A Sinner No More

by Kelly Boyce

  He sought her out, knowing their friendship was ill thought out, that his attention could cause her difficulty if discovered. But he had been unable to stop. Her sweetness and warmth were too potent a force. Being in her presence had placed a balm over the wounds of his family’s indifference. In her, he saw a sharp intelligence and while he could not free himself from the existence he’d been shackled with, he could maybe save her. Give her the opportunity to reach for something better than servitude. He wanted to arrange for her to get further schooling. To give something back to her after all she had given to him.

  Hawk rested the journal in his lap and rubbed his burning eyes. If he had only known then the depth of his brother’s madness, he would have sent her away sooner. Ensured the opportunities she deserved were given her. But he had been selfish. He had not wanted to let her go so soon. The thought of Raven Manor without her was too dreary to contemplate. So he’d put it off.

  And she had paid the price.

  The night wore on, and with it, the details of his brother’s debauched nature unfolded. Hawk’s suspicions, the things his brother said that began to add up page after page. His desperation over his failure to gain his parents’ support to have Phillip removed from society. The aftermath of the beating he’d received from his brother was the final straw in bringing him to the realization that he fought a battle he could not win.

  And then the last entry, written after he had admitted his culpability in Phillip’s death and how it had come about. His parents had banished him from their home, his mother unable to even look at him with anything but complete revulsion, as if he was the monster and not Phillip. She’d had several footmen escort him to his room and stand outside the door as he gathered his things and made a brief, final entry in his journal.

  I cannot take her with me. It would ruin her. Phillip is dead. Father promises they will keep her on, that she will suffer no ill will against her for what was done. But I must travel to London and find the mysterious Lord T Phillip referred to. I must end this madness. Until I do—until I can bring this game to an end, she will never truly be safe.

  His father had lied. Or perhaps Mother had overruled him as she usually did. He’d been a fool to believe them, to think they possessed even a small scrap of honor. They had not kept Madalene on as promised. Instead, they had sacked her shortly after Phillip’s funeral. And Hawk’s promise to her, to ensure she was safe, had been sown in fallow ground.

  He had not discovered the identity of the other player in the game. Lord T continued to remain a mystery to this day. A status he could no longer blame on lost memories. It became clear now. Everything he had done, all the research in his business journals, the notations he had made on each member of the peerage that passed through the doors of The Devil’s Lair had all been a means to an end. A list of weaknesses, predilections, known associates—all of it in a search for Lord T with the goal to end this depraved game once and for all.

  But he had failed.

  And the illusive Lord T taunted him all the way with his letters, promising to find her. Promising to finish what Phillip could not. To win the final victory. Fear embedded itself deep in his gut, roiling through him like acid.

  Hawk peered out the window. The sun had yet to rise, but the clock over the mantle announced morning was nigh. He rose from the chair, his muscles protesting the movement, and pulled the rope by the bed to signal the servants. He knew what he had to do.

  He would see Madalene safe, no matter what it took. And he would find this Lord T and end him as he had Phillip. Failure was not an option.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “I do believe the tea has been a great success,” Madalene said, handing Lady Henrietta a freshly steeped cup before guiding her over to a set of chairs placed in a semi-circle near the fire. Most of the chairs were occupied by young girls between the ages of seven and twelve dressed in their Sunday best. Lady Henrietta visibly relaxed as she took her own seat amongst them.

  The event, meant to raise funds and awareness of the importance of ensuring girls received a proper education regardless of their station in life, had changed somewhat in the planning, thanks in part to Lady Dalridge’s input. It had turned from a full on ask for donations, to a Winter Tea hosted by the Lindwells, where an example of the benefits of providing such a school were on full display by the children present. Children Rosalind Caldwell had sent to other schools to receive their education before determining she would start her own.

  “My dear Miss Caldwell,” Lady Dalridge had said, the words drawling out of her and punctuated by one arched eyebrow. “Sometimes the subtle approach is the best one when dealing with the ton. Let them think supporting such a cause was their own brilliant idea, rather than bludgeoning them over the head with your insistence that they do so. It is less likely to bruise their collective egos and more likely to get them to part with a few coins.”

  “Indeed, I believe it has definitely been a success,” Lady Henrietta said to Madalene, looking at the girls seated around her. “And I am certain we have these beauties to thank for it.” Her smile proved contagious and one by one, the girls smiled in return, the epitome of poise and good manners.

  Save for one.

  “Miss,” a fiery little redheaded girl said, sliding off her chair to take a few steps toward Lady Henrietta. “What are the marks on your neck?”

  “Ingrid!” One of the older girls whispered harshly at the younger one who had spoken up. “A lady does not ask such things of another lady! It is the height of rudeness.”

  For a moment, Madalene feared little Ingrid would burst into tears when her lower lip trembled at the older girl’s sharp rebuke. Or that Lady Henrietta would die a thousand deaths at having her scars remarked upon in such a pointed and public manner. Thankfully, none of that came to pass.

  Lady Henrietta held up her hand, quieting the older girl with a gentle look before then holding her hand out to Ingrid. The little redhead quickly trotted over to her then effected what Madalene assumed was meant to be a curtsey but looked a bit more like a hop.

  “I was caught in a fire once upon a time,” Lady Henrietta said, her fingers toying with the hair pulled over her shoulder to drape down her chest. “It burned my skin and left the marks you see.”

  “Does it hurt?”

  Lady Henrietta smiled and shook her head. “No, my sweet. Not anymore.”

  “Oh. That’s good. Would you like a biscuit?” Ingrid held out her tiny hand, revealing the crumbled remnants of what had once been a biscuit.

  Madalene marveled at Lady Henrietta’s ability to exude such warmth and ease toward the children, as if somehow their innocence and honesty created a safe haven she could not find amongst her peers. She had a natural ability with the young ones and it was a shame she was not in a position to be headmistress of Rosalind’s school as Lady Henrietta was far more suited to the job than Madalene. The realization hit her like a brick falling from the sky and for a moment, she stood dazed by it, unable to move.

  Madalene did not wish to be the headmistress of Rosalind’s school.

  Yes, it was a wonderful opportunity, and yes, she would be in need of employment now that she had found her replacement for Northill. But she did not want to run a school. Which made not a lick of sense. After all, she loved books and she loved learning, and she even loved children and believed whole-heartedly in education for young girls to help improve their lot in life. She should want to do this.

  But she didn’t.

  Which led to the inevitable question—what did she want to do?

  When she was young, before her father lost his position as land steward at the late Lord Walkerton’s estate, she had been happy. She had missed Father, of course, when he was forced to go off to war and leave them behind, but she had been young enough that she did not dwell on his absence, but reveled in the letters he sent and the visits he made home.

  The country life had suited her with its wide-open spaces, the animals, the extended family of servant
s. She had assumed that one day she would grow up, marry a wonderful man like Father and continue to live a bucolic life in a small cottage in the country, surrounded by all the things and the people she loved.

  It had been a child’s dream, one brusquely snatched away when Father had stood up to Lord Walkerton for his treatment of a maid unfairly accused of stealing, but it was a dream she’d never truly been able to give up. She thought to recapture it when she was hired into service at Raven Manor, and for a little while she had, though as a maid of all work, she’d not held the same stature as daughter of the land steward. Her duties left her busy from before sunrise until well after it set. Only Lord Hawksmoor’s attention, the way he had treated her as if she were an equal, had buoyed her.

  Until that too had been destroyed.

  While she and Father struggled to survive in London, living in one ramshackle dwelling after another, it was her remembrance of life in the country, of better times, that kept her going. She drew strength from these memories and from Lord Hawksmoor’s belief in her inherent intelligence and ability to do and become anything she wished.

  Though hanging onto that belief while in London had been almost impossible. She’d been on the brink of giving up hope when the Bowens came into their lives and hired Father as land steward to Northill. She had taken on the job as housekeeper through necessity when several employees who had lacked the willingness to work had been let go. It was never meant to be a permanent position. Father feared it would put her on a shelf and she would miss out on experiences such as marriage and a family of her own.

  But, in truth, she liked running a household, and what’s more, she was good at it. She had a head for figures and figuring out solutions to problems that arose. She excelled at hiring the right person for the jobs required and bargaining with the local shopkeepers for the best cuts of meat and freshest produce. She had created a happy and warm atmosphere amongst the staff that pleased her greatly.

  It was the perfect training ground for when she finally had a home of her own, should that day ever come. Unfortunately, most of the young men of her acquaintance were not interested in her for who she was on the inside, but instead commented on her comely appearance and how many offspring she could provide them. Her interest in books and learning new things were an oddity and they expected her to give it up upon marriage, seeing no value in it.

  No value in learning! Imagine. She sighed. And so, with her employment prospects less than appealing and her chance of marriage to a man who valued her for whom she was non-existent, her future appeared rather bleak, indeed.

  “You appear to be having quite a conversation with yourself, Miss Cosgrove, if the passing expressions on that pretty face of yours are any indication.”

  Lord Hawksmoor’s voice to her left rushed through her with thrilling surprise and she turned toward him, unable to contain the smile that burst across her face.

  “Lord Hawksmoor! I had begun to believe you would not make it home in time to join us.” Was it wrong how much she wanted to throw herself into his arms to ensure he was real and not simply conjured up by her imagination? Oh, how many minutes had she spent dwelling on his absence? Imagining the moment of his return. Too many to count, for certain.

  “And miss such a warm welcome? I would have traveled half way around the world for a glimpse of your smile upon my return.”

  “Only half way?” Who was this woman who teased future earls like a coquette? Her cursed cheeks warmed and she bit her lower lip.

  Lord Hawksmoor laughed and took her hand, bringing it to his lips. He did not wear gloves, a glaring breach of etiquette that would likely send Lady Dalridge into a fit of outrage if she spotted him. But their absence made Madalene loathe her own, creating a barrier between his mouth and her skin. Still, the pressure of his lips tingled all the way to her toes, making a rather noticeable stop along the way at the juncture of her thighs. The heat in her cheeks burned hotter.

  “All the way, then,” he said and straightened, giving her hand a brief squeeze before letting go. “I have missed you to a rather embarrassing degree, I’m afraid.”

  His bold admission left her breathless. “Have you?”

  “I have.” He offered her his arm and she accepted it without hesitation, caring little as to where he intended to lead her. Somewhere more private, she hoped. Now that he was here, she did not want to share him with the masses, nor subject him to the stares of derision from those who did not appreciate his presence. She wanted to protect him from such things, from people who did not know the man she did, who had forgotten the goodness in him because of his ability to expose their own weaknesses.

  “Was your trip successful then?” He appeared at first glance to be in a rather buoyant mood, however closer inspection revealed a hint of something about his eyes, a tension or unease.

  “To some degree. I found the journals.” He patted her hand as they strolled toward the hallway, away from the great room and the crowd that filled it. “Thank you for your assistance with that, by the way.”

  “You’re quite welcome.” Though whether finding the journals had been a good thing, she could not determine. “Were they helpful?”

  “Yes. Though perhaps not in the way I had expected. I am afraid I remain in the dark as to the name of the man my brother had partnered with in the depraved game he played. However, being at Raven Manor and reading the journals seems to have opened the door on my memories.”

  “Then you are fully recovered?” Why did this disappoint her? Should she not be happy for him?

  “For the most part, I believe.”

  “I’m so pleased to hear this.” And, of course, she was. Truly. It had been such a torment for him trying to navigate his world without them. Yet…now that they had returned, would he return to the man referred to as The Hawk, or would he remain the man she knew, the man she had once loved?”

  The man she loved still.

  The sudden realization rocked her and she stumbled. Lord Hawksmoor caught her. “Are you all right, my dear?”

  “Yes. Yes, of course.”

  Loved him? She searched her heart, but it was a fruitless effort if she thought to find only friendship there. This man had changed her life, saved it, made it better without ever being aware he did so. It wasn’t that friendship did not exist between them. It did, providing the roots from which love had bloomed, making it stronger and surer. A love that then blossomed into feelings she had no context or comparison for, becoming larger than life. Denying the existence of such would do little good. Now that he had returned, that she stood before him once again, her love for him rushed at her full force and demanded its due.

  Lord Hawksmoor stopped. “What is it? Something is wrong. You were happy only a moment ago and now…I can see it in your face. You’re brows are doing that thing.”

  “What thing?”

  “The thing where you pull them together here—” his finger pressed lightly between her brows “—and then you purse your lips. Yes, like that.” He smiled and his finger drifted down her nose, falling off the end to land upon her mouth for an all too brief heartbeat, before he dropped his hand away. Spirals of pleasure shot through her and pooled low in her belly.

  “I have missed you as well,” she said, unable to reveal the depth of her feelings. The realization of them was too new, and forever doomed to disappointment. He was a viscount, destined to be an earl and she was…well, she was nobody, really. Their worlds may have collided to bring them together, but reality colluded to keep them apart.

  He smiled at her, desire and hope burning in his eyes until they turned an even brighter green, reminding her of a lush meadow. “Might I steal you away from this? Do you think they would miss us?”

  She shook her head. In truth, she had no idea if she would be missed, but in that moment, she did not care. His absence had dragged on forever, with each day feeling as if it lasted for two. She had missed him. Horribly. Far more than she had any right to. And now that he had returned, all she
wanted was to enjoy a little time in his company, alone, the way they used to all those years ago in the library at Raven Manor where she first fell under his spell. A spell time and circumstance had not broken.

  He took her hand and pulled her farther down the deserted hallway. They turned left and then took a sharp right before reaching a small anti-chamber being used as a private salon. He had not hesitated in finding it.

  “You’ve been here before?”

  “Yes. Several times. Before the Lindwells rented it, the house had belonged to Lord Tunsten. Unfortunately, he was forced to let it for a rather exorbitant amount in an effort to cover his debts.”

  He did not say to whom the debts were owed, but given the amount of information he had on the matter, Madalene put two and two together. How closely tangled together Thomas and The Hawk were, like two sides of one coin. But she had little time to dwell on the thought as his body stiffened.

  “What is it?”

  “Tunsten.”

  He made no sense. “What about him?”

  He pulled her into his arms and she marveled at how natural it felt to rest against his hard chest, the superfine wool of his jacket beneath her cheek. “Phillip had referred to his…associate, for lack of a better term, as Lord T. It could be possible that Lord Tunsten is that man.”

  It was difficult to concentrate on what he was saying while the warmth of his body seeped into the length of her. “I’m certain there are any number of your peers whose titles begin with the letter T, my lord—”

  “Good heavens, I am holding you in my arms considering all the different ways I’d like to kiss you. Can you not now bring yourself to call me Hawk?”

  “Hawk? Not Thomas?” Had he given himself over to his darker side then? Her heart sank. Was she losing him so soon after finding him again?

  His lips brushed her temple and his breath tickled her skin when he spoke. “I suppose in my mind Thomas was the man who had failed to protect you. After that night, I changed. I had to. Something in me hardened. Maybe it had always been there, I don’t know. Either way, it kept me focused even in the face of constant failure, as every avenue I took to find this Lord T became a dead end.”