morning, or the morning after that. If a girl child could catch the creature then so could he.

  And then he’d turned to look at her and he’d seen that look, the one that said he was greater than a king. Her eyes had shone full of stars, an expression he’d previously taken as nonsense. It was a heady feeling to be the focus of such admiration. He’d smiled and flirted and spent the rest of the morning laughing with the girls.

  He wasn’t sure if he had seen her since. He’d been off at school and then traveling. He certainly didn’t remember any such instance, although it was probable that their paths had crossed at some point. He most likely hadn’t recognized her if they had. The willowy woman with the fabulous ass who stood before him was far different than the gawky girl he remembered, the girl with her hair in two long braids and elbows and knees that always seemed to be poking in odd directions.

  And then it hit him.

  A boulder falling from the sky.

  The absolute horror of it.

  He had just ruined the daughter of the Earl of Westhaven. He had just fucked an earl’s virginal daughter. He had just fucked the daughter of one of his father’s chums.

  He was lucky she wasn’t crying rape.

  It hadn’t been rape, had it? He didn’t think he’d forced her. She’d certainly been passionate and willing until that last moment.

  Fuck.

  Fuck.

  Fuck.

  “We will have to marry.” The words cut his throat like broken glass as he forced them out.

  She blinked, looking at him as she had last night.

  God, how had he not known her? She’d been his sister’s best friend.

  His sister’s best friend. “What the hell were you doing at Madame Blanche’s? Has it become some kind of game you girls play?”

  She pulled in a deep breath and pushed her shoulders back, bringing her arms down to her sides, looking like a queen despite the thin chemise that was her only covering. “I would imagine much the same as you, trying to get Jasmine to leave and pursue some other plan of action. Although, unlike you, I took the time to meet her daughter. Hope really is quite extraordinary.”

  “Hope?” he said, playing for a few more moments before he must force her to answer.

  “Your niece.”

  “Jasmine’s bastard.” The words came out far more harshly than he had intended.

  Cynthia closed her eyes and lowered her head for a moment. He heard her counting under her breath. Then she raised her head again. “Suddenly I understand very well how even a well-bred young lady can end up with a bastard in her belly.”

  Now, that struck home. “As I said, we must marry.”

  “At this moment I think I would rather join Jasmine at Madame Blanche’s than marry you.” She turned from him and stomped across the cabin to swing the door open with a violent pull.

  Rain still fell in sheets. He must have become so accustomed to the sound that he’d ceased to notice it.

  “God has a nasty sense of humor,” she said, and slammed the door shut. “I will begin praying for an ark.”

  She marched to the hearth and broke off a piece of bread, flakes and crumbs flying everywhere. Overnight, it had become brittle. She bit down hard, chewing and chewing. Her eyes did not lift to him once.

  “I do not think marriage is a good choice for either of us,” she said, looking away and chewing. “If there is one thing Jasmine has taught me it is that there is always a choice. And we do not even know if I am with child. Perhaps it will not happen the first time. I know many couples who try for months—or longer.”

  “Our situation is different than Jasmine’s. Nobody knew she was expecting until she began to show. Will your family not have noticed you gone and wonder?”

  Her fingers grew white about the crust. “I will think of something to tell them, some excuse. Perhaps because of the weather I chose to spend the night with a friend and could not get a message out. I am sure I can find somebody who will agree to help me.”

  “And you do not think they will ask further?” He reached out and took the remainder of the loaf, breaking off his own chunk. His stomach was feeling distinctly sour.

  “I will make it work.” She did not sound confident.

  How had it come about that he was the one pushing for marriage? It went against everything he believed about himself—except for that most important thing, his sense of honor.

  Fuck.

  Fuck.

  He moved to the table and, pulling over a chair, sank down into it. He was feeling distinctly sorry for himself, a sensation he was most unused to. “I am afraid there really is no choice. Your father will skin me if I don’t do the right thing and my father will probably hold me down while he does it.”

  “So you are the one with no choice, not me. But you are forgetting that unless I tell people that you were here nobody will know. Even if I tell my family what happened, I will simply lie and say that my captors abandoned me because of the weather and I rescued myself. I am known for being quite resourceful.”

  He rested his chin in his palm. “While I am sure that is true, I am equally sure that no one will believe it. Whether you mention me or not, you are ruined unless we wed—or do you have another gentleman who will do the right thing?”

  Chapter 7

  Was that hope she heard i
n his voice? Killing him really might be the best option. She didn’t need her father to skin him; she’d do it herself. Cynthia glanced down at the hearth, at the small knife that lay beside the remains of the cheese. It was not a very sharp knife, but she reckoned it could do harm. It might even be more painful than a sharp one would have been. Bloody bastard. He was the bastard, not baby Hope.

  The worst was she knew he was right. Marriage was the correct answer, the right answer, perhaps the only answer. And she wanted to do the correct thing no matter how difficult, but not this. Never this. The thought made her stomach churn.

  “That is of no concern of yours.” She tried to sound as if she believed the words she spoke. In truth she wasn’t sure what she would tell her father and stepmother about her sudden absence. And then an idea struck. “I will say I was in the country with Jasmine. Your father is still sticking to that story and it is believed by most. I will say I sent a note telling them that I had heard she was very ill and I could not wait to see her. Somehow the note went astray and—”

  “And you expect they will believe that you headed down to our estate on the spur of the moment without a maid or a single trunk?”

  Blast him. He should be trying to help her, not poking holes in her story. “I will say that I stopped by to visit Jasmine in Town, and your father told me how ill she was. He loaned me a maid and a carriage when he saw how distraught the thought of her illness made me.”

  James’s lips pressed tight, drawing her gaze. “It is dangerous to try to manipulate my father. He always finds a way to come out on top. He will have no desire to help and will find some other method to ruin you if he feels forced.”

  “I can handle him. I have before,” she said, sticking out her chin, even as her mind screamed that she must have lost any remaining wits. Handle the Duke of Scarlett? It would be easier to handle a bucket filled with pythons and scorpions. It was true she’d played a harmless prank on him as a girl, but even then she’d felt the limits, known what would happen if she ever truly brought about his displeasure.

  “You know better than that. If he decided to bring you down, there are a thousand little things he could say that would ruin you. Even your father, the earl, would not be able to help.”

  That was probably true, but…“I will not marry you. I don’t know much about physical matters, but from what little I do know it seems unlikely that I am with child. You did not have time to spill your seed.” At least she didn’t think he had. She truly didn’t know much about these things. If she ever got out of here she would have to ask Jasmine, surely she knew—or would know someone to ask.

  James stared across at her. He clenched his fist, drawing her gaze to his strong hands. “That may be true, but it only makes it less likely, not impossible. A little cum can leak at any time.”

  “Cum?”

  “My seed, as you so elegantly put it.”

  Was that right? She hated not knowing. But then, she hated everything about this. Everything. “Well, if there is only a slight chance that I am with child, why should I marry you?”

  “A slight chance is still a chance. I will not leave you heavy with my bastard.”

  “I don’t think…”

  He took a step toward her, his fists remained clenched. “I don’t care what you think. We will do what is right.”

  Her mind refused to clear. She would not agree to this, could not agree to this. “Why don’t we both head back to Town. We can meet at a ball there and you can begin to court me. If it turns out that I am with child, and we are getting along, then I will agree to wed you.”

  “It will be too late then.”

  “It will be far from the first seven-month babe to be born.” Tears were building behind her eyes and it was all she could do not to break down and wail. The more they talked of this the more real it became and she could not bear for it to be real. How had her life changed so greatly in one single night? Yesterday morning she had been the one trying to help a friend in trouble, now…She’d always known her sense of adventure might one day lead to disaster, but she’d never imagined this.

  “We must marry.” His voice was firm and demanding.

  Cynthia shivered. It would be so easy to give in to him. Her every instinct cried for her to listen, to do as he said. But she pushed them down, just as she pushed down her tears. She shook her head, unable to speak.

  “Blast it all,” he exclaimed and, pulling on his boots and grabbing his coat, headed for the door. “I’ll see if it’s possible to cross the creek. The sooner we are out of here the better.”

  The door creaked open and then slammed shut.

  —

  The icy rain hit his face, cooling him. What was wrong with the woman? Why could she not understand simple reason? As a girl, she’d always been so sensible, so easy to talk to. He wasn’t happy about the situation either, but surely she could understand that they needed to marry, that there was no other option.

  He stopped and stood still, letting the rain drench him. How could everything have gone so wrong? It had been such a simple plan to have Jasmine brought here, to remove her from the brothel and have her brought someplace safe, someplace where he could take care of her, someplace where he could make her begin to see reason.

  He loved his sister. They might not have been as close these last years, but it was natural for a man to want to escape the family nest and equally natural that a beloved daughter or sister should be kept in it, safe and secure. He couldn’t even begin to imagine what had happened to Jasmine to move her to the place she was now—well, beyond the obvious, and he would kill the man who had left her with child if he ever discovered who he was.

  He clenched his hands into fists. The anger that filled him could not be cooled even by the freezing rain.

  And it was freezing. He looked down as he felt the first crunch of ice beneath his feet.

  Bloody hell. He was never going to be free of the cottage, free of the girl, free of Sin—Cynthia.

  And that was the heart of his anger.

  Cynthia Westhope.

  He was no better than the man who had abused his sister. How could he not have realized that she was a lady, a pure maiden? Although, she hadn’t seemed pure as she pressed herself against him this morning—and surely a true lady would have preferred to sit in a chair all night, shivering, before she shared a blanket with a man who was not family, who was a stranger.

  Again his mind filled with the image of a young Sin gazing up at him with absolute adoration.

  She had known who he was and she had trusted him.

  They had to get away from here, get back to civilization. It would have been bad enough being trapped here with his sister, but being trapped here with Sin…Although it would give him time to make her see reason.

  He stomped through the mud and rain, his boots snapping through the paper-thin sheet of ice.

  He reached the creek and stopped.

  Hell.

  Last night he’d been unwilling to take his horse across the shaking beams, today only one remained and it was missing a section in the middle—and was also coated with the beginnings of a sheet of ice. Sometime in the night something large must have been dragged down the creek, slamming into the old bridge.

  He sucked a gasp of frigid air into his chest. Alone he might have dared to cross it. His balance was excellent, and while the water below still raged, he took pride in his swimming skills.

  With Cynthia along it would be impossible. There was no way he could risk having her attempt to cross.

  Bloody, bloody, bloody hell.

  He turned back and stared up the hill at the cottage, a glimmer of light shining through the gray of the day.

  He would have to go back, but what could he possibly say to her, say to Sin?

  —

  Cynthia huddled on the cot, digging her toes into the straw mattress. She’d left the blankets on the floor, unable to bear their touch. Every time she looked at them she was filled with the image of what had ha
ppened, of what a fool she had been—of what she had let happen. And that was the truth. She had let it happen.

  She had not protested until it was too late, much too late.

  She had reveled in James’s attention, both emotionally and physically. Denying it would have been easy, but she would not take that road, would not lie to herself. She wrapped her arms tight about her knees, shivering although she no longer felt the cold.

  She was ruined.

  She might be with child.

  It was not likely. She was not completely ignorant, as she had explained to James, but…

  But…

  Her mind froze there.

  Another shiver coursed through her.

  James had been inside of her, violated her—and it had hurt. She pushed her legs tighter together, trying to forget the sensation.

  And the trouble was it wasn’t the pain that she remembered, it was what had come before, the feeling of need, of wanting more—and the pleasure. She’d never understood how such a thing could be pleasurable, never understood the attraction of touching lips and other parts. She’d been kissed before, several times, and had not disliked any of them—but neither had she felt the attraction. She’d decided that it was something women did because it made men happy, just like all the rest of— No. No. No.

  Don’t think about it. Think about something else.

  Think about the new ball gown her stepmother was going to order her.

  Only her stepmother would never order it if she knew…

  Think about sketching—only she could remember so clearly those hidden sketches she’d drawn of James as a girl.

  Think of…of…Of Hope. Sweet and innocent. So soft and smelling of newness.

  She might be having a child of her own, a small bundle of…

  No. No. No.

  Her mind turned in circles, locked into an endless train of thoughts that all ended with how stupid she’d been, what an idiot she was.

  Not knowing what else to do, she bowed her head and finally let the tears of uncertainty flow, until none remained.

  —

  James stood in one of the low outbuildings, little more than a thatched roof on legs, covering a pile of dried logs. He’d spent the last half hour splitting firewood, not an activity that he had partaken in frequently, but one that fulfilled his need for physical activity, to work hard until he couldn’t think, until he could barely move. Only then did he feel ready to return to the cabin, to return to Sin.