The Lady’s Sinful Secret Read online

  THE LADY’S SINFUL SECRET

  Kelly Boyce

  THE SINS & SCANDALS SERIES

  While there are those who spend their time in modest pursuits, upholding propriety befitting the lords and ladies of the ton, it would seem that for others scandal is just a sin away…

  Book 1: AN INVITATION TO SCANDAL

  Book 2: A SCANDALOUS PASSION

  Book 3: A SINFUL TEMPTATION

  Dedication

  For John—because every girl needs a white knight.

  Chapter One

  The sweeping landscape, filled with rolling hills and hardy wildflowers, stretched out to meet the early October sky. Gloria shivered against the unexpected chill of the morning as it infiltrated the wool of her plum riding habit. Shifting in her saddle, she took in the beauty displayed along the outer edges of Sheridan Park where an invisible line separated Blackbourne land from that belonging to the Sutherlands.

  All around her, the tips of the leaves had started to change their colors, turning from a lush green to the promised bounty of rich reds, oranges and yellows. The beauty was a sight to behold and the fresh air and invigorating ride a welcome diversion from the commotion in her home as her children busied themselves with preparations for a party celebrating her upcoming birthday.

  Not that she didn’t appreciate their desire to throw a party in her honor, but try as she might, she could not seem to muster the same level of enthusiasm for the upcoming event. What was there to celebrate after all? Getting older? Being alone? Lacking purpose? Her husband was dead and buried, bringing an end to a rather insufferable marriage and now, as she stood on the precipice of turning nine and forty, she realized her work as a wife and parent was…done.

  Over.

  “Perhaps you should take a lover to distract yourself.”

  Her dear friend, Louise, had made the bold suggestion. Imagine such a thing! The very idea left her scandalized. The Dowager Countess of Blackbourne did not take lovers. She…she…

  Gloria let out a sharp breath. In truth, she didn’t know what a dowager countess did once her children were grown and married, but likely riding about in the early morning until your cheeks flushed and your nose turned red was a much safer bet than taking a lover. Her family had suffered enough scandal over the years without her adding to it.

  Besides, she’d had a lover once, a long time ago, and the results had been disastrous. Not the type of distraction she cared to repeat.

  A sound disrupted her thoughts. She pulled on the reins of her mount and turned in her saddle. In the distance near a copse of trees, a young boy stood looking up the thick trunk of an old oak. He called out to something above him, but the breeze whipped his words away from her ears.

  Curious, Gloria nudged her mare and slowly approached. She did not recognize him. Strange. She prided herself on knowing all of the Blackbourne tenants and their families. As she drew nearer, she took note of the boy’s clothing. Well-tailored and expensive, he appeared more a gentleman farmer in miniature than one of the stable boys or farmhands.

  Odd.

  “C’mon now, Shadow. I promise ya a nice shiny bauble if you’ll come on down.” The boy rested his chest against the tree and wrapped thin arms around its massive trunk.

  Gloria noted the tinge of a brogue dancing around his words and a tingle of familiarity made the hair at the nape of her neck prickle.

  “Have you lost something up the tree?”

  The boy whirled about, his feet slipping out from under him on the dewy grass. He landed on the damp earth with a thud and a wince before scrambling back up and executing a hasty bow.

  “Forgive me, my lady. I didn’t mean to disturb ya.”

  She smiled and tilted her head to one side. Something about the boy seemed oddly familiar, yet she could not place it. He had a sweet face; almost elfish in a way, with blond hair and pale blue eyes softening his sharp features.

  “I’m not disturbed at all, though I do find myself quite curious. Might I ask your name, sir?”

  “Callum Sutherland, my lady.” He gifted her with another courtly bow.

  The name rang through her heart and rattled her composure. She pulled her shoulders back and forced her smile to remain in place. It meant nothing. In all likelihood, the Sutherlands had scores of children. There was no reason to believe that—

  She shook the thought off before it could take hold. She had avoided the Sutherlands for over thirty years. She would not allow a single encounter with one of their offspring to cause her concern or worry now.

  “I see. And are you visiting the estate?” The Sutherland lands abutted a small portion of Sheridan Park. Likely the boy had followed the pathway that cut through the trees just off in the distance.

  “No, my lady. We’ve come to live here now that my uncle has passed on.”

  Gloria swallowed, but it did not release the lump that lodged swiftly in her throat.

  “Your uncle?” Dismay rippled through her belly and threaded up toward her heart, the reason for the boy’s familiarity becoming clear. She touched the silver locket at her breast.

  “Uncle Donald. I only met ’im but one time. He passed a few months ago.”

  “I see.” Her mare shifted beneath her and she loosened her hold on the reins, realizing it had tightened the moment the boy said his name.

  “I’m sorry if I was trespassin’. Shadow isn’t quite familiar with ’is surroundin’s as yet. He flew off and won’t come down if I don’t give ’im something shiny.”

  Gloria glanced up to where the boy pointed. A large black crow rested on a thick branch. As if aware it had become the subject of speculation, it let out a loud caw and ruffled its shiny feathers. Its black eyes fixed directly on her as if it sensed her secrets and would reveal them if she did not act quickly.

  Ridiculous. Obviously the crow knew no such things and was hardly in a position to reveal anything, given its inability to communicate beyond a caw. Yet guilt filtered through her as it continued to stare. She wound the reins around the pommel of her saddle and reached for the emerald and gold ring fitted securely on her finger over her riding glove. She slid it off and handed it down to the boy. He gave her a dubious look.

  Gloria waved her hand. “Take it. It should do the trick if he likes shiny baubles.”

  “I can’t take your jewels, my lady. Shadow likes to keep ’em.”

  “It is of no matter.” Her late husband had showered her in jewels—not out of a sense of love, but to ensure she outshone all the other ladies and presented the image he wished to project to his peers. The baubles meant nothing to her. She would be well rid of them now. Well rid of the memories attached to them. “Take it.”

  With reluctance, Callum reached for the ring and then backed up toward the tree. He made a clucking sound with his tongue, as she would have when calling to her favorite mare, and presented the trinket in the palm of his hand.

  “Well c’mon then. This is what you wanted.” He waved his hand and the sun glinted off the gold, catching the crow’s attention. The bird called to him quietly, the sound reminding her of a cat’s purr, then scuttled down the branch, craning its neck for a better look. After a bit of deliberation and coaxing from the boy, the crow hopped a little closer, then spread its wings to land on Callum’s arm. “There. Now was that such a ’ard thing ta do, you silly bird?”

  The crow purred in response. Such strange noises to hear from a species known for its sharp caw.

  “Is he a pet?”

  Callum shrugged. “I s’pose. Much as an animal with wings can be. He took a shine ta me a little bit ago. Da said he might someday go on ’is way, but so far he seems content ta stay put.”

  She smiled and nodded, then asked the question
she had been dreading. “And your father, who is he?”

  “Callum!”

  The deep voice rang through the still morning air before the boy could answer, but it mattered little. Gloria would have recognized him regardless of the number of years that lay between now and the last time he’d spoken to her.

  She turned and the man who had haunted her dreams and her memories for three decades stopped in his tracks.

  “Glory…”

  The name washed over her like a comforting balm soothing the wounds and scars time had left. In that moment, she was sixteen again, seeing him for the first time as he had come down over the hill, his trusty yellow hunting dog trotting along at his side. His lean build and broad shoulders gave way to a confidant gait and only the morning breeze had dared ruffle his dark hair. He’d smiled when he laid eyes upon her then, but he was not smiling now.

  No, definitely not smiling. Any hint of laughter that lived in her memory was just that—a memory. In its place was the stern countenance of a man who brooked no disobedience or argument. His gaze glanced over her and the set of his jaw tightened.

  Gloria refused to mimic his expression. Why should she? She had nothing to be angry with him for. She had put away her disappointment in that regard long ago. The destiny they had carved out when still barely more than children had been a fool’s dream. She’d accepted that and the consequences that had come from it.

  “Good morning, Arran.” Arran. How long had it been since she’d said his name aloud? Heard him say hers, the one he had chosen for her? Glory. She sighed, unaware until that moment of how much she had needed to hear it. “I—I was not aware you had returned home.”

  He had yet to come closer. “I was not aware I was required to send you notice of my arrival, Countess.”

  The coldness in his tone lashed out and she swiftly inhaled, clutching her locket, a talisman against his harsh words. Unexpected tears glazed her eyes, but she blinked them back and continued to hold her forced smile in place. Her years with Blackbourne had taught her well.

  “Indeed, I’m certain such was not required at all. Have you been home long?” She was vaguely aware of Callum coming to stand by her side. Of the strange purring that came from the crow balanced on his arm; the way its beak poked at the bauble the boy held in his hand. Little things. They were easier to focus on than the handsome man glowering at her from not twenty feet away.

  “We arrived in August, shortly after Donald’s passing.”

  “Yes, Callum only just informed me—” She released the locket and motioned toward the boy. Arran’s words sank in with deeper meaning, but before she could fully grasp what he meant, the bird hopped from Callum’s arm to her hand. “Oh!”

  It cawed quietly at her. How large it appeared up close, and yet weighed much less than one would expect. Its black eyes stared up at her, blinking, though she could detect no emotion within their depth. Much like the man standing before her, though once upon a time she could have read him like her favorite book, reciting the words without ever looking at the page. The crow moved its head and the tip of its beak lightly pecked the silver heart at her breast.

  “Forgive me, m’lady.” Callum gave a sheepish grin, lopsided with a hint of mischief and again the strange sensation passed through her that she looked at someone she already knew. “I believe ’e likes you.”

  Before she could answer, the boy made a clucking noise and the bird turned, its clawed feet pricking her skin through her leather gloves as it took flight to land on Callum’s arm. If only her escape would come so easily.

  She had ridden from the stables in the hopes of discovering what she was to do with her future, instead she had stumbled into an upside down world where everything past had become present once more, without warning. One would think she’d have been given notice. A hint at least that everything she had stored away had sprung free from its hiding place and spilled out around her.

  “I think his affection is for the shiny baubles more so than it is for me.” Her voice shook despite her efforts to keep it steady.

  Slowly—as her mind could not work at its usually swift pace under such circumstances—she recalled what Callum had told her only moments ago. Had only moments passed? He had come to live here upon his uncle’s passing. As had Arran. She turned and looked at the boy with new eyes. Of course. The sense of familiarity she’d felt found a home. She turned back to Arran.

  “Callum is your son, then?” The corners of her mouth ached from holding her smile in place.

  Arran inclined his head. The only acknowledgement she would receive. When had the deep blue of his eyes become so cold? Had they always been like that and she’d simply been too young and in love to see it? Or was it a more recent development? And if he had a son, then it stood to reason he also had a—

  She swallowed. “And Mrs. Sutherland?”

  His hard gaze left her and rested on his son. He gestured toward her. “Callum, may I present the great lady of Sheridan Park, the Countess of Blackbourne.”

  If the boy noted the undercurrent between them, he gave no outward appearance beyond a curious glint in his sharp gaze. Instead, keeping the crow balanced skillfully on his arm, he executed his third courtly bow of the morning.

  “It’s ma’ great pleasure to make your acquaintance, m’lady.”

  “The feeling is quite mutual. Although…” She looked at Arran. “I am the Dowager Countess, now. Nicholas has married and bears the title Earl of Blackbourne. His wife, Abigail, is the new Countess.” He’s dead, she wanted to shout. I’m free! But she didn’t. It hardly mattered now. He had married another. Moved on. Arran gave no hint he cared one way or the other over her marital state. Her heart tore open and she clamped her jaw tightly against the pain.

  “Then it appears you have everything you ever wanted.” He glanced in the direction of Sheridan House. “My compliments.”

  His words hurt, far more than she’d thought possible after all this time. Did he still blame her for choosing Blackbourne? Did he not understand she would never have turned away from him without good reason? Or had hurt dissolved any sense in this regard?

  She took a deep breath and resurrected the regal bearing years of breeding and comportment classes had drilled into her. “Do I? I was not aware. Thank you for informing me. I shall ensure I keep that in mind going forward.”

  His mouth pulled into a tight line, the only indication he understood the sarcasm laced through her words. “And I will ensure Callum understands where the boundaries of our properties are, so he does not cross them again.”

  “Callum is welcome on Sheridan land any time.” She looked at the boy, her smile easy when she did so. “There are great places to explore and many adventures to be had.”

  But before his son could answer, Arran spoke again. “If you will excuse us, my lady. We are expected elsewhere.”

  A dismissal. Cold and succinct, the hint of his Scottish brogue rolling around it, stronger now than what she remembered. Had he returned to his birthplace following the war? Is that where he’d met his wife? Where Callum had been born and raised until the death of his uncle brought them both home? There were so many questions she wanted to ask, so many years to fill in, but his brusque manner made it clear he did not care to keep her informed. He did not care to have anything to do with her at all.

  “My apologies, Mr. Sutherland. It was not my intention to keep you.”

  Except it had been, once upon a time. She had promised him her heart, bound their souls together and vowed it would be forever. How naïve they had been. How blindly optimistic that the world would give its blessing and open its arms to welcome them.

  “Perhaps I will see you at the Assembly this evening?” How she loathed the hope that echoed in her voice.

  “You will not, my lady.” The terseness of his tone cut her to the quick. Sharp and without compromise. He gave a curt bow. It possessed none of the flourish of his son’s. “Good day.”

  She nodded, the only response she co
uld manage at his outright dismissal of her. As she watched his retreating back, she noted the fatherly hand he rested on Callum’s shoulder. Something her son, Nicholas, had never received from the man who had raised him.

  Again the questions and doubt came back to roost.

  Had she done the right thing?

  Chapter Two

  Upon returning to Havelock Manor, Arran retreated to his study and closed the door behind him, swiftly crossing the familiar hardwood with its worn carpet and creaking floorboards to reach the supply of brandy Donald had left. He poured a glass and downed it in one gulp, wishing for all he was worth that it packed the same punch as the whiskey he’d grown accustomed to in Dumfries.

  Home.

  The word meant little to him. He’d discovered long ago home was not a place. Not a spot one could pinpoint on a map. Home was a person. And his home, the one that had lived in his heart, the one he had built the dreams of his future upon, had been destroyed beyond repair.

  For years, he had avoided returning to Sutherland Estates, avoided belonging anywhere or to anyone. His heart had proven it could not be trusted and as such, he had taken it out of commission. But eventually, the wandering life of a soldier wore thin and the need to set down roots brought him to Dumfries and to Jean. Guilt, burrowed deep into his heart, flared. He had not loved her. Did not dare to. She had deserved better. It wasn’t until Callum had been born, and he was introduced to a different kind of love, that he’d stopped looking to the horizon, stopped wishing for a love he’d once had and lost.

  Instead, he’d turned his attention to his son, determined Callum would never doubt his father’s steadfast affections. Never worry that there were others who held greater importance. Never feel like an afterthought, the way his own father had made him feel. As she had made him feel.

  He ground his back teeth until they hurt. He had not expected such a violent reaction to seeing her again. A reaction compounded when he saw the locket he’d given her, hanging from its silver chain, the heart at its end nestled against her breast.