The Sweetest Sin Read online

  James shrugged and shook his head, worry dipping his dark eyebrows downward. “I believe Hen is on the verge of holing herself away for good if it does not stop. It is why I must return to London, in the hope I can convince her to continue with her Season now that she has been presented. If she does not, I fear I will never be able to convince her to rejoin Society again. It was difficult enough to coax her out of the country in the first place.”

  “Society is highly overrated,” Alex pointed out.

  “My sister deserves a happy life. With everything else that has been taken from her, I am determined to see that she gets this one thing. I’ve already failed once with that bastard, Pengrin, may the lying reprobate rot in hell. But I will not fail her a second time. I will see her happy if it’s the last thing I do. Something I cannot achieve if your sister continues to harass her every time she sets foot outside of Harrow House!” James threw up his hands in frustration.

  Alex tilted his head to one side. How refreshing that he was not the only one mired down by familial difficulties. Though the notion that his half sister was the cause of James’s did not sit well with him at all. “And you wish my help in this regard?”

  “I believe we can both be of assistance to each other. You get your sister under control, and I will help you acquire a wife who will take over matters regarding Lady Margaret and give you an heir.”

  “I hardly think I require assistance finding a wife. I am a future duke with a sizeable fortune and many ladies have verified the fact that I am an incredibly handsome man. I should have my pick of titled young ladies.”

  James laughed out loud. “It is good to see that your ego is well intact, my friend. But I think you will discover things have changed somewhat in the decade since you last looked for a proper bride. Some have gone so far as to find love with gentlemen who have no title whatsoever, and vice versa. Lady Rebecca Sheridan for one, and most recently Lord Hawksmoor.”

  Alex glared at James at the mention of Hawksmoor.

  “You know, your surliness does not work in your favor, old chap.”

  “I am not surly!”

  James gave him a knowing look. “You are completely surly. You scowl at everyone and if you are not scowling, you’re glowering. It’s rather off-putting. You really should try to work on that.”

  Alex scowled at James. Then glowered. “Perhaps, what I need to work on is finding new friends to replace the know-it-all one I currently have. Or…” The idea burst into his head and he wondered why he hadn’t thought of it earlier. Or why James had not suggested it.

  “Or what?”

  “Why don’t I marry Lady Henrietta? It will serve both our purposes and I will not have to leave Breckenridge to achieve it.”

  James’s expression turned serious. “I think not.”

  Alex ignored the sting that came from such an instant rejection by the one man who knew him best. “Why ever not?”

  James let out a long breath and gave him a knowing look. “Alex, I cannot allow you to marry my sister. She has been through enough. She deserves a husband who will treat her as the special woman she is. I want her to be loved, adored. And I believe, deep down inside, Hen wishes for that too. You and I both know you view marriage as nothing more than a transaction, as witnessed by what you have stated to me in proposing your idea. Your suggestion was cold and impersonal. If such a union suits you, that is fine, but it would never suit someone with a heart as tender as my sister’s. Forgive me but I cannot—”

  Alex waved off James’s rejection of his suggested suit. “No, of course. You’re right. And I would not wish to see Lady Henrietta unhappy, especially if such was my doing.”

  The image of her burned and heartbroken over the loss of her parents still resonated deep within his soul. At the time, he had been struggling with his own demons, but having her convalescing at Breckenridge, too weak and injured to make the journey to London, had calmed him somewhat. The challenges she faced going forward, scarred and orphaned, put his own problems in perspective to some degree, though he had moments when the darkness crept in and overtook him. When it did, he would go to Lady Henrietta’s room and sit at her bedside as if he could somehow soak up her quiet courage and her ability to persevere in the face of such dismal odds.

  To rob her of a chance at a happy life only because it proved the simplest solution to his current dilemma required a level of callousness he did not possess.

  James interrupted his thoughts. “So what say you, old boy? Shall we head for London to find you a proper wife?”

  Alex let out a long breath. He had sworn off London six years ago after Ruth’s death, making only the occasional trip home to see his father and staying mostly within the confines of Franklyn House while there. But much as he hated to admit it, James was right. He needed a wife and the only place someone of his stature could procure such a creature was in London.

  “We shall leave tomorrow.”

  Chapter Three

  Hen pulled off her gloves and shawl and handed them off to Cleveland then made a beeline to the silver salver resting atop the small narrow table in the main hall. While she and Auntie had been out paying calls—another dreaded necessity of the Season—several letters and invitations had arrived. She flipped through them, holding her breath. It had been a full week since she’d sent her letter, surely a response should have arrived by now.

  But, no. Nothing. Fear and uncertainty trickled down her spine. She closed her eyes and a small groan escaped her throat. What had she done? What fool notion had possessed her in the wee hours of the morning to do such a thing?

  “Is something amiss, my lady?”

  Hen opened her eyes to find Cleveland staring down at her, still holding her shawl and gloves. “Oh. I was…”

  She was what? Hoping beyond hope that she had not done the most foolish thing possible? Heavens, at this rate, she would ruin herself well before Lady Susan ever got her chance. In future, the next time she awoke in the middle of the night with what seemed at first blush like a brilliant idea, she would tamp down the need to act upon it with all due haste.

  “No, Cleveland,” she said, putting the letters and invitations back in the small tray. “Everything is fine.”

  “Very well then, my lady. I am to inform you that—” Whatever Cleveland had been about to say was cut off as a shriek let loose from down the hall. A streak of gray flew toward Hen followed by a small child running almost as quickly behind—though with far less grace—her feet slipping on the marble floor.

  The tiny spot of gray reached Hen and leaped onto her skirts, scrambling upward and stopping only once it reached her bodice and ran out of material to cling to. It was only then Hen had the opportunity to recognize said spot was a tiny kitten. However, the young girl, dark hair flying about her head like streamers, she did not recognize, and while her manner of dress indicated quality, her behavior leaned more toward that of an unruly street urchin. The child skidded to a stop in front of Hen and reached for the kitten whose claws had sunk into the gauzy material of Hen’s fichu.

  Hen stepped back to avoid the girl’s grasping hands. “Stop that this instant,” she said swatting at the reaching hands.

  “My lady, forgive me! She got away.”

  Hen looked up to find Cook puffing her way up the hallway then glanced back to the little girl. The child’s eyes narrowed. For a fleeting second, it appeared the girl might actually launch herself upon Hen, but she appeared to think better of it and settled for stomping her foot and making her demands known.

  “I want Merlin back!”

  By now, Cook had caught up with them and bent over, hands on her knees as she caught her breath. “Forgive…me…my…lady.” Cook sucked in greedy gulps of air before straightening. “I turned my back but for a moment and she was gone. She ran off to the stables and came back with that.” She pointed at the kitten that had now nestled itself into the bodice of Hen’s dress and purred contentedly as if it was not at all responsible for any of the ruckus kic
ked up over it.

  “I see,” Hen said, though she didn’t, because she’d had no idea there were kittens in the mews—how lovely!—nor could she conjure up any reason a strange young girl with wild dark hair and flashing green eyes would be standing in front her, stamping her feet and making demands.

  “What is all this noise and nonsense about?”

  Hen peered over her shoulder, not quite ready to fully turn her back on the willful child. Auntie had entered through the front door, having stopped outside upon their arrival to inspect the tulips that had bloomed over the past week in a spectacular array of colors.

  “She stole my kitten!” The girl stamped her foot once more, drawing Hen’s attention back to her. Her small hands were fisted at her sides and her lips pursed in an angry grimace.

  “Good heavens,” her aunt muttered, coming to stand next to Hen. “What is that?”

  “It is a kitten, Auntie.” Hen stroked the soft gray fur and was rewarded with a nuzzle that tickled the base of her neck.

  “No, I was referring to that.” Her aunt pointed her walking stick in the direction of the child.

  Hen smothered a smile. “That is a little girl.”

  “And what, pray tell, is it doing in our front hall?”

  “Apparently she was chasing this.” Hen said, motioning toward the kitten before turning her attention back to the strange girl and addressing her. “I have in no way stolen your kitten. And, might I remind you, that if you did indeed retrieve this kitten from our mews, then it does not belong to you in the first place and therefore can in no way have been stolen from you. In fact, if you took it from our stables, it is you who is the thief. Did you take it from our stables?”

  The little girl narrowed her gaze once more, but remained silent on her culpability.

  Her aunt huffed and banged her walking stick against the marble floor twice, an indication her patience had reached its end. “For the love of horses, would someone care to enlighten us as to who, exactly, this little thief is?”

  “May I present to you, Lady Dalridge, Lady Margaret St. John.”

  Hen spun on her heel, holding onto the kitten as she turned to face the deep, masculine voice that had come from behind. Her breath caught in her throat at the gentleman standing next to James, a most unhappy expression on his exceptionally handsome face.

  “Lord Rothbury?”

  * * *

  Several things struck Alex at once as Lady Henrietta turned to face him. The first thing was her voice, sweet and melodious. It drew his attention and once drawn, he could not look away. The next was her hair—dark golden blonde with streaks of sunshine shot throughout. The long tresses fell in thick waves over her shoulder, covering the scars he knew hid beneath. Then there was the tiny ball of fluff resting peacefully against her breast as if it had taken up permanent residence there.

  “Lady Dalridge. Lady Henrietta,” he choked out past his surprise. “It is a pleasure to see you both once more.”

  When he’d seen James’s sister last, she’d been at her worst. Covered in burns and mired in grief and agony. Her hair, now long and glorious, had been burned away until it hung in singed clumps barely long enough to cover her ear. She’d barely spoken, though, as he sat at her bedside awaiting James’s return from Italy upon receiving the news, tears would often leak from the corners of her eyes. It had been difficult to determine if the tears were from the pain of the burns or the heartbreak over her parents’ death.

  The doctor had indicated he did not expect her to live long enough for James to arrive and the idea of telling his oldest friend he had lost his beloved sister as well as his father and stepmother was more than Alex could abide. So he’d watched over her, day and night, leaving only when the doctor needed to tend her wounds as best he could. As Alex had sat at her bedside, he’d begged her to hang on. To fight. To survive. He’d even prayed, though he didn’t expect that to do much good. He’d prayed when his son had fallen ill, but it had done little good. Little Edward had succumbed within the week to the fever that ravaged his little body and when Alex had asked God why, the deity had remained silent.

  To unite this stunningly beautiful young woman standing before him to the image of the girl he remembered, proved impossible. When James had indicated how lovely she’d become, he’d thought his friend viewed Lady Henrietta through the eyes of brotherly love, blind to any imperfections the fire had left behind. But he had not. Yes, the scars were there, though she did well in hiding them, but her beauty shone with such brilliance the scars faded to little more than an afterthought.

  She offered a shallow curtsey without releasing her hold on the kitten. When she straightened and smiled, the effect of it sheered through him. “Lord Rothbury. I did not realize you had intended to return to London.”

  Alex struggled as this new image of Lady Henrietta left the old one shattered, until nothing was left but tiny pieces scattered about his mind.

  “Likely because I had not planned to return.” He did not mean to speak so sternly, but something inside of him swelled and his throat closed up. Something farther down stirred as well, but he quickly shifted his feet and cleared his throat in the hope of breaking the strange spell Lady Henrietta had cast upon him. He had no business feeling such things. She was James’s younger sister and not to be his, as James had clearly indicated. “Has Lady Margaret caused some upset?”

  Lady Henrietta turned around to glance at Alex’s charge. The motion caused her hair to shift, revealing the scars beneath. No longer raw and angry, they had settled into a mottled landscape of white and pink along the length of her graceful neck. As if feeling his gaze upon her, she turned back and readjusted her hair, forcing the scars into hiding once again.

  “Not at all,” Lady Henrietta said, reaching down a hand and holding it in place as if she expected Lady Margaret to take it. He should tell her she would be waiting a long time for such a thing to—

  He did not have time to finish his thought as Lady Margaret did the unthinkable and slipped her small hand into Lady Henrietta’s. Alex stared at her, narrowing his line of vision. What was she up to?

  “We were merely discussing the ownership of a kitten.” Another smile and Alex’s heart did something strange deep in his chest. It…shifted, as if rolling over after a long slumber.

  He cleared his throat, pushed such nonsense away, and focused on the matter at hand. A matter that seemed absurd and not worthy of discussion, but if it saved him from such foolish thoughts about his heart and Lady Henrietta’s smile, all the better.

  “Ownership of a kitten?”

  “Yes, this kitten. We thought perhaps he would fare well if he were to stay with Lady Margaret.”

  Lady Margaret tilted her chin up at that haughty angle that usually spelled trouble. “His name is Merlin. I cannot leave him. He needs me.”

  Alex’s jaw tensed. Merlin. Where did she get these names? Every time he turned around, she had named something. It did not require that the thing be alive, either. She would name inanimate objects. Last year she had named a chair in the library George and when he thought to remove the chair to the attic in favor of a newer, more comfortable one, a level of hell was unleashed upon the household the likes of which they’d not seen before. Because apparently George needed her as well and therefore must stay.

  The riot she had kicked up over this matter resulted in the loss of yet another nanny who was convinced the child had been possessed by evil spirits and should be committed to Bedlam. The suggestion had hit upon a deep-seated fear Alex had tried his best to conceal with only varying degrees of success. What if Lady Margaret had inherited her sire’s madness? What was he to do then?

  “I hope you do not mind if Lady Margaret takes Merlin with her,” Lady Henrietta said, continuing on as if this was a perfectly normal conversation for two near strangers to have.

  The truth of the matter was, he did mind. He minded greatly. The last thing he needed was another annoyance to deal with. But when he opened his mouth to sa
y so, something else came out entirely.

  “With her?” What the Devil? Strange things were happening inside of him he couldn’t quite get a grasp on. The solid sense of command he habitually stood upon shifted beneath him, creating cracks and faults in his righteousness and throwing him off balance.

  “Yes, someone will need to care for him.” Lady Henrietta did not wait for Alex’s reply. Instead she lifted the small bundle from her breast then crouched down and gifted the bundle to Lady Margaret as if Alex’s permission had been somehow implied. “Now, you must promise to take the best of care of Merlin.”

  James—traitor that he was—chimed in. “What do you think, Mags? Would you like that?”

  Mags. Alex bit down on his back teeth. James had a handful of nicknames for Lady Margaret, treating her with the same type of familiarity as he did family. Worse still, the girl lapped up the attention and behaved the perfect angel around him. Whereas when it came time for Alex to deal with her—something he preferred to avoid and leave to the nannies—she turned into the perfect little hellion. What was he doing wrong?

  His daugh—Margaret’s face lit up and she smiled at James as if he hung the moon. For Alex, however, she simply cast a quick glance in his direction and asked, “Can we, sir?”

  “Sir?” Lady Henrietta wrinkled her nose as if she smelled something that had gone bad. “Do you not call him Papa?”

  Lady Margaret’s smile faltered and she hugged the kitten closer, staring down at her shoes. A sharp pain dug into Alex’s chest.

  “I do not think—” A storm crossed Lady Margaret’s face and Alex took a deep breath, bracing himself.

  “What would it hurt?” Lady Henrietta interrupted before the storm erupted.

  “What would it hurt?” Whatever spell Lady Henrietta had cast only moments before dissipated, smothered by the sudden surge of anger that rushed forward at her presumption that she knew best what Lady Margaret needed. She did not need a kitten. What she needed was a firm spanking. But before Alex could voice his thoughts further on the matter, Lady Henrietta continued on.