Return to the House of Sin

by Anabelle Bryant

  Now the tears came hot and fast at a breath-stealing pace. She wanted to see her sister, despite their quarrelling and angst. She wished to feel the comfort of her father’s embrace and wrap herself in the consoling familiarity of the blanket she kept on her bed at home. The jagged reality of what she’d denied for nearly three weeks reared up in full force and racking sobs. She was terribly alone. Locked away on a ship. Her loneliness grew with suffocating dimension, lying aware, without a clock to know the hour, without a clear view to the outside world. But perhaps that was for the best, each interminable minute excruciating. She clenched her eyes closed and stayed that way a long time.

  At last, when there was nothing left inside, she forced herself up from the mattress, pushed her hair over her shoulder and dropped her chin into her hands to rest her elbows on her knees. It was an utterly preposterous pose for a proper lady dressed in a chemise, barefooted and stowed away in a bachelor lord’s quarters. She caught her reflection in the cheval glass on the opposite wall and couldn’t help but giggle, an abundance of laughter which banished her sadness on a tide of new emotion. She laughed until her sides ached, one pain replacing another.

  She’d managed the voyage thus far. With only two days remaining, she would be returned to England safely and without mishap. That feat proved her independence beyond any soiree in society’s view. Wasn’t there great triumph in accomplishment? She jutted her chin out a notch and stood to dress. Tonight, when the rest of the ship found sleep, she would slip above deck for a glimpse of the stars and a reminder of how very far she’d come, alone, without anyone’s assistance.

  Without anyone save Crispin. But he hadn’t visited for longer than she’d like to consider and the memory of his kiss brought with it turmoil so strong it squeezed her heart to breathlessness. He likely regretted it. Better she not consider it. Once she returned home, his kiss would be nothing more than a distant memory, a secret lost on the ocean breeze.

  True to her plan and wide awake due to unavoidable napping, she eased the door opened and slipped into the cool night air. As expected, the corridor stood silent and her heels on the wooden planks hardly made a sound. She stole up the stairs and skimmed the forecastle, easing upward to the bow of the ship, clinging tightly to the obscurity. Above her, crewmen kept watch and she did not wish to be detected. She noticed one now, faster than a spider upon a web, as he crawled up the rigging and disappeared, engulfed in black sky and white linen.

  With caution she secured a small space, mostly concealed from the rest of the ship. She released a long-held exhale and breathed deeply, relishing the night air. She filled her lungs with freedom and the promise of England tomorrow. Her eyes misted but she blinked emotion away. She placed a hand on the rail and conjured a smile. The night sky twinkled back at her, alive with more stars than all the crystal chandeliers at Almack’s.

  ‘Have you no idea the danger you invite, Mouse?’

  She emitted a squeak of protest from his startle and proved his little name for her true. Her heart kicked into a rush of palpitations stronger than the waves against the bow. She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed his voice or the playful comfortability they’d formed, until his words met her ear.

  ‘You can hardly judge the torture of confinement having free range of the ship. I feared I’d be overcome by boredom. One can only play so many hands of Vingt-et-un before one wants for another’s company.’ She hadn’t meant to pull their memories back to that night, their kiss, but it seemed her mouth had other plans.

  ‘Indeed.’

  He aligned himself beside her, though he kept sufficient distance. She yearned for the connection, a gesture so slight as his elbow against her arm.

  ‘Tomorrow we’ll be home.’ A note of joy graced the words. Relief too, and the opportunity to have her feet upon soil, her ability to move about society restored.

  ‘Yes. Tomorrow.’ He shifted his weight, his bent arm upon the rail as he angled his body, an expression of serious contemplation on his face. ‘I suppose then tonight we should say our farewells. Come morning you’ll meld into the crowd, not a soul the wiser for the ship’s lovely stowaway.’

  ‘You never came back.’ The accusation sounded sharper than she’d intended, but in truth, he deserved her anger.

  ‘You had more than sufficient food and drink provided to your door.’

  She wouldn’t voice what she didn’t have. In the fractured moonlight, his features appeared hardened, unyielding, and not at all like that evening when he’d brought them together with a kiss. She wrapped her arms around her middle, to keep her memories at bay or ward off the chill of his explanation she did not know.

  ‘So, what will you do once you’re returned to London, Amanda?’

  ‘I’ll manage. I’ll send word to Father in France and depend on myself for a change.’ She rather liked how that sounded, resolute and determined. Indeed, she’d focus on keeping to the task and not become distracted.

  ‘Well said.’ His voice lost some of its edge. ‘A woman who knows what she’s about. The heavens have sent me another version of Sophie, my troublesome sister, to remind all too soon I’ll be home in kind.’

  ‘I’m not your sister.’ She had no reason to object and behave with petulance other than her desire to be seen as an individual woman.

  Crispin closed the space between them. ‘No, you aren’t. You aren’t at all.’

  Crispin said the words and viewed the woman before him. Her hair was unbound, endless waves of brown satin which reached her waist, the lightest tendrils teased by the ocean wind. Ferris had spoken the truth. Here stood a beautiful mermaid, a mythical being who he would believe a figment of his imagination if he didn’t experience the dull press of pain inside his chest every time he looked into her jade-green eyes.

  Still, he questioned the situation. Was it all an inebriated fantasy? Was he still in Venice, indulgently intoxicated and decadently satiated, amidst an act of unadulterated debauchery, or in the throes of a fascinating nightmare where his past met his present in a battle of conscience? If he were to reach for her, would she vanish, dissolve into opalescent mist, nothing more than a wish made while dreaming?

  There was only one way to be sure.

  She didn’t resist, though he registered her surprise, a tremor of a startle that began at her shoulder and skittered down her spine. He pulled her further into his embrace, flush with his body, and when she looked up, her forehead near his chin, her eyes were wide with wonder. He slid his hands behind her shoulders, beneath the weight of her silky hair, and cursed silently for the effort, one more detail he would remember when he shouldn’t accumulate any.

  How dare she make him feel when he’d rather not.

  He waited another beat, the backdrop of glowing clouds, rushing surge of ocean water, and delectable temptation before him, a moment to be savoured. Then he crushed his mouth down upon hers and took what he’d wanted since the last time he’d held her, tasted her, licked into her hot, lush lips.

  She rose on tiptoe, giving him back what he demanded, their tongues entwined in a carnal dance, sensual and erotic. He’d missed the feel of her, the velvet smooth stroke of her tongue against his. He groaned, instinctual and unsummoned, and she responded, her hands sliding up his chest to circle his neck and hold fast.

  He was hungry for her and she answered that hunger, kissing him back with the same fervour. He drew on her tongue, nipped her lips, savoured her taste and scent, all in an effort to imprint on his soul the endless pleasure, the maddening memory. He should never have begun it, but he didn’t want it to end. Somehow a kiss meant to end their acquaintance opened up a lifetime instead.

  They flirted with the worst kind of danger. She was a highborn ingénue, a darling debutante who dreamed of impressing the ton at popular social functions. He was the worst of those things, jaded, reckless, and avowed to a path that would inure those qualities and worsen his reputation.

  He could only hurt her in the en
d. Still, he took what he wanted in the moment.

  He breathed deep, inundated by the taste and texture of her being, and pressed closer, the kiss gone wild with desire, a resounding demand which threatened to numb his bones and find his heart buried under layers of unspeakable regret. Her response, timid and bold, wild yet cunning, set his blood afire. What was it about her? He dared not examine that question too closely.

  She trembled against him. Did she feel it too? Her warm, lithe body cosseted against his chest as if she wished to become one. The sudden thought lit another flame of longing. His groin tightened, his cock anxious, unaccustomed to ongoing unrelenting torment, the usual eventuality abruptly left unsatisfied.

  And this was what caused him to break away, a mixture of bitter laughter and expletives spewed into the night air at the impossibility of the situation.

  She watched him, her narrow brows furrowed with question, her lips swollen, though she uttered not a word.

  ‘Goodbye, Mouse.’ He stepped backwards, not yet ready to break the intensity of her stare. ‘Goodbye, Amanda.’ He turned his back and walked away.

  Amanda watched Crispin’s receding form, his shadow quick to follow on the narrow deck. She didn’t call after him, despite her mind flooded with a dozen questions. He’d kissed her with passion. She’d sensed his reaction, felt the hard press of his erection against her belly. Still, he worked at rejection with earnest effort. She wondered what drove him. His secrets buried too deeply to decipher.

  She’d experienced kisses. Had her share of gentlemanly suitors. While her sister viewed every relationship as a pathway to marriage, Amanda neglected long-term plans. She was still creating herself, never mind becoming the wife of another. And too, in her sister’s recent disappointment and heartache there lay a lesson to be learned.

  But Crispin, for all his proclaimed character, was another matter altogether. He portrayed the rogue, one with fickle attention and fleeting desire, though she didn’t believe it true. Below a veneer of contrived reputation, she knew his emotions cut deep. Here was a man who, when deciding to love, would love deeply and devotedly. She wondered at the woman who could ever win his heart.

  Lost in these thoughts, she didn’t leave straightaway. The cool evening air was a welcome respite. Her lips throbbed with the heat of his kiss and, when tears pinched the back of her throat, she turned her face to the wind and closed her eyes, unwilling to allow them to fall.

  A discordant sound drew her attention. Had Crispin returned? She didn’t know whether to offer comfort or rail in anger. He confused her with his contrary moods.

  But no. She barely had time to process what happened before that same lanky crewman, the one who’d leered at her on the day she’d boarded, swung down from the headstay, his feet skimming the rope until he dropped on the deck and landed before her.

  ‘Look ‘at I found ‘ere. Did you save any of those kisses for me?’

  His menacing whisper stopped the breath in her lungs and she froze. There was nowhere to run. The same way she’d escape was blocked by the stranger, her back against the skylight hatch.

  She couldn’t scream. No one would hear her frightened plea over the rush of ocean waves. Nor could she fight. And the horrifying realization, that the crewman could have his way with her person and easily toss her into the dark forbidding sea, crippled a plan from forming. No one would know what had happened to her. She would never see her father or sister again.

  Chapter Eleven

  Crispin strode across the main deck and down to Ferris’s room with the knowledge he’d wronged Amanda. He knew it with the first step and the feeling didn’t subside no matter he forced himself to walk away. Damn the emotions which unfurled inside, daring him to recognize how she affected him. Still, she didn’t deserve his callous dismissal. She did nothing to earn his anger.

  He wouldn’t allow himself to care for her beyond pedestrian responsibility. Already she permeated his thoughts, intruded on his dreams, and caused him to wonder if their paths would cross in London. Would he look up from a dinner table at some nameless function and find her in attendance? Would she be dressed in elegance? Jewels at her neck and ribbons in her hair? On the arm of a true gentleman? Her new husband?

  What right did she have to obliterate nearly a year of dissolution? How dare she provoke him to care? Black curses fell from his lips as he circled back, his strides eating up the planks in his rush to rectify the situation. Would she have gone below deck already? He would check the bow first. Unlike London, he knew where to find her were she not there.

  The looming stretch of a tall shadow was the first sign of trouble as he rounded the skylight box and approached where they’d stood. He caught Amanda’s eyes, wide with terror as she was dragged backwards, the bare arm of a crewman wrapped around her neck, a hand sealed across her mouth.

  Rage, blinding hot and fierce, coursed through him. He charged forward without care, barrelling the three of them to the planking, the jolt loosening the crewman’s hold so Amanda could scurry aside, although instead of hurrying below deck she backed away a few spaces and watched as he landed punch after punch. The treachery Amanda courted, the danger he’d subjected her to by leaving, fuelled his every strike and, with the surprise of his attack to benefit, it was short work to lay the bastard crewman out cold.

  ‘Tell me you’re all right.’ He stood and wiped his bloody fist on his breeches. He blew out a breath before he speared her with an insistent stare. ‘Dammit, Amanda, say something.’

  He’d hardly given her time to speak, though her stark complexion and shuddered breath warned she remained beside herself with fear. She gave the slightest nod and he heaved a sigh. He took her hand, noted the tremble, and led her away from the straggled crewman, motionless against the planks. The man would have a sizeable headache and bump on the head to go with it come morning.

  They reached his quarters in silence and stepped inside. Securing the latch, he leaned his back against the door for an added measure of security.

  ‘I’m sorry.’ There were so many things he needed to apologize for, he hoped she’d accept his admission without question. After all his precautions, he shouldn’t have left her alone. Shouldn’t have kissed her in the first place. He was more enraged with himself than anything else.

  It was late, she was shaken, and with a mixture of conflicted emotions coursing through him, he doubted he would find the right words to explain. It was a miracle he mustered the two he’d spoken.

  ‘I know.’

  Her answer wasn’t what he expected, but then she continually surprised him, didn’t she? ‘Be assured you’re safe until morning. I doubt the scourge will wake up any time soon, but if he does I’ve scrambled his brain sufficiently and he won’t attempt to find you. We’ll be docked before the dawn. Hell, that’s only a few hours from now.’ He watched her pace a few steps aside the bed. Her shoulders had relaxed and her expression calmed.

  ‘Will you stay?’ Her glance flittered to the spindle-backed chair, a reminder of those first carefree days of travel, before emotion and other inconveniences joined their travels, and then back again, her beseeching eyes difficult to ignore.

  ‘No. It’s better I leave now when no one’s about.’ He couldn’t care for her beyond what was necessary. He couldn’t allow tender feelings. And, as if his reply instigated his departure, he turned, offered a curt nod, and left the room, unwilling to see the emotion in her eyes.

  Dover was a sight to behold. Amanda hardly slept, anxious to disembark and escape the multitude of memories which haunted her waking thoughts. Gathering what little she had and pilfering a playing card from Crispin’s deck, for memory’s sake only, she eased open the door and spied surreptitiously into the corridor. A stranger approached, his broad swagger an immediate reason to close the door, though a knock sounded not two beats later. She’d assumed she could blend into the crowd of passengers as they clogged the upper deck and make for the dockside ramp, but now that plan seemed
ill-advised.

  She heard Crispin’s voice outside the door and another, throaty foreign male, who expressed anger in broken English. Recognition was fast to identify the other man as the traveller she’d heard on her first day as stowaway, and the count she’d led on a merry chase after he’d fetched her food and drink.

  ‘Amanda, you can open the door.’ Crispin’s voice boomed through the panel and she obeyed, unsure what was to occur but likewise as anxious to be off the ship.

  The two men entered and, as suspected, there stood the Count of Este from the galley a week past.

  ‘I’ve found your mouse.’ The count smiled in her direction before switching his attention to Crispin. ‘And a rat too.’

  ‘It’s complicated.’ Crispin strode to his trunks, fastened the leather straps and stacked the smaller of the three on top.

  ‘That’s it?’ The count pinned Crispin with an accusatory stare.

  ‘It’s not what you think.’ Crispin waved a hand in her direction. ‘She’s like my sister.’

  The words caused a sharp pang of disappointment, although she hadn’t considered how else Crispin would explain her existence in his quarters.

  ‘I agree. Bellissimo.’ The count came forward with a scoundrel’s grin. ‘You escaped me once before, but now I have your attention.’

  ‘Good morning.’ For lack of something better to say, she defaulted to manners.

  ‘Let’s go. I’ll instruct my man to have the trunks removed and brought to the carriage as soon as we get our feet on land.’ Crispin seemed all business, his face a mask of tolerant patience, though she might have seen a flicker of anger in his eyes.

  She knew her existence had ruined his trip, but there was little to be done about that now. All she could think about was disembarking, journeying home, and somehow contacting her father.