Her Dearest Sin

by Gayle Wilson

  “The other?”

  She took a breath before she asked, attempting to slow her heart. “I was merely curious as to whether His Majesty has also granted permission for Julián to marry the daughter of the man he murdered.”

  Had the king given her away as casually as he had disposed of the lands and titles that had once belonged to a man who had raised an army to help restore him to the throne?

  “As I’ve been reminded rather frequently of late, one must have proof in order to accuse the king’s favorite. I doubt you could prove that accusation any more than I am likely to be able to prove he murdered my friend.”

  “So he has escaped again,” she said.

  “For the time being. Will they send word to France that you’re missing?”

  She thought about the panic that would have ensued within the household when it was discovered she was gone. She could almost picture her maid’s frantic search of her room and her resulting wails of terror. Poor Anna.

  “The servants would be too afraid to tell him, I think. I don’t know which of his men went with Julián to Paris, but…I suppose it’s possible that whoever he left in charge here might be foolish enough to send him word.”

  “Foolish because confessing they had failed would be dangerous?”

  She laughed, the sound without humor. Failure was always dangerous. Everyone who worked for Julián knew that.

  They would be terrified to tell him and equally terrified that he might somehow find out that they hadn’t. She herself had been in that same position on several occasions. And she had always opted to keep silent in the hope that whatever she was hiding wouldn’t come out.

  This man couldn’t possibly understand the dread Julián’s staff would be feeling this morning when they discovered she was gone. Despite her firsthand knowledge, she still found it difficult to grasp the scope of her guardian’s cruelty, both to those who worked for him and to his soldiers, who followed him from fear rather than any sense of loyalty.

  “Whoever was in charge will pay with his life for my disappearance— if he is foolish enough to wait there until Julián returns. Unless I can be found or return on my own.”

  She couldn’t be sure who would be held responsible. And no matter who it was, the servants or one of Julián’s men, if they didn’t run away, they would be made to suffer for something that was not their fault.

  “You want to go back to him?” Sebastian asked, his tone incredulous. “Believing that he was responsible for your father’s death?”

  “Giving him an excuse to add another death to that toll won’t bring my father back. Or your friend. Believe me, the guilt I already bear for inciting Julián’s rages is quite sufficient already.”

  “The guilt you bear? You aren’t responsible for what he does.”

  “You don’t understand. Every time I disobey him—”

  “What I understand,” he broke in, “is that your guardian set out to create the perfect wife, someone who is properly cowed and submissive. Apparently he’s succeeded. And considering what you once were, that’s the real tragedy of your life.”

  What you once were… He meant that day by the river.

  The accusation that she was no longer the girl who had been brave enough to threaten him with his own sword cut her to the heart. That day, however, had been a turning point in her relationship with her guardian.

  She, who had been taught courage and honor from the cradle, had been forced since the incident by the river to balance the demands of the two in ways no one should have to. Whatever else Julián was, he was a man who understood human nature. When she had begged for Sebastian Sinclair’s life, her guardian had been given the key to understanding hers.

  From then on, any disobedience to his will resulted in swift and brutal punishments, but those were never inflicted on her. That she would have borne. In some perverse way, she would even have welcomed them as a form of penance for having been unknowingly responsible for her father’s death. Instead of punishing her, however, Julián made others suffer in her stead.

  “If I am late one minute in returning from a ride,” she said, trying to make this arrogant English soldier with his talk of submission understand what her life had been, “then the groom who accompanies me is beaten. If I displease Julián in my dress or my demeanor, especially when we are in public, my maid is beaten when we return home. Often I’m not even aware that I’ve given offense until I’m forced to witness his retaliation against some innocent victim. And so I freely confess that I try never to displease him.”

  It wasn’t fair that this man would take that hard-learned lesson and use it as a scourge against her. She understood what was at stake if she defied Julián. He didn’t.

  “It doesn’t matter what you think of me,” she went on. “You may believe me cowed and submissive. Or even a coward if you choose. I do what I do to keep others from being hurt in my stead. Like the anger you felt for the friend who died in your place, I can’t bear the thought of someone else paying the price for my supposed transgressions. Not even, God help me, if that person is you.”

  She had once compared his smile to Julián’s. This time, his eyes locked on hers, it was very slow in coming. When it did, there was no mockery in it. No coldness. And seeing it, inexplicably her heart lifted.

  “No matter what you fear,” he said, “for me or for others, I swear to you that if you will do what I ask of you, he’ll never use that threat to control you again. You have my word, as an officer and a gentleman, as well as my word as a Sinclair. And I promise you, I can make no pledge more binding than that.”

  There was a steadfast assurance in the quiet words. Despite what she knew of her guardian, she found herself believing Sebastian. Perhaps because she wanted to so much. And so, almost mesmerized by the promise of what he had offered, she nodded.

  “We’ll embark from Bordeaux. There’s always confusion in any operation of that size, but especially in this one, where a large number of dependents are to be transported as well as the troops.”

  “And I would go on board as one of those dependents?” she asked.

  The idea of leaving Spain and traveling to a foreign country with a man who was virtually a stranger was almost more frightening than the thought of returning to Julián’s house to deal with the consequences of her disappearance. Almost. If she had not read the absolute sincerity, as well as the certainty, in those blue eyes, she might not have been willing to listen to even this much of his plan.

  “The safest way will be for you to travel disguised as Malford’s…” He hesitated, his lips compressing briefly before he opened them to say the words. “As his wife.”

  “His wife?”

  “Not in reality, of course. No documentation will be required. The army is very lenient in accepting the word of a soldier that a woman is…attached to him.”

  “He would claim we were married?”

  “You need have no fear that Malford would in any way take advantage of the situation. It would merely be a ploy to get you safely on board.”

  She wondered why he didn’t suggest that she travel as his wife. Of course, as an officer and a gentleman, a phrase she seemed to be hearing with a deal of frequency lately, it might be difficult for him to later disavow knowledge of such a dependent. Especially if he were forced to make that claim in front of his fellow officers. For a common soldier, like Lord Wetherly’s batman, there would be no questions asked about what had become of his “wife” once they disembarked in England.

  “As soon as we arrive, I’ll convey you to my brother. Even if you don’t trust me to keep you safe, I assure you that you may put your faith in Dare’s abilities and, more important, in his connections. The Conde del Castillo will find it difficult to question protection sanctioned by the Prince Regent.”

  It seemed that he had considered every aspect of his plan. She couldn’t find fault with anything he had said. He had a powerful family, with powerful friends, who would undoubtedly be able to offer her the sa
nctuary he had promised. So the only question was…

  “Why are you doing this? Are you hoping Julián will follow me to England so you may kill him there?”

  There was a small silence before he asked, “Do you believe he will?”

  She couldn’t read any emotion, neither hope nor anticipation, in the question, so she answered it with the truth.

  “He has what he wanted all along. And he’s managed to achieve it without having to marry me. I think if you still want to kill Julián, you’ll have to come back to the Continent and hunt him down.”

  “And kill him like the cur he is,” Sebastian finished softly.

  She let the silence build for a moment before she broke it. “But it’s foxes you hunt in England, isn’t it,” she asked, holding his eyes. “Believe me, Captain Sinclair, you’ll find that to be a far more fitting analogy for Julián Delgado.”

  When the soft knock sounded again on the door of the room where she was hidden, it was after dusk. For a moment she didn’t respond, expecting it to open immediately as it had this morning.

  Malford, she decided, when it didn’t. Or perhaps the kind, fat man who brought her meals. In any case, not Sebastian, and despite the feelings she had cautioned herself against all day, there was a swell of disappointment.

  She crossed the room, and then, just as she reached the door, her steps slowed. What if this were not one of the three trusted people who knew about her presence? What if this were another of the servants, the scullery boy or a maid come to clean the room? Or, the thought far more frightening than the others, what if Julián were standing on the other side?

  And then she ridiculed her own fear. Her guardian would hardly wait to be given permission to enter. He would break down the door and drag her out by her hair.

  As she hesitated, the knock sounded again, slightly louder this time. And she recognized the voice that spoke her name immediately after it.

  She opened the door and looked up into Sebastian Sinclair’s eyes. Illuminated by the candle he held, they seemed almost luminous in the dimness of the stone passageway. As blue as the sapphires in her mother’s parure.

  For a moment she couldn’t seem to think of anything else. Not to step back and let him in. Not even to draw the next breath.

  His eyes looked down into hers with an intensity she could feel. And although they were both standing in the open doorway, he seemed oblivious to the danger that someone might see her.

  Then he moved, breaking the spell that held them motionless. She stepped back, allowing him room to enter. She closed the door behind him, being careful to make as little noise as possible.

  “I’ve brought you some clothing,” he said.

  He held the bundle he was carrying in his left hand out to her like a gift. When she had taken it, he crossed the room and set the candle down on the table beside the bed.

  As she watched him, she was again conscious of the fit of his uniform, tailored to cover those broad shoulders without a wrinkle. The smooth line of his pantaloons, which disappeared into the top of high boots, emphasized the same play of muscle she had been aware of that night at the reception. The night that had begun this.

  Except, of course, it hadn’t. Her relationship with this man had begun months before, when she had stolen his sword and put the point of it against his throat. For an instant, the memory as intense as his eyes had been in the hallway, she pictured those wet drawers clinging like a second skin to his lean frame.

  “This is not your spare uniform, I take it?”

  He turned, his eyes slightly widened. Then the stern line of his lips relaxed. Again the image of the laughing gallant who had showed neither fear nor anger over her attempt to rob him was in her head. His eyes had simply held on hers that day, just as they had a moment ago at the door. Just as they were now.

  “I think you will be less conspicuous in those,” he said.

  She lowered her gaze to the bundle, beginning to unfold the garments that made it up.

  “I don’t believe I ever asked what you intended to do with my uniform after you’d stolen it.”

  She glanced up and found that his lips had arranged themselves into a smile. Not quite as open as the one she had seen that day by the river. Of course, in the time since she had encountered him again, he had had little enough to smile about.

  “I was going to disguise myself as an English soldier.”

  “A soldier in a very badly fitting uniform,” he suggested.

  “Not everyone is blessed with your tailor, Captain Sinclair.”

  “I shall take that as a compliment.”

  “Somehow I was sure that you would.”

  Hiding her own smile, she again lowered her eyes to examine the items he’d brought. They were much the same as the garments she had stolen from Anna that day. Perhaps not so fine. Or so clean, she acknowledged with a tiny wrinkle of her nose.

  “I owe you an apology,” he said.

  Her eyes came up to find he was watching her, the amusement gone. His features were as set as when she had told him the story of her father. As stern as when he had talked about his friend’s death.

  “An apology, Captain Sinclair? Whatever for?”

  Actually, there were any number of things in his treatment of her that a gentleman might wish to apologize for. Stealing a kiss in a dark garden. Holding her wrists. Causing her to fall and strike her head. Abducting her.

  “I believe…I believe I was mistaken about the disappearance of the girl I met by the river that day.”

  “Mistaken?”

  “I think she still exists. Her spirit may have been subdued, but given what has happened to her, that might be expected. I didn’t understand all the reasons for why she did the things she did. I humbly beg her pardon for accusing her of being a coward.”

  Perhaps her emotions were still too exposed, too near the surface. Whatever the reason, her eyes unexpectedly began to fill with tears. She controlled them through sheer will, refusing to allow them to fall.

  “I believe you once made a claim to being both charming and entertaining, Captain Sinclair. The prime duties of a staff officer, I think you said.”

  “English arrogance.”

  “Indeed? And I was about to compliment you on having told nothing less than the truth that night.”

  “I’m sorry then that I suggested it was arrogance. I don’t suppose you would be willing to acquit me of—”

  “Of being charming,” she interrupted quickly, smiling at him. “But of course. If that’s what you wish.”

  “What I wish—”

  For some reason, he broke the sentence abruptly. She waited through the pause, wondering because the phrase had such intriguing possibilities. What I wish…

  “Captain Sinclair?” she prompted finally.

  “I wish you would call me Sebastian,” he said, the alignment of his mouth changing again, almost a tilt. “It seems we are on far too intimate terms for the formality of titles.”

  Intimate. The word had so many connotations, she wasn’t sure which he meant. They had shared a kiss. He had carried her while she was wearing only her nightgown. Watched over her as she slept. All of which might be considered intimate. Far too intimate by some.

  “If you wish,” she said.

  He hadn’t asked permission to address her by name. Although her father had seen to it that she was educated in its literature and language, she was not perfectly certain of the niceties of social protocol in England. Perhaps it would be improper for him to call her Pilar.

  And then, as she thought that, she realized the absurdity of worrying about proper forms of address from a man with whom she was conversing while wearing only her rail. A man who had once kissed her while holding her so tightly that her breasts had been crushed against his chest. A man who had seen to her physical needs throughout a long night during which she had been helpless. Completely in his power.

  “My name is Pilar,” she said.

  “Doña Pilar,” he repeated soft
ly.

  It was her title, just as his brother would be called Lord Dare, but…

  “Pilar,” she corrected, her voice as low as his. “Our acquaintance, although brief, is, as you say, of a certain intimacy.”

  His lips lifted again, but this time the movement was quickly controlled.

  “Are you laughing at me, Sebastian?”

  “Forgive me. It seems a long time since I’ve found anything even remotely amusing.”

  “And you find me amusing?”

  Again there was a brief hesitation before he responded. “I find you both charming and entertaining, my lady,” he said. “You would indeed have made a very fine staff officer. If you had only had my tailor, of course.”

  He was flirting with her, she realized with a touch of shock. Just as he had during the first few minutes they had spent together in the garden that night, before she had known who he was or why he was there.

  That had been a deliberate deception. But this? This was probably as natural to him as breathing.

  Charming and entertaining. And as she had then, she was again responding. This time without any sense of impending doom.

  Perhaps that was because she knew her fiancé was no longer in the country. Perhaps it was because she was safely hidden in the house of the English envoy. Or perhaps it was because she was with a man who had sworn to protect her. And who, for some inexplicable reason, she believed might really be able to.

  “Ready?” Sebastian asked.

  She nodded, although her face seemed unnaturally pale in the candlelight.

  The envoy’s party was to leave Madrid at dawn. Therefore, they had to get Pilar out of the house tonight so she could be hidden among the women and children who would be accompanying the English soldiers as they departed.

  Some of the garrison force, which had been left behind when the main British army had crossed the frontier last winter, were to serve as an escort for the duke. Together they would make their way to Bordeaux to join the rest of the troops awaiting the transports.

  If it hadn’t been for those units and the camp followers who had attached themselves to them, Sebastian wasn’t sure how he would have smuggled the ward of the Conde del Castillo out of the Spanish capital. As it was, Pilar must blend in among those other women, just as she would have to on board ship.