Lady of Sin (3 page)

Her brother-in-law spoke from his chair by the fire in the library. A book lay open on his lap, but she had noticed no pages had been turned.

She sat on the floor nearby, sorting blocks with Ambrose. All of her attention was not on their play, however. The back of her mind sorted other things, those having to do with her visit to Mr. Knightridge that afternoon.

The baron and his son helped her almost ignore those embarrassing memories, but they clamored for attention and decisions.

The blond child’s face glowed with delight as he impishly knocked down a stack of blocks they had built.

“You are very good with him. Very good
to
him,” Mardenford said, watching now. “I thank God you offered him your love after my Beatrice passed.”

“It is I who am grateful. I did not think it was possible to love another person like this.”

She watched little Ambrose make another stack. She snuck a tap against one block to push it over so it would not unbalance the tower.

Ambrose had still been an infant when his mother died two years earlier, and so helpless that her heart had been touched. She had never guessed, however, that as he grew, her love would too. In the last year it had invaded new corners of her heart, and blossomed with a sweetness that just deepened and spread.

Her role as surrogate mother had given birth to precious emotions denied her through her marriage. Because of her husband’s poor health, the world did not assume she was barren. She did not either, in her mind. Her heart, however, secretly believed the problem had not been Philip’s health but her own inability to conceive. She knew that she might never bear a child of her own, and not only because she lacked an interest in marrying again.

She did not mind that so much anymore. Loving Ambrose had revealed that one need not give birth to a child to see him as one’s son. However, she suspected her devotion to the child had created a situation that her brother-in-law found too comfortable.

She showed Ambrose how to build a wall around their tower. As the child worked it out, she gave his father her attention.

“He needs love like this all the time,” she said.

“His nurse is very affectionate.”

“You know what I mean, James.”

His expression showed that he did. Pale, long, and soft beneath his brown hair, his face reflected mild chagrin.

“I know I must remarry, Charl, for the boy and for the title. I will eventually. However, right now I cannot reconcile with the idea.”

She said no more. She understood all too well.

James and Beatrice had enjoyed a good marriage. Since James was a little dull, and Beatrice a little dim, they had suited each other. It had not been a grand, dramatic passion, but perhaps that was for the better. After all, she and Philip had not dwelled in drama either, but she had missed him badly when he died.

She gave James a sympathetic smile. She would like to explain things to him, things that would help him perhaps.

She would like to say that she understood the ennui of the spirit that he was experiencing, because she had felt it too. She wanted to warn that it could last forever if he was not careful, because it almost had for her. There was comfort in those dulled emotions. Even a type of peace. One could drift there for a long time and then suddenly blink and realize years had passed.

She gazed down at the blocks. It was like living in a tower, watching the world but not participating in life. The safety became seductive. Eventually its appeal had nothing to do with the mourning that started it all.

She did not explain it. While she and James had a close friendship, this was too personal. She might serve as mother to his son and as hostess at his dinners, but she could never confide to him how her tower had recently crumbled.

She could never admit that in a fit of desperate fear of being imprisoned forever in that place of safety, she had set fire to its foundations.

“Have you received word from Laclere Park?” he asked.

“Fleur writes that she is uncomfortable and ready. Dante writes letters that make no sense. The child will come soon and they will send for me at the first sign.” Her brother had taken his wife to the family estate in Sussex to await the birth of their first child. She glanced down at little Ambrose’s soft, tiny hands and wondered if she would soon have another child to love.

“Have you been receiving responses to the invitations?” James asked. She could tell he was trying to be companionable despite whatever preoccupied him.

The query made her memories of the afternoon loom. She had just received one response before James and Ambrose arrived. Nathaniel Knightridge had sent a note indicating he would attend.

That promised to be a little awkward now.

“They have been arriving,” she said. “The usual acceptances, and the predictable rejections. Now I wait for answers from those who should accept but perhaps will not.”

“Do not hope for too much.”

“If my efforts begin discussions, that will be a victory in itself. Parliament will be on notice that people care about this. This first step will be followed by a second and a third. I will see this reform before I die. It is past time.”

James did not respond. He did not entirely approve of her cause, although he had agreed to present those petitions to Parliament despite his misgivings. Her brother Vergil, the Viscount Laclere, would have done it. However, since their sister had been involved in a recent scandal regarding her marriage, everyone agreed it would be best to have it done by someone without connection to such things.

Ambrose was almost finished with his castle. He reached for a final block, and his little elbow hit the tower. It tumbled and his face folded into the misery that heralded tears.

She gathered him up and held him while he cried. She looked over to find James watching. He appeared sad, and she worried that he was picturing the woman who should be holding the child on this rug in this library instead.

It was his home, after all. When he inherited the title on the death of his brother, he had not demanded she leave the family mansion. Instead he had bought another grand house for his bride, so that Charlotte would not be displaced. It had been a generous gesture that spoke of a sensitivity rarely found in men.

The sobs subsided. Ambrose fell asleep in her arms. She pressed her lips to his downy hair and kept him in her embrace. Loving this child had been the first spark that led to the fire that reignited her vitality.

She dwelled in the sweet emotion, but the sorting was still taking place at the back of her mind. By the time James took the child and left the library, she had made a decision.

Before she saw Nathaniel Knightridge again, she needed to discover if he knew all that she feared.

“I appreciate your company, Lyndale,” Charlotte said as she strolled through Belgrave Square the next afternoon. “I have not had the opportunity to congratulate you on your wedding, aside from my note upon seeing the announcement the other day.”

The Earl of Lyndale kicked a stone nonchalantly. The wind tossed his dark hair because he carried his hat. “The need for speed was the usual reason, as I am sure you surmised. I regret your aid in planning the more sumptuous ceremony was in vain, but I do not regret that we married sooner rather than later. I would have eloped the day after she accepted my proposal if given the choice.”

Charlotte had to laugh. “Oh, how the mighty fall. It is delicious to see you laid low by love. If the reason for haste is the usual one, more congratulations are due.”

He beamed delight. Just like Ewan McLean, the Earl of Lyndale, to be indifferent to whispers about that quick marriage. But then, any marriage for this man had been so unlikely that there were bound to be whispers no matter what.

Prior to inheriting the title last autumn, he had achieved a notorious reputation. His bachelor parties would be long remembered. He had a swing hanging in his second drawing room, and displayed an astonishing collection of erotic art there as well. For many he still was a lord of sin, and his sudden marriage to a woman of neither fortune nor good family only seemed the latest of his outrages.

Charlotte broached the subject for which she had sought out this man. They had an old friendship and she hoped he would not interrogate her too closely. She also counted on him to show his usual lack of propriety when she steered the conversation toward indelicate matters.

“I imagine your parties are over now. The special ones, that is.”

“Yes, they are a thing of the past. All of my orgies will be private now, with a guest list of two.”

“I hear the last one was quite impressive. A Roman theme, the whispers say.”

“It was a fitting grand finale, although I never intended it as such at the time. In truth, it did not impress
me
much, but perhaps I had already outgrown such things.”

“I will confess I was always curious about them, and what really transpired.”

“If so, you should have attended one. You were always invited. Now your chance has passed. I am thoroughly domesticated and only the normal, furtive affairs will occur in my house among guests in the future.”

She prodded him to reminisce more. “It was said that ladies of good birth would attend wearing masks.”

“That was common, yes.”

“I have always wondered if that was effective. Could a mask obscure an identity sufficiently? For example, were you always fooled?”

He cast her a roguish glance. “I am not sure this conversation is proper, Lady M. What a relief that my marriage has not made you treat me like a dullard, however. Now, as to the parties and your belated fascination, since the lighting was very low, and the masks covered all but mouths and chins, they could be effective.”

Thank goodness.

“Assuming the woman did not speak,” he continued. “There was one lady of very high standing who only whispered. Her laugh, however, was most distinctive and always gave her away. Everyone pretended it did not, of course.”

Charlotte had surmised that a voice could identify a woman. When she attended Lyndale’s grand finale she had barely spoken at all, and then only in the lowest whisper.

I do not need words to know everything about you.

“How interesting. So a man could be very . . . familiar with a woman and never know who she was. They could meet the next day with him totally unaware of their prior . . . meeting.”

“Certainly. With only a few candles lighting the chamber, others would remain ignorant as well.”

She barely stifled a deep exhale of relief.

“Unless, of course . . .” Lyndale shrugged and gave her a confidential look.

“Unless what?”

“Well, she would remain unknown to the man unless they shared intimacies again, is all I was indicating. Unless he was the sort to only notice his own pleasure, he would probably recognize the similarities.”

Oh dear.

Lyndale tipped his head close to hers. “Is there some reason you are quizzing me on this, madam?” he asked in a teasing tone. “Some reason you sought me out on this cold winter day to stroll and chat about bygone orgies? Do you have a friend who attended my party and now fears for her reputation?”

She felt her face getting warm. “As it happens, yes. Please do not inquire further. She is most distraught. It was not like her at all. She succumbed to curiosity and now regrets it. She confided in me and I offered to find out how dangerous her situation is. I would have asked my brother Dante, but he has taken Fleur down to Laclere Park.”

“Have no fear. Discretion is my second name.”

Actually, it was not. Lyndale was infamous for being tactless and for blurting things he should not. And Nathaniel Knightridge was one of his friends.

“Truly, sir, you must promise to tell no one of this conversation.” She spoke emphatically so he would know it was important.

He paused in his steps. She stopped and faced him. He looked her over with a speculative gaze in which suspicion began growing.

“Lady M., I am not celebrated for being astute, but I find myself wondering if there is a friend at all. By chance was it you who—”

“What a preposterous suggestion. If you recall, I was not even in town that week.”

“You announced you were leaving. That is not the same as actually being gone.”

He kept peering at her. She tried to appear indignant, but she felt her face getting hotter.

His eyes twinkled. “Considering your dismay, I do not think I am wrong, let alone preposterous. My word, this is rich. Now I am dying to know just how naughty you were.”

“Your assumptions are unwarranted. I will not tolerate your scandalous speculation.”

His brow furrowed. His eyes reflected a searching memory. She realized with horror that he was seeing his party again, and examining its various participants.

His face fell, stunned. “Good heavens,
you
were the woman with Knightridge. I am right, aren’t I? Really, madam, you were very naughty indeed. Does he know? Has he guessed?”

She wanted to die. She began to refute him but he held up a hand, silencing her.

“Do not distress yourself. My lips are sealed. I will admit that I am truly shocked for once in my life, but in the least judgmental way. Actually, I am inclined to congratulate you.”

“Congrat—! You are still an insufferable rogue, McLean.”

“And you are a more interesting woman than I realized, Lady M.”

His eyes twinkled again. He bit back a laugh.

She smacked him with her parasol and hurried away.

CHAPTER
THREE

S
he was transported?”

“That was her reprieve after we appealed to the King’s Bench.”

“Better than hanging, I suppose.”

“Yes, better than hanging.”

Nathaniel did his best to charm Mrs. Strickland into opening her mind. Her attendance at Charlotte’s meeting indicated the mind might already be slightly ajar, although Nathaniel suspected this was one of the ladies who had come to gawk at the dancing dog. As a woman with influence over a certain judge, she carried more power than her diminutive stature and childlike face implied, however, so it behooved him to do his best jig.

Mrs. Strickland’s brow knit as she assessed the case they had been discussing. Out of the corner of his eye, Nathaniel noticed Charlotte watching his conversation out the corner of one of hers.

It was the most attention she had given him all afternoon. Her greeting and few words had been cool and formal, her smiles fleeting and blank. She acted as if the visit to his apartment had never happened.

He had not yet decided whether to allow her to pretend they had never kissed. Memories of her in erotic dishabille had invaded his mind for several days now, so he doubted he could be so noble.

“If her husband was a danger, she should have sought relief from the Church on the basis of cruelty, not killed him.” Mrs. Strickland spoke with severe righteousness.

“She was impoverished, and such appeals are expensive. Nor would she have found much relief. Her husband’s threats would not have sufficed as proof, nor would his thrashings of her. Only violence of a deadly nature gets much credit from most of those judges, although there have been some welcome exceptions lately.” He donned his most sincere expression. “I assure you it was self-defense. When arrested she still had the bruises on her neck.”

That only vexed Mrs. Strickland. No doubt, since she was married to an unusually pliable gentleman, she could not fathom the reality of men who were brutal.

A woman walked past them and Mrs. Strickland’s frown disappeared. As her sparkling eyes followed the passing figure, sympathy and confusion replaced skepticism.

Penelope, Charlotte’s older sister, had with her mere presence reminded Mrs. Strickland that bad husbands could be found in every stratum of society.

Mrs. Strickland noticed Nathaniel watching her. An embarrassed smile softened her face. She glanced meaningfully toward Penelope. “One hears things,” she confided.

“I regret to say that this time the gossip is true.” Normally he would not be so indiscreet, but things were being heard only because Penelope had revealed them for that purpose.

Not in a courtroom, however, and not for Charlotte’s cause. Penelope had let whispers tell her story only in an effort to save a man’s life. As a result, most of good society knew some very sordid details about the abuse she had experienced at the hands of her husband, the Earl of Glasbury.

Mrs. Strickland excused herself to chat with another man. Nathaniel wondered if she would eventually make her way to the table in the second drawing room where the petitions waited with ink and pens. Of more use would be some words spoken into an ear on a pillow near hers. Not Mr. Strickland’s ear.

He looked for Charlotte again. Her head was bowed to listen to the confidences of another woman. The meeting took the form of a social assembly, although Charlotte had made a speech about its purpose and pointed out the petitions. Now, as people chatted and drank punch, a gentler persuasion was under way.

Having given enough testimony for a while, Nathaniel made his way into the second drawing room’s relative quiet. He strolled over to peruse the petitions. There were two, one for men and one for women. While every citizen’s voice was important, the masculine ones would carry much more weight in Parliament.

“More men have signed than women,” a quiet voice observed.

Nathaniel turned to the dark-haired man who had arrived at his side. “Well, there are many men who would like divorce to be easier too. It was shrewd of Lady Mardenford and her allies to restrict this first petition to that matter. Was that on your advice, Hampton?”

Julian Hampton’s vague smile was in keeping with his reserved character. “I suggested that men might find sympathy on this issue, but that few would welcome a reform of the property laws that enrich them in marriage.”

Nathaniel gazed down the signatures. “Yours is not here, I notice.”

“I will sign discreetly on the fourth or fifth page.”

As discreetly as he attended this meeting, and observed from the walls instead of joining his lover in her conversations, Nathaniel assumed. Hampton and Penelope would marry sometime in the months ahead, when the heat of the scandal and notoriety surrounding them had cooled.

Hampton lifted the petition and checked the names. “Yours is not here either.”

“An oversight.” Nathaniel dipped a pen, bent, and scrawled his name.

He felt Hampton move, and sensed yet another presence. He straightened and turned. “Mardenford. Have you come to sign?” He offered the pen.

“Actually, I was looking to speak to you.” He addressed only Nathaniel. He had not greeted Hampton, but instead given him the cut direct.

Hampton noticed. With a wry smile, he excused himself.

“That was rude,” Nathaniel said.

Mardenford’s long face narrowed more as his thin lips pursed. “He should not be here. He and the countess should be more discreet.”

“They could only be more discreet if they retired to abbeys. The whole world knows they are in love and will marry. I think both the delay and discretion are stupid. It is refreshing that they do not bow to those who would have them do penance by withdrawing from society entirely.”

Mardenford shrugged as if it was of no account, but of course, to him, it obviously was. “My Beatrice would not have received either of them.”

No, his Beatrice would not have. She had been pretty and gracious and shallow. Nathaniel did not doubt that she would have proven incapable of doing a single thing that was not decreed as acceptable.

She had suited her husband well. The current Baron Mardenford was not so much dull as undistinguished. He was interchangeable in his interests and conversation with a hundred other men of his rank. He possessed neither a colorful appearance nor manner, and would never be memorable let alone eccentric. He was part of the wallpaper of the world into which Nathaniel had been born.

His elder brother, Charlotte’s husband, had been much the same, but more amiable. When Nathaniel had heard that Charlotte Duclairc was to marry Philip, Baron Mardenford, he had thought it an odd match. Philip was nothing like her brother Laclere, who commanded a room upon entering. Nor did he have anything in common with her other brother Dante, who could charm a snake out of its skin.

It struck him now, as he strolled to a window with Mardenford in tow, that perhaps that had been Philip’s appeal. She would have known all about the heartaches waiting for women who married charming wastrels like Dante. As for her elder brother, the Viscount Laclere, living with such a strong-willed man might put a woman off such a character. Especially if she was strong-willed herself.

“If you did not want to greet Hampton, you did not have to join us. He is my friend and I will not have him insulted while I converse with him.”

“I wanted to speak to you, and it required some privacy. I thought it unlikely I would find you alone again this afternoon,” Mardenford said. “I heard that you will prosecute Finley. I was relieved by the news, I will admit.”

“My father requested that I accept. Being a devoted son, I could not refuse.”

Mardenford appeared nonchalant, but there was worry in his eyes. “I trust he will not be allowed to speak lies about my family.”

“That will depend on his defense counsel to some extent.”

“I have heard he has none.”

Nathaniel’s gaze sharpened on the bland face masking a deep ill ease. “Will the judge refuse him one?”

“No lawyer will speak for him, the way I heard it.”

Nathaniel bit back a curse. The lords of the realm had done an excellent job protecting their own. With a coercive word here and an intimidating word there, they had ensured that no lawyer would take Finley’s defense.

And the only one who might have, simply in duty to fair play, the only one whose birth made coercion and intimidation ineffective, had been claimed for the prosecutor’s role.

“Well, it appears you have nothing to worry about.”

Mardenford’s eyes cleared at once. He beamed with relief. He might have been in the Old Bailey himself and just heard his own acquittal.

“I should rejoin the others,” Nathaniel said. “I think your sister-in-law expects me to cajole more ladies toward sympathy before we are done.”

He walked away with a simmering annoyance. He did not mind dancing to Charlotte’s tune for a few hours. He resented that he would soon be doing so to Mardenford’s.

He was not leaving.

As her guests drifted out, Charlotte could not ignore that Nathaniel was never among them.

His presence had unsettled her all afternoon. She felt him in the room. She had the sensation he kept looking at her, but every time she checked he was deeply involved in conversation with someone else.

He might at least be a little embarrassed upon seeing her again. She was so conscious of the awkwardness that she had become as taut as a tightly stretched string. It was really unfair that he appeared completely at ease.

Of course, that could mean that he had decided to pretend their last meeting never occurred. Maybe he would claim drink had obscured his memory.

Perhaps it actually had.

“It is a little rude to keep frowning at him.”

The lyrical voice jolted Charlotte out of her thoughts. Her sister-in-law Bianca’s wide skirt pressed against her own as Bianca leaned her blonde head close to issue the soft reprimand.

“It is even ruder to have been distracted from what you were telling me,” Charlotte admitted.

Bianca’s large blue eyes glanced over to Nathaniel. “Well, he is highly distracting.”

“And he knows it.”

“I realize the two of you do not get on, but you might look more kindly on him, as your sister does. You cannot deny he has been a great aid to her and to the family.”

Charlotte could not deny that. It made her beholden to Nathaniel Knightridge, however, and she did not care for being so. Especially now.

Yesterday she had discovered that she was about to become more beholden to him.

She had learned two days ago that James was to testify at Finley’s trial. The news caused a sick worry to lodge in her heart. She knew firsthand the horrors that blackmail could produce, and the way revelations could destroy a person’s life. It went without saying that Finley possessed no damaging secrets, but he could lie in court and many would wonder, would talk. There were men who would have paid him off just to avoid the destructive rumors.

When word came yesterday that Knightridge would prosecute, the chill of fear had left her at once, replaced by a secure sense of safety. Knightridge would know how to protect James and the family; she did not doubt that. He would not allow little Ambrose to be tainted by unfounded lies.

“It is just he vexes me so,” she muttered, sneaking another glance at him. He utterly commanded his corner of the room. Tall, lean, and broad-shouldered, he was immediately visible even with his golden head bowed toward Penelope’s earnest expression. His aristocratic manner and sartorial elegance did not completely contain the magnetism that overwhelmed a courtroom when he unleashed it.

That overwhelmed her, too, as she had learned to her dismay. She had never before been at such a disadvantage with a man, not even her husband. Philip had always inspired feelings of peace and comfort, not this annoying, confusing turmoil.

“I know all about men who can be vexing,” Bianca said with amusement. “Your brother and I did not like each other much when first we met.”

“The situation between you and Laclere was
very
different,” Charlotte said. “Mr. Knightridge and I
truly
do not care for each other.” She snuck another glance. “He is just so . . . so . . .
so
.”

Bianca laughed. “That you often cross swords proves that he is more
so
for you than for most.”

Yes, in more ways than one. That was the confusing part. There was much about the man she could not bear. His conceit. His damnable arrogance. The vaguely mocking note in his polite tone as he explained during their arguments how he was right and she was wrong.

So how could she have twice now succumbed to him in ways that would shock Bianca? It made no sense.

Of course, they had not been arguing during those inexplicable lapses. They had not been talking at all.

“Well, he has served your needs well, at least,” Bianca said.

Charlotte’s body tensed. “What is
that
supposed to mean?”

“He has worked his charm on your behalf today. Come, let us go see the petitions. I have forced myself to wait although I wanted to count names every few minutes.”