Wages of Sin (Regency Rebelles Book 1)

by Jen Yates

  ‘I do,’ she said, ‘though I don't really believe in them any more. I stopped believing in a lot of things once I no longer had the playmate who encouraged the fantasies. The world was a magical place back then.’

  ‘We haven't lost that magic, Lou,’ he said, folding his arms about her shoulders. ‘Do you like your unicorn then? There will be a different one on every drawer.’

  Her fingers traced the lines of the carving and his heart felt raw in his chest.

  Turning to fetch two mugs from the shelf, he placed them on the table with the cake.

  And she still stood tracing the lines of the unicorn, every one carved with love for her.

  ‘I love him,’ she said softly. ‘You’re so talented, Levi. Where did you learn to do this?’

  Her question reminded him she knew as little of the man he’d become as he did of her.

  ‘Will you pour?’ he asked, then settled on a stool at the table. ‘I used to hang around Coombe the Cabinet Maker’s Workshop whenever I could. I loved the smell of the wood, watching the shavings curling off his plane and the way his chisel could find the magical beasts in the timber and bring them into high relief. I wanted to do that and he encouraged me to play about with offcuts and even gave me an old set of chisels of my own. That was probably so I didn't wreck his good ones—but—I felt such a man with those chisels lined up on my belt.’

  Her eyes were a soft luminous green as she handed him his tea. The rare jewel color of them had always fascinated him.

  Longing shuddered through his body. This is what it would be like with Lou for his wife. Together of an evening, and then—

  ‘So you didn't spend all your time helping your father in the mill?’ she asked, settling on the other stool at the table, reaching for a piece of cake and biting into it with a soft hum of appreciation.

  Now he was having trouble focusing on the question. But focus, he would. Being able to just sit and talk with this woman was as precious as having her with him in his bed.

  ‘No, but Da always knew where I was. Philip was often dispatched to fetch me. I always worked at a small bench facing the street because on very special days I would catch a glimpse of my Mama and her charges, walking into the village after luncheon.’

  ‘I wish I’d known,’ she chortled. ‘I’d have made sure to poke my tongue out as we passed.’

  ‘Poke it out now and see what happens,’ he growled.

  ‘Ha!’ She pointed at his mug. ‘I poured the tea. Are you going to drink it?’

  ‘I'm sorry I only have tin mugs. Not what my lady is used to, I think.’

  ‘I don't care, Levi. We’re here drinking tea together. That's what I care about.’

  As if to prove the point, she took a healthy sip of her tea while watching him over the rim of the mug, her eyes luminous, caressing.

  ‘I wondered—while I was downstairs—whether you even knew how to make tea. It occurs to me how little we know each other—now.’

  Her gaze turned serious. There was so much more sophistication about her than when they were children. He still saw occasional flashes of the mischievous sprite she’d been but there was more evidence of the maturity that had been forced on her with marriage.

  His particeps criminis. Life had been so simple then.

  ‘Of course I can make tea—and I can stitch and sew a fine seam—but I can't cook. When—when we’re able to be together I’ll have to learn to cook—or we’ll starve.’

  ‘Granny Joan will teach you,’ he said comfortably, waving his mug of tea in the direction of the few crumbs left on the plate. ‘My mama doesn't cook. Granny Joan taught her apparently, but couldn't stay out of the kitchen—and then Mama went to be governess at the Hall and it made sense for Granny Joan to run the mill-house—as she has always done. Probably will till the day she dies. Have you finished your tea? I want to show you something.’

  He rose and crossed to the door at the opposite end to the bedroom. Holding the light aloft, he waited and watched for her reaction.

  A polished oak table stood in the center of the room surrounded by six carved high back chairs and a skeleton of a matching kitchen dresser stood against the wall, minus its cupboard doors and drawer fronts.

  ‘This will be the kitchen. The bench and stove will go on the end wall, the pantry in the left-hand alcove and the scullery to the right. It's not ideal, but seemed the best use of the space. What do you think? I do plan on a proper house, out by the road between the stables and the mill-house, in time.’

  ‘You have thought it all out?’

  ‘I have a lot of time for thinking, planning—and dreaming, Lou.’

  A soft wail of pain left her lips and she wrapped her body around his and clung.

  ‘Oh, Levi, I wish—’

  ‘Yeah. Me too, love.’

  He pulled her back into the middle room, set the lantern down, then took her back into his arms.

  ‘Having you here is like a dream, one I don't want to end but—but—I want to love you—one more time—’

  Spearing his fingers through her hair, he gazed down into her eyes. So green, so filled with love—for him.

  ‘Please,’ she whispered.

  ***

  There was a softening of the darkness on the horizon by the time Levi left her in the shrubbery closest to Justin’s rooms where she’d left a window on the latch. In the shelter of the trees she turned into his arms one last time, loathe to release him.

  ‘I don’t know when I can come again.’

  ‘You must not risk it, love. You know your papa. I’d rather know you’re here, even if unattainable, than so far beyond my reach—at Earnslaw.’

  Breath shuddered in her chest and she clung.

  ‘God, I hate this,’ she whispered.

  A soft groan of pain rumbled in his chest, tearing her open inside.

  His mouth closed on hers, tongues and breaths tangling.

  ‘Yet,’ he murmured against her cheek, ‘we must be grateful for what we’ve had. I know patience is a cold, harsh word right now—but our time will come. Just remember—always—I love you. You are my purpose. Knowing you’re here—nearby, breathing the air I breathe, where occasionally I can see you makes life bearable. Every day that passes is a day closer to our goal.’

  ‘You always were more patient than I,’ Liberty said, nuzzling along his jaw.

  ‘Mmm, that’s why I always caught fish when we put our poles in the brook, and you never did.’

  A watery chuckle escaped her. At least they had memories.

  ‘And you were so insufferably smug about it.’

  ‘Of course. I was the man.’

  ‘You always make me laugh, even when I want to cry.’ She kissed him hard. ‘I’m going now. Don’t look back, Levi. Go, and don’t look back—otherwise—’

  ‘Yeah love,’ he said pressing one last kiss to her hair, ‘otherwise the gardeners will find us come daylight, curled up together among the hollyhocks.’

  Laughter and tears tangled painfully in her throat.

  ‘Love you,’ Liberty breathed, broke away and ran swiftly across the lawns to let herself into Justin’s suite.

  Not daring to risk actually entering the room, she stood still outside the door and listened for his soft rhythmic snores. Satisfied he’d not stirred and that Brant slept peacefully on his truckle bed, she made her way into the back hall and up the service stairs to her room on the second floor.

  ***

  ‘My lady. Wake up, my lady.’

  Her eyes felt as if they were glued shut.

  ‘Go away, Goldie. Let me sleep.’

  ‘I would, my lady, but it's late and Lord Earnslaw is being difficult and Mrs. Calder asked me to fetch you. She thinks he's distressed because—well—because you usually feed him his breakfast and he doesn't like any change to his routine.’

  With a thud of guilt thoughts of Justin landed in her consciousness, tempting her to dive under her pillow and never show her face again.

  ‘What
time is it?’

  Liberty finally forced her eyelids apart so she could peer up at her maid.

  ‘Half after eight.’

  ‘Oh!’

  Three hours of sleep would have to suffice. It was a small enough price to pay for that stolen interlude with Levi. Pushing the covers off, she sat up and hung her legs over the edge of the bed.

  ‘Find me something to wear, please Goldie. Something serviceable if Justin is being difficult. And hurry. We don't want Mrs. Calder handing in her notice.’

  If only she had that luxury herself.

  I'm not attending the sick room today because I want to wallow in my bed and dream—

  ‘Good morning, Mrs. Calder. Good morning Justin.’

  Her husband was propped against his pillows with a napkin tied about his neck and the twisted scowl on his face would have done a gargoyle proud.

  ‘Thank goodness you’re here, my lady. He's been asking and asking for you, and refusing to eat, or get up and get dressed, or anything really.’

  Justin’s direct, baleful stare told her there was something on his mind that would be better probed without the nurse present.

  ‘Go and have your breakfast, Mrs. Calder. I’ll see to my husband.’

  As the woman let herself out of the room, Liberty settled into the chair at the bedside.

  ‘What's wrong? Why aren't you eating?’

  She lifted a spoonful of the creamy scrambled eggs cook had made especially for Justin’s breakfast.

  A few angry grunts were his only response.

  ‘You have to eat, Justin, while it’s still warm. It’ll be horrible when it's cold.’

  ‘Gah!’

  His hand flew out and dashed the spoon away, scrambled egg scattering across the counterpane and all down her skirt. ‘Serviceable’ had been a good choice for her gown today.

  Clamping her lips on the scold she wanted to deliver, Liberty set the tray aside and silently cleaned up the mess. His eyes followed her every move, then fixed on her as she sat back down in the chair and glared back at him.

  ‘Where?’

  She was too tired to play the guessing game this morning.

  ‘Talk.’

  That last was clear enough.

  ‘About what?’

  He pointed at her face.

  ‘Tired.’

  ‘You make me tired.’

  He shook his head vigorously and reached for the piece of charcoal and sheet of rough paper that now always lay to his hand.

  ‘Tired,’ he said again, quite clearly, then wrote ‘LOVD’.

  Liberty stared at the word. It was a desperate scrawl but recognizable for all that. What was he trying to say? Surely he couldn't tell? She stared at the word, a pulse beating in her throat, and guilt a tide of heat rushing through her body.

  It was impossible to meet his eyes, regardless he'd given her permission. He’d told her to go to Levi. Guilt drowned her.

  ‘Lib.’

  At his guttural demand of her name, she looked up to find him gazing at her with a strangely soft look in his eyes and she couldn't look away.

  What did he want her to say?

  Then he began struggling to write again—showed her.

  ‘LOOK TIRED, LOVD.’

  She stared helplessly into his eyes.

  What was she to say? The euphoria of her night with Levi sat like a lump of mangled lead in her belly, as she considered the pain she’d visit on Justin by admitting to it.

  Nor could she deny or suppress what she felt for Levi, longed for with him, not even to ease the heart of a sick old man.

  Love in any form, she’d discovered, wasn’t easy.

  ‘Been L— Levi?’

  Liberty nodded.

  ‘Good.’

  His pronunciation was slow, deliberate, labored, leaving her no doubts of what he'd said.

  ‘Good?’ she repeated, searching his face to verify he actually felt what he said.

  ‘Good,’ he managed again.

  Dear God. Should she tell him?

  ‘Levi asked me to thank you,’ she said.

  The stoic set of his features softened and then a single tear dribbled down his sunken cheek. He bent to the paper and began writing again.

  ‘MEET HIM,’ he wrote, and pointed at himself.

  ‘You want to meet him?’

  Liberty had been sitting back in her chair trying to distance herself from this whole conversation, but now she leant forward, staring at Justin in horror.

  He clamped his lips together and nodded.

  ‘Papa would have a conniption fit if he found Levi anywhere near the Hall.’

  His eyes actually twinkled up at her, and an oddly crafty look crossed his face before he began writing again.

  ‘SNEK—NITE’.

  When he showed her what he'd written, he pointed to the window.

  ‘You think he could sneak in through the window? At night?’

  He gave a jerky nod.

  ‘Why do you want to meet Levi? It can only be hurtful for you.’

  And why was she whispering as if the walls could hear—and tell Papa of this weird conversation—though what Papa could say about a conversation between husband and wife, she couldn't imagine. But knowing her father, he’d say it anyway—and make rules and demands as he was wont to do.

  Justin was writing again, his twisted features a rictus of concentration.

  ‘WRTHY OF U?’

  Liberty had to study his efforts for several minutes before deciphering what he'd written.

  ‘You want to know if Levi is worthy of me? The miller's son?’

  She knew of no one in their social circle who wouldn't consider the terms ‘worthy’ and ‘miller's son’ mutually exclusive. She really did not fully comprehend this man she'd married and regret stabbed at her heart as she realized it was probably already too late to change that to any great degree.

  A garbled slew of words flew from his mouth and Liberty could not understand any of it, except that he wanted an answer.

  ‘Levi is more worthy than any man I've ever met.’

  ‘Bring. Please.’

  Liberty held his gaze steadily and then said, ‘If you’ll eat your breakfast, I’ll see if it can be done.’

  He smiled and opened his mouth.

  He might be helpless in many ways, she realized, but the essential integrity of the man was still intact—and he had not given up.

  She could only hope her own spirit would be as strong under similar circumstances.

  Two nights later, as she was settling Justin for the night, he gripped her hand and said, ‘When?’

  ‘When what?’

  ‘L—Lee?’

  ‘Levi?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Heart leaping in her chest with anticipation, she said, ‘I’ll go and see him tonight if I can. I can't guarantee he’ll come, Justin. It's—it's a strange request.’

  Would Levi even consider it? He did hold a bitterness in his heart that Justin had gained what he had no right to ever aspire to.

  ‘Please.’

  ‘Alright.’

  ***

  ‘Dammit, Lou, this is foolhardy,’ Levi growled, shutting the door against the world and anyone who might appear out of the dark to snatch her away from him.

  ‘Bloody foolhardy,’ he added softly, wrapping his arms about her and pulling her close. ‘But I’ll take every moment you can steal for us.’

  No more words were necessary, as they ran up the stairs to his big bed in the loft.

  But as he lay, sated with her in his arms, she shattered his moment of bliss with a request that sent chills up and down his spine.

  ‘Justin wants to meet me?’

  ‘Yes—he wants to know that you're worthy of me,’ she muttered.

  ‘Like—like he was your father, or something? It's a wonder he didn't ask about my intentions!’

  Liberty chuckled and dabbed small heated kisses on his mouth. But for once her mouth could not distract him. Everything wit
hin him rejected the thought of coming face to face with the man who was Liberty’s husband.

  ‘I guess—your intentions—are fairly obvious.’

  ‘He's a good man, Lou. He cares about you. And he's dying—really. It's sobering to wonder if I’d be as generous, as caring if the tables were turned. What the devil would I say to him? I'm just a working man. What would he want to know? And—Goddammit!—I’ve been fucking his wife!’

  ‘He knows that, Levi. He sent me, remember? You could talk about your horses. The stables. The furniture you're making. You could show him the sketches for the carvings you're doing. You’re a man of many parts, Show him that. He—appreciates art—and butterflies. You should probably bring him that book where you drew all those magical worlds. He'd be intrigued, I think. Do you still write those wickedly fanciful stories about your pictures?’

  Heat crept into his cheeks and he was glad of the dimness of the light from the one candle burning on the dresser. His Lou knew him too well. Was probably the only person living who knew about those wild fantasies he wrote.

  ‘You do!’

  ‘Yeah, I do,’ he confessed. ‘The nights are long and I need to fill them with something other than dreams of you. Carving and cabinet making leaves my mind too free to dream.’

  Her fingers danced lightly, lovingly along his jaw.

  ‘Do you have one I could read to Justin? He loves me reading to him and he likes things a little fanciful. I've never forgotten your story of the gnomes and ogres in the Stannesford Woods. I think of it whenever I walk there.’

  Disbelief and delight tangled in his chest.

  ‘You remember that? Perigord, the Gnome Prince and Ishaya, his Princess and Gorba the Ogre who wanted to steal her away? Lord, I was about eleven when I wrote that.’

  ‘I know. But it had a moral. Good prevailed and the bully learnt his lesson.’

  This was Lou. Why was he feeling self-conscious?

  ‘You'll probably laugh for I still write that kind of fanciful stuff. It relaxes me. The gnomes have become knights and the ogres wicked barons and the like. But there's usually still a princess to be saved—sissy stuff for a man to be writing.’

  Liberty leaned back and studied his face in the wavering candlelight. Her eyes shone with love, causing a lump to form and jam in his throat.