A Sinner No More

by Kelly Boyce

  Her expression softened and filled with something he had not seen in—well, he had no idea how long, but he suspected for quite some time. It struck him deep in his core and he leaned into it. Had he not been holding the drink for Lady Dalridge in one hand, he would have cupped her lovely face and—

  And what? Kissed her in the middle of the Lindwells’ ballroom for all to see, ruining her forever? God above, man, pull yourself together! It was one thing to steal a kiss behind a copse of trees, but to create such a spectacle in the middle of London? It would not do. She deserved far better than that.

  He took a deep breath and straightened before she could answer. Best he let her answer remain silent. If she were to say anything other than what he wanted to hear, it would devastate him. Yet he could not allow her to say what he hoped for, as he could not act upon it without ruining her.

  “Forgive me. I should not have asked such an impertinent question. Come, let us deliver this drink to the parched Lady Dalridge before she sends out a search party to find you.”

  Not that arriving with him would likely calm the viscountess’s nerves any. The faint memory of a walking stick and stern expression crossed his mind then slipped away like smoke. Still, when they reached Lady Dalridge, it pleased him that the thin remembrance had been startlingly accurate. Perhaps the darkness was finally lifting. The question remained, however, which man would he find standing behind the veil once his memories returned—the one reviled by his peers? Or the man admired by the lady whose arm looped casually through his?

  “Lord Hawksmoor.” Lady Dalridge’s silver eyebrow rose skyward in a slow, pointed manner. “And to what do we owe this honor?” Her gaze drifted from his face, to his arm and he experienced a pang of regret as Madalene’s hand slipped away.

  “Is it an honor, my lady?” He smirked, the expression coming easily. “It was difficult to tell, what with all the glares of my peers cutting through the cloth of my favorite suit.”

  “Perhaps it has something to do with the general fleecing a great many of them have taken at your tables, Lord Hawksmoor.” She returned his smirk with one of her own, her remark direct and to the point. He liked her immediately, though the sentiment did not appear to be reciprocated.

  “I’m afraid I cannot be held responsible for the weaknesses of others. I simply provide the venue. Whether or not they choose to make use of it is entirely up to them.”

  After reading the letters, he’d spent part of the evening reviewing the business journals Mr. Bowen had left stacked on his desk in an orderly fashion. They contained great detail about the guests of The Devil’s Lair—what they owed, their vices, their deepest, darkest secrets. The actions he had taken when they could not pay for their losses at his tables.

  Some he had shown mercy. Others, he had destroyed. What had tipped the scales one way or the other seemed to be predicated on what information they had willingly provided in exchange for a reprieve. Yet one thing was clear—everyone who came through the doors of The Devil’s Lair did so of their own volition and the choices they made once they entered had been their own. That he used such to his own advantage was left up to interpretation as to whether it was warranted or not.

  Lady Dalridge tilted her head to one side. “I’m certain such logic will garner you any number of supporters.”

  Her sarcasm was not lost on him. “I have requested a dance from Miss Cosgrove, my lady. I hope you will not object,” he said, hoping to change the subject.

  “Did you now? And what answer has Miss Cosgrove given you?”

  “I have said yes, my lady. If you feel you can spare me.”

  Lady Dalridge did not immediately answer, her gaze moving between the two of them. “I’m certain I can entertain myself for the duration.”

  Her answer came as the strains of the waltz hovered over the din of the crowd and couples took their places on the dance floor. Hawk offered Madalene his arm once more and bowed to Lady Dalridge before turning away.

  But escape was not to be such a simple enterprise. “Lord Hawksmoor?” He turned back to face the viscountess. “I will be watching you. And there will be reprisals, should I find your actions or manners even remotely questionable.”

  He offered her a brief smile, though he felt none of it. “I would expect nothing less.”

  Holding Madalene in his arms once again proved an amazingly thrilling endeavor. He had not thought to ask if she could dance, but as it turned out, she did quite well. Better than that even. It was almost as if she glided along on a cloud.

  Fanciful thinking for a man of his alleged reputation, but he could not help it. She inspired such foolishness in him. What would his peers think of him now should they know the truth, that he was emotionally felled by a small slip of a thing who held no standing in society, no fortune to entice, and cared little for the accouterments those of his ilk deemed necessary for life?

  Perhaps if he had not been so quick to leave her behind when he left Raven Manor, his life would look far different than it did now. Had he ever considered doing such? Taking her with him? Spiriting her away? Would she have gone if he had asked?

  Likely not. She had far more good sense about her than he, and she had been too young for such things then. Now, however, was a far different story. Now, she was a woman, in every sense of the word.

  “I am disappointed to hear you had no luck in finding the journals, my lord. I had been certain you would have taken them with you upon leaving Raven Manor.”

  “You should call me Hawk.” He was apparently determined to continue making a fool out of himself.

  “And why should I do that?”

  “Because it is my name and I think our acquaintance is long and varied enough that we might refer to each other by our given names, don’t you?” And also, the kiss, but he did not reference it again. It was far too dangerous a topic to bring up while he held her in his arms.

  She did not answer his question directly. “Your given name is Thomas, not Hawk.”

  Funny how foreign that name felt to him except when she said it.

  He spun her around, drawing her a little closer as he did so. “I prefer Hawk much better. Though, I might point out that when you thought me still dead to the world, you used my given name then.”

  “I thought it might help revive you if you heard it.”

  “And so you were right.” In more ways than he could have ever imagined. Her voice had given him something to hold onto, a light at the end of a very dark tunnel. “I waited each evening for you to arrive, did you know that?”

  They passed a table of lit candles and the light from the flames wavered across her cheeks caressing her skin. “Lord Hawksmoor—”

  “No, do not chastise me for my impertinence. I know I am completely in the wrong to tell you such things. It is just that…you are the only one I can talk to. The only one I feel knows me. Sees me. I realize it is wrong to put such a burden on you. Heaven knows you do not deserve the liberties I have taken. I would not blame you if you stalked off this dance floor right this very moment and never paid me another second of attention for the remainder of your life.”

  He stopped talking, unsure of where to go after that. He’d talked himself into a corner, one in which he stood in alone, because he had no right to drag her in there with him and he knew it. It was just that—

  “I need you.” The words tumbled out of him and knocked her off balance. He pulled her closer to help her regain her footing then rushed on. “Forgive me, there I go again. Likely, I am ten times the fool to admit such, but it is true. I desperately wish it wasn’t. I wish I could let you go so that you might live your life far away from the mess that is mine, but I cannot seem to convince myself to do so. But if you insist upon it, I will. I will leave this instant and never bother you again.”

  “Will you?”

  He swallowed. He really should not make such cavalier promises when he had no intention of keeping them. He could not leave her alone. She needed his protection, even if she was
unaware of the danger she was in. “Forgive me, but no.”

  She laughed lightly, seemingly unbothered by any foolish claim he’d made so far this evening. How did she do that? Any other lady would be so scandalized at this point they’d likely swoon in his arms. “Then I shall keep that in mind.”

  He blinked, unsure of what do to. She had not turned him away despite his awkward, foolish, flat out ridiculous admission. It could mean only one thing.

  She was as crazy as he was.

  He pushed the notion away and attempted to return to a safer topic of conversation. “Can you think of anywhere else I may have hidden the journals?”

  Madalene let out a deep breath as they made a turn around the ballroom. How perfect it was to hold her in his arms, but even the small space between their bodies was too far. He longed to pull her closer, to cradle her in his arms and kiss that delectable mouth. To peel away the enticing layers of her gown until she stood before him—

  “Is it possible you left them behind?” she asked, interrupting his wayward thoughts just in time before they became embarrassingly evident. “You did leave Raven Manor quickly. Perhaps you thought them safer where they were, especially if you did not have a set destination in mind when you departed.”

  The notion had merit. She had indicated he did not return for her as he said he would and, knowing his feelings for her, he could not imagine he would have done so without reason. Had he been forced out of Raven Manor by his parents? Tossed out with only the clothes on his back? It seemed inconceivable they would have done such a thing to their own son, yet…yet when he lay at Death’s door they had refused to take him in.

  “Perhaps you are—”

  A commotion near the edge of the dancing disrupted their conversation. Hawk quickly realized the direction the noise had come from and grabbed Madalene by the hand as he pushed his way through the throng, Madalene trailing behind in his wake.

  When they made their way to the front, Lady Dalridge lay on the floor as if she had slipped out of her chair and pooled on the parquet flooring in front of it.

  Madalene released Hawk’s hand and dropped to her knees in front of Lady Dalridge while everyone else simply hovered above and around her, as useless as statues. Did the imbeciles think whatever had felled her was catching?

  Madalene turned to the onlookers, her quiet demeanor changed to such a degree he almost didn’t recognize her. She addressed a gentleman to her right. “Get the footman and help me get Lady Dalridge upstairs to a room.” Then she turned to the other gentleman to her left. “Have someone send for the doctor immediately.”

  She barked out orders like a seasoned general and the men quickly disappeared to do her bidding. No wonder she made such a commendable housekeeper. Despite her young age, she exuded an air of competence and was able to translate that into authority. Why in the world the Bowens wished to let her go astounded him. Any house in the land would be lucky to have her. Not that he particularly cared to see her in service. She deserved a better life than that. She deserved the world.

  He knelt beside her. She had picked up Lady Dalridge’s fan and waved it above the older lady’s face to create a cool breeze. Hawk lifted his head. “Someone open the damn doors and let some air into this place.”

  “Thank you,” Madalene whispered, but she didn’t look at him. Instead, she gently tapped Lady Dalridge’s face. The elderly lady in turn tried to move away from her touch, her eyelids fluttering. When they opened, they were unfocused. He could sympathize. He’d experienced something similar when he had come to and found himself in strange surroundings. Then again, any surrounding would have been strange to him at that point, given he had lost his reference as to what was and wasn’t familiar.

  The footman appeared, along with Mr. and Mrs. Lindwell. The latter had turned ghastly pale. Or perhaps that was simply the effect of the hideous choice of color of her pea-green gown. Madalene moved out of the way and allowed the footman to lift Lady Dalridge into his arms. The crowded ballroom parted, much as it had when he had arrived, allowing the group to pass through it. But this time, no one paid much attention to him and all eyes rested on the footman and Lady Dalridge.

  “What has happened?”

  Hawk threw an irritated glance at Major Gibbons. The man was like an annoying fly buzzing about one’s head. No matter how often you swatted it away, it kept coming back.

  “It is none of your concern.”

  The major puffed out his chest with obvious umbrage to Hawk’s dismissal. “I beg your pardon, it is as much my concern as it is yours.”

  “I fail to see how.”

  “Gentlemen!” Madalene glared over her shoulder at both of him, a fact he did not feel was warranted where he was concerned. “Quit squabbling like children.”

  Major Gibbons’s eyes widened. “Did she just—”

  “Chastise you for your behavior? Yes, she did.”

  “I believe her comment was directed toward the both of us.”

  “I doubt it. You were the one acting like a child. I was merely suggesting you go elsewhere to do it. She is my friend after all.” Granted, it was an odd friendship, and, in truth, he thought of her as more than a friend, but none of that mattered in the grand scheme of this conversation in his opinion.

  “You, sir, are an arrogant ass,” Major Gibbons hissed under his breath. They had climbed the stairs to the bedchambers above.

  “And you, Major, are embarrassing yourself. What assistance do you believe you can offer Miss Cosgrove or Lady Dalridge? What is your stake in any of this?”

  “I have a passing acquaintance with Lady Dalridge, I will have you know and a newly formed friendship with Miss Cosgrove.”

  Hawk turned on the major at the entrance to the bedchamber as the footman carried Lady Dalridge inside, followed by the Lindwells and Madalene. “A newly formed friendship? You met her all of thirty minutes ago and did not know of her existence before that time.”

  “How do you know how long I have known her?”

  How did he—? The man was an idiot. He refused to listen to logic. If he’d had a swatter, Hawk would have used it to bat him away, back down the stairwell and straight out the front door.

  “Go back to the party,” Hawk stated, annunciating each word carefully as it was obvious Major Gibbons had difficulty understanding simple concepts.

  He turned to enter the room but stepped back quickly as the door swung closed in his face with a resounding bang.

  Chapter Eleven

  Their foolishness maddened her. Poor Lady Dalridge had taken ill and those two infuriating men could not stop bickering like children. Honestly! Did they not sense the true urgency of the matter at hand? What if Lady Dalridge was in a bad way? What if Madalene had to arrive back to Ridgemont House and deliver the worst possible news to Lady Henrietta?

  She squeezed her way past Mrs. Lindwell who stood on the periphery of the bed wringing her hands and asking repeatedly what they should do.

  “All that can be done, has,” Madalene told her, when her husband refused to answer her and instead followed the footman downstairs to await the doctor’s arrival.

  When the footman opened the door to do his employer’s bidding, Lord Hawksmoor and Major Gibbons had been ousted from their position by a gaggle of young ladies, two of whom were the Lindwells’ daughters and the other two being Miss Patience Elmsley, a cousin to Lady Glenmor, and another lady with a pinched face that she did not recognize. All four ladies pushed their way in and rushed to Lady Dalridge’s bedside.

  “Good heavens, Mama, what has happened? Clara Chambers said Lady Dalridge fainted dead away.” Temperance—or was it Constance?—gasped suddenly as she looked down upon the bed, her dark curls bouncing about her fine-boned face. “Oh, she isn’t truly dead, is she?”

  “She isn’t dead,” Madalene said, as she seemed to be the only one answering any questions. She didn’t fault the young woman for asking, however. Lady Dalridge did appear deathly pale. Madalene kept telling herself she would b
e fine, but worry had started to edge in the longer the viscountess remained unconscious.

  The young woman gave her a relieved smile. “What good news! How awful that would have been.”

  “Awful for your family indeed,” the pinched face woman said, stepping forward and casting a quick glance down at Lady Dalridge before dismissing her as if her current state of health was of no matter. Madalene disliked this woman instantly.

  “How so?” Mrs. Lindwell finally deemed to enter the conversation, though she continued to worry her hands to the point Madalene feared she would wear the skin straight off them.

  “Well, you can hardly afford to be the family who had a hand in bringing about the demise of someone as revered as Lady Dalridge.”

  “Lady Dalridge is not in any state of demise, thank you.” Madalene’s voice rose above the others and pitched them into silence. The sensible part of her brain warned caution. She trespassed in a world not her own.

  Pinched Face glared at her with cold eyes. “And who might you be?”

  Madalene stood. “I am Miss Cosgrove. I accompanied Lady Dalridge this evening. And who might you be?”

  “Oh!” Miss Elmsley nudged past one of the Lindwell daughters. “Miss Cosgrove, I did not recognize you. You are here with Lady Dalridge?”

  The confusion in Miss Elmsley’s voice was unmistakable. And why wouldn’t it be? The last time she saw Madalene it was in the role of servant, so what possible reason could there be for her to be here with the viscountess? And yet here she was. “Yes.”

  Pinched Face turned on Miss Elmsley while pointing her finger in Madalene’s direction. “Do you know her? I have never heard of a Miss Cosgrove and I’m quite certain I know everyone of consequence there is to know.”

  “Yes, of course, I know her.” Miss Elmsley said, not in the least cowed by the other’s abrasive manner. “She was the seamstress for Lady Blackbourne’s wedding dress several months ago and also helped my cousin, Judith, with several of her gowns. You remember my cousin, Judith, don’t you? Or should I say, Lady Glenmor. How is your husband hunt, coming along by the way, Lady Susan? I understand the Duke and Duchess of Franklyn are most anxious to have you married off.”