A Sinner No More

  A SINNER NO MORE

  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…

  AN INVITATION TO SCANDAL

  A SCANDALOUS PASSION

  A SINFUL TEMPTATION

  THE LADY’S SINFUL SECRET

  SURRENDER TO SCANDAL

  A SINNER NO MORE

  COMING SOON!

  THE SWEETEST SIN (Summer 2016)

  A MOST SCANDALOUS MISS (Winter 2016)

  A HINT OF SCANDAL (2017)

  SINS OF A SOLDIER (2017)

  Copyright © 2016 Kelly Boyce

  This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or a portion thereof, in any form. This book may not be resold or uploaded for distribution to others.

  This is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  ISBN: 978-0-9948672-0-9

  Editor: Nancy Cassidy

  Cover design: The Killion Group, Inc.

  Formatter: Author E.M.S.

  Dedication

  For Georgina Haines, one of the loveliest ladies I have ever had the pleasure to know.

  Chapter One

  There were a few things he knew for sure. To start, he had an unwavering awareness of the pain in his head that refused to relent and give him even a modicum of peace. Following that, was the fact that when he attempted to rise up out of the bed he’d been laying in for days on end, his head swam as if caught in a whirlwind, forcing him back down into a prone position. He also knew his name was Lord Hawksmoor, as that was how the servants referred to him when they came to fluff his pillows, change his sheets, feed him, and assist him to the privy, ensuring he did not fall into the pot when his legs gave out. He did not care to think about that rather humiliating event as it ruffled his pride, which he apparently possessed in abundance.

  But beyond these few, rather limited truths, the wealth of his knowledge dropped into a rather embarrassing deficit when compared to what he did not know.

  Such as, where he was. Or why. Or how and when the wound to his head had occurred or who had inflicted it. The rather serious-minded gentleman who checked in on him periodically was of little assistance in any of these matters. The man said little and gave away even less. Mostly he asked questions to which Hawksmoor had no answers. Not that he admitted to such. Acknowledging his mind had become a sieve through which all the things he had once known had leaked out served no purpose that he could ascertain.

  What did one do with someone who had lost his mind? Send him off to Bedlam to be forgotten? And how was it he could remember that a place like Bedlam even existed and yet not recall his given name? Or who had given it to him?

  Not a stellar commentary on his sanity.

  He reached up and touched the bandage wrapped around his head, careful to avoid the area along his temple and beyond as that gave him the most pain. He must look a fine picture.

  Ah, there was that pride again.

  He had requested a looking glass from one of the servants, but they had shuffled off without promising anything. He should have asked the pretty young woman with the blonde hair. She seemed a nicer sort than the others. At least she looked at him instead of averting her gaze, though he doubted she was aware of his scrutiny. She only came late in the evenings and he always pretended to be asleep, watching her through his lashes.

  Awaiting her arrival became a game of sorts, albeit a rather one-sided amusement. He’d pretend to be fast asleep, and then attempt to guess what she was doing based on the sounds she made. Some were easy. The pouring of fresh water into the ewer on the bureau. Straightening the blankets around him. That was a particular favorite. She smelled of wild roses freshly bloomed on the vine, which led him to discover that wild roses were his most favorite flower. At least they were now. Other movements were more difficult to ascertain. One time, the chair in the far corner out of his line of sight creaked only to be followed by a long silence. Had she sat there? If so, why?

  He’d longed to open his eyes and inquire, but feared if he did, she might slip away like a wraith and not return. A horrible thought, as her arrival provided the highlight of his day. There was something about her. More than her obvious beauty, which was indeed remarkable. But her appeal went beyond that. Something in him wanted to reach out to her. To keep her safe. Which was rather ridiculous given he did not know her any more than he knew himself.

  He had, however, given her a name. Rose, naturally. It seemed fitting. He hadn’t done that with any of the other servants, but she was special. He wasn’t sure why, but there it was.

  The door to his bedroom opened slowly and he immediately shut his eyes. The scent of wild roses drifted in to greet him as she quietly moved about the room like a whisper. She conducted her duties, pouring fresh water into the ewer, straightening the blankets at the end of the bed. As she drew closer, he shut his eyes completely so as not to give himself away.

  She hovered over him like a little hummingbird. He held his breath. Waited.

  He stilled as the tips of her fingers pressed lightly against his chest, just above his heart that beat a little faster at her touch. Such an intimacy had not occurred before and he did not know what to make of it. No one had touched him in such a way in—well, he didn’t know how long.

  “Thomas? Are you awake?”

  Her words—the use of a given name—rattled him. Thomas? She knew him? Well enough to call him by his given name? He’d been about to open his eyes when she leaned in suddenly, her lips brushing his in the merest hint of a kiss.

  His eyes snapped open and the breath he’d held rushed from his lungs.

  She straightened immediately, but he managed to catch her hand where it rested upon his chest.

  “Do you know me?” She snatched her hand away and took a swift step back, color blossoming in her cheeks. He instantly regretted his actions. He held his hand out to stop her retreat. “No, please. Don’t go.”

  Too late. She’d moved beyond his reach and quickly turned away, hurrying through the door before he could call her back.

  She knew him. She’d kissed him! The realization rocked him. How could that be? Who was she? Who was he to her? Question upon question tumbled through his aching head.

  She was a servant. He was a lord. Yet Rose had addressed him by his given name without hesitation, indicating a level of familiarity well beyond lord and servant.

  He had grown certain the place in which he currently resided belonged to the serious gentleman who went by the name of Mr. Bowen. Had he—that is to say, had they—but no. Surely he had not compromised his host’s servant. Had he? Did that have something to do with the wound to the side of his head? No. He couldn’t have. He had better sense and scruples than that. Didn’t he?

  Doubt crept in and a sick feeling pooled in his stomach. How else would Rose know him well enough to call him Thomas?

  He twisted the sheets in his fist and let out a guttural growl. Curse his damnable memory! While its loss was enough to send anyone to Bedlam, he suspected the questions left behind from his memory’s disappearance would be what finally sent him over the edge.

  * * *

  Madalene splashed cold water on her burning cheeks after retreating to the small office below stairs allocated to the housekeeper. Fear and shock burned through her. What had she been thinking? She’d never touched hi
m before, or deigned to call him by his given name. She’d only thought—

  Heat flared again, mixed with a healthy dose of reproach. She’d kissed him!

  She hadn’t been thinking. Not logically. Not with forethought or prudence. Did she truly believe if Lord Hawksmoor heard her voice, if she spoke his given name, he would awaken, collect himself, and return to his scandalous lifestyle none the wiser that she had been so near?

  Perhaps, if only she hadn’t behaved like a prize idiot and kissed him. It was just that he looked so helpless laying there, his head bandaged and those thick lashes casting crescent shadows beneath his eyes in the dim lamplight.

  She groaned. Stupid, foolish girl! Already Mr. Bowen had questioned her connection to the viscount when weeks earlier, before he’d been viciously attacked and nearly killed, Lord Hawksmoor had requested Mr. Bowen provide him with a proper introduction to her. Why had he done such a thing? It was the height of lunacy! To begin with, they were already acquainted. To end with, he was a Peer of the Realm and she but a servant. A proper introduction was hardly required, as they should not associate with one another based on this fact alone. Yet they had, hadn’t they? But that was five years ago.

  Five years, four months and twelve days, to be exact.

  She dropped into one of the two straight back chairs set around the small table where she took her tea and closed her eyes, groaning yet again.

  Lord Hawksmoor’s brazenness at making such an odd request should not have surprised her. He had long ago stopped being the man she had once known. He had changed since the last time she’d seen him, under circumstances best forgotten.

  She stood and looked at her reflection in the warped looking glass. Once upon a time, he had been a perfectly lovely young man. Everything one could expect in a gentleman. Kind and handsome, generous and sweet. Had she mention handsome?

  “Stop it!” She splashed her face once more, hoping the cold water would jolt some sense into her. The man she had known no longer existed. Lord Hawksmoor had buried him deep, smothered him under the darker, more menacing version of himself that London had come to know as The Hawk.

  It was that version that resided only three floors above her. And yet…

  Yet when he looked at her just now, it was the young man she remembered whose eyes implored her. The voice of an old friend that called her to come back.

  Instead she’d run away. Embarrassed, fearful.

  For the first week after his arrival, Madalene had worried he would not survive his wounds. He’d been bruised and battered until the handsome face she remembered was barely recognizable. For days on end he’d languished, drifting in and out of consciousness. Dr. Bartlett had cautioned Lord Hawksmoor might never regain full use of his senses, if he survived at all, and despite the length of time since she’d last seen him, she’d realized she could not imagine a world where he did not exist.

  “Miss Cosgrove?” Mr. Bowen’s head poked through the door of her small office after a brief knock. She straightened quickly and reached for a small cloth, dabbing at the water on her skin. “Forgive me, am I disturbing you?”

  “No, not at all.” She forced a smile and set the cloth down onto the table next to the ewer of water, conscious of a droplet she had missed sliding down from her temple, past her ear. She resisted the urge to swipe it away. “Might I help you with something, sir?”

  Many of the servants in the Bowen household had trouble getting used to the fact their employer felt as comfortable below stairs as he did above, but Madalene found his ease in dealing with people regardless of their station rather refreshing. Given his background, his behavior was hardly surprising. Mr. Bowen had been raised as a ward of Lord and Lady Ellesmere, but he was not a member of the ton, though he had recently married Lady Rebecca, and called Lords Blackbourne, Huntsleigh and Glenmor amongst his closest friends.

  And now he had taken in Lord Hawksmoor.

  Mr. Bowen stepped more fully into the office, his lean frame filling the small space. “As a matter of fact, I believe it is I who can help you.”

  “Me?” Did she require help? Oh heavens, had Lord Hawksmoor said something? Had he spoken to Mr. Bowen of their past association? That she had kissed him? Fear cut into her belly. She had taken such a foolish, foolish risk! Would Mr. Bowen sack both her and her father over this? She and Father had scrabbled too long in destitution to lose the best thing that had happened to them in years. They were happy at Northill. Safe from the vagaries of the world. Father had returned to a job he loved as Mr. Bowen’s land steward and she had taken over as the Bowens’s temporary housekeeper until they found a more permanent replacement. If Lord Hawksmoor revealed her past, and her most recent foible, might Mr. Bowen cast them both out?

  “Are you familiar with Miss Rosalind Caldwell?”

  Madalene blinked. What did Miss Caldwell have to do with Lord Hawksmoor? “Y-yes. She is middle daughter to Lord and Lady Caldwell.” It was difficult not to know of her. Miss Caldwell had a habit of championing causes she believed in with a fervor that went far beyond what society deemed acceptable in a young woman. Madalene secretly admired her.

  “Well, it appears Miss Caldwell has approached my lovely wife for her assistance in creating a school for children raised in less fortunate circumstances, in the hopes of giving them a better future than they might otherwise have.”

  “That’s very admirable, sir.” Though what it had to do with her or Lord Hawksmoor remained a mystery.

  “Do you know me?” Thomas’s question as she bolted from the room hastened back to her. Was it possible he had not recognized her? Five years had passed since he’d last seen her, and she’d been but a girl of sixteen at the time. Or was it that the wound to his head had affected him in ways she was not aware? The possibility left her unsettled.

  “Yes, I agree,” Mr. Bowen said, diverting her attention back to the conversation at hand. “Lady Rebecca is eager to help Miss Caldwell. However, given her current condition, her abilities will be somewhat limited.”

  Mr. Bowen’s dark eyes brightened at the mention of Lady Rebecca’s condition—a condition that would see the Bowen family increase by one. Possibly two, given how quickly the lady appeared to be increasing.

  “Given this,” Mr. Bowen continued, “we both thought you might be interested in assisting Miss Caldwell and possibly becoming headmistress of the school when the time comes.”

  “Headmistress. Of a school?” Her head swirled. This conversation had not gone at all in the direction she’d been expecting.

  “Indeed. You are educated and extraordinarily organized. As well, you possess a sensible and kind nature. We all agree the children could not be in better hands with you at the helm.”

  “But…but what of my position here?”

  Mr. Bowen gave her an understanding smile, as if he could hear in her voice the fear she tried so hard to hide.

  “I promised your father your position as housekeeper would only be temporary. As much as we hate to lose someone of your capabilities, it does not suit to have a young, unmarried lady in such a position. You have your whole life ahead of you. It doesn’t seem fair to hide you away at Northill and rob you of a better opportunity.”

  Except that she wanted to hide. She was safe here. Her father was here, and she had already missed too many years with him during the war. She had known her position as housekeeper was only meant to be a temporary one, but she had secretly hoped they would eventually agree to keep her here permanently. Now that hope withered on the vine.

  “Of course.” The words mumbled out of her. Trepidation bled through her. She’d spent too many years living in uncertainty. Now that she’d finally found a safe haven, the thought of giving it up filled her with dread.

  “You do not sound pleased.”

  “No, I am. Quite. Truly.” She swallowed and forced a smile, but it wobbled on her lips and refused to take.

  Mr. Bowen’s expression softened. “It will be fine, Miss Cosgrove. I believe you will take to b
eing headmistress like a duck to water. And if you do not love the job, you are always free to return to Northill. We do not wish to see you unhappy. Only to give you an opportunity to spread your wings.”

  “It is only that Father—”

  Mr. Bowen held up a hand. “I spoke with your father. He is quite thrilled with the idea. We both know he has always wanted more for you, as well he should. Lord and Lady Ellesmere have donated a portion of their estate to build the school upon, so you will not be more than a short ride away and free to visit as often as you wish. You will always be welcomed here, Miss Cosgrove. I am not fond of casting people out and robbing them of their home.”

  Heat rushed up her neck and bloomed in her cheeks. Her employer had once been one of those unfortunate children he and his wife planned on giving a brighter future, and as such, was one of the few of her acquaintance that understood how tenuous security could be. Or how much she valued it. Of course, he would never cast her out.

  “Forgive me.” She took a deep breath. “It is a wonderful opportunity. And I appreciate your faith in me.”

  It had been a long time since someone other than Father had seen potential in her. Not since Lord Hawksmoor had found her reading in his family’s library. But that had been in another lifetime, hadn’t it?

  “Very good.” Mr. Bowen offered a rare smile. “Miss Caldwell should arrive in a couple of days. She will be most pleased to hear you are amenable to the prospect.”

  Chapter Two

  Thomas. How very generic. Plain. Uninspired, really. He much preferred the sound of Hawksmoor. Now that was a good name. It made him sound rather rakish, if he did say so himself. And given that there was no one about to contradict his opinion, it stood firm.