Seven Years to Sin (10 page)
Read Seven Years to Sin Online
Authors: Sylvia Day
Directly ahead was the gaming area, which was the center of all business. From there, one could access the stairs to the fencing studio, as well as the many lovely courtesans and their private rooms. The lower floor accommodated boxing training and lessons. To the left was the bar and kitchen. To the right was Lucien Remington’s office.
Michael crossed the black-and-white marble floor to the gaming area, then moved beyond that to the great room. The smell of leather and fragrant tobacco helped to settle nerves kept on edge since his visit with Hester the day before.
At least that was true until the Earl of Regmont caught his eye.
Seated in one of a half dozen wingbacks surrounding a low table, Regmont laughed at something said by Lord Westfield. Also in his circle were Lord Trenton, Lord Hammond, and Lord Spencer Faulkner. Since Michael was well acquainted with all but Regmont, he felt no qualms about taking the remaining open seat.
“Good evening, Tarley,” Ridgely drawled while signaling for a footman. “Seeking escape from all the debutantes eager for your new title?”
“I have an increased appreciation for the toll the Season can take on an unwed peer.” Michael ordered cognac from the waiting server, as did Regmont. The rest of the men at the table had half-full libations.
“Here, here,” Westfield concurred, lifting his glass in toast.
“Better you than me,” Lord Spencer said. As a second son, he enjoyed a less hunted existence; the other men at the table had wives.
Studying Regmont, Michael wondered why the man was out carousing with friends when he should be home making amends to Hester. It was difficult for Michael to restrain his tongue after witnessing her unhappiness. If she had been his, he would ensure nothing marred her existence.
The footman returned with two glasses of cognac. Regmont took an immediate drink, which brought Michael’s attention to the hand the earl wrapped around the bulbous glass. The knuckles were swollen and bruised.
“Engaged in fisticuffs lately, Regmont?” he asked, before taking a drink himself.
To his knowledge, the earl was a genial fellow who was well liked by one and all. Lauded by women for his golden good looks, easy smile, and ready charm, Regmont made it very difficult for Michael to like him. The man seemed too blithesome, to the point of lacking any real substance. But perhaps that was what made him suit Hester, who’d once been the merriest and most enchanting woman anywhere. She was still the latter and would always be to Michael’s mind.
“Pugilism,” Regmont replied. “An excellent sport.”
“Agreed. I enjoy it myself. Do you practice here at Remington’s?”
“Often. If you’re ever of a mind to practice together—”
“Absolutely,” Michael interjected, relishing the possibility of championing Hester, even if he was the only one who knew his motivation. From the sight of Regmont’s knuckles, the man preferred training sans mufflers, which suited Michael perfectly in this instance. “Name the time and date, and I will be there.”
“I shall require the betting book,” Lord Spencer called out, deliberately drawing attention.
Regmont grinned. “Spoiling for a fight, are you, Tarley? I’ve had such days. I would be happy to oblige you now.”
Michael sized the earl up. Regmont was shorter than he and lean, with sinewy musculature that lent well to the prevalent fashion of snug tailoring in breeches and coats. Michael had the advantage in height and arm reach. Settling more comfortably into the butter-soft leather, he said, “I would prefer an early-afternoon bout. We’ll enjoy ourselves more if we are both rested and free of drink.”
The betting book was brought to the table, which lured an audience.
An unusual appearance of somberness possessed Regmont’s features. “Excellent point. This day next week, then? Three o’clock?”
“Perfect.” An anticipatory smile curved Michael’s lips. He reached for the betting book and placed a wager on Alistair’s behalf with odds on himself.
It was just the sort of bet his friend would appreciate.
Chapter 8
J
essica awoke the next morning with what she likened to a megrim. The hard, insistent throbbing in her head and the horrid taste in her mouth made her ill. She fought nausea valiantly but lost. She was also highly aware of the tenderness between her legs. Memories from the day before made her blush, then cringe. How could she have been so undisciplined? And inflamed enough by Alistair’s skillful hands and mouth to make a crude suggestion that led him to leave her bed in anger?
essica awoke the next morning with what she likened to a megrim. The hard, insistent throbbing in her head and the horrid taste in her mouth made her ill. She fought nausea valiantly but lost. She was also highly aware of the tenderness between her legs. Memories from the day before made her blush, then cringe. How could she have been so undisciplined? And inflamed enough by Alistair’s skillful hands and mouth to make a crude suggestion that led him to leave her bed in anger?
She knew the answer—Alistair Caulfield had always had a unique effect on her. She was not herself with him; she was a woman she did not recognize. And it was difficult to determine whether or not the woman she became with him was one she wanted to be. How could it be appropriate when she felt so conflicted, embarrassed, and guilty?
Beth, as always, was a godsend. The abigail arranged for a pitcher of warmed water for washing and secured a plate of hard biscuits, which eased Jess’s stomach malaise considerably. By evening, she felt well enough to eat more substantial fare and to face Alistair. Too familiar with a man’s anger to seek him out alone, she chose to take the evening meal in the great cabin along with the other gentlemen. As the meal progressed and Alistair studiously avoided looking at or speaking to her whenever it was possible to do so, she felt she’d made the best decision. However, the rift between them pained her.
But, perhaps, it was for the best. If she’d soured his interest, she would be spared the turmoil that had plagued her since their reacquaintance. What he had asked of her—to be her lover—was so far outside the scope of her own acceptance of herself that she could hardly credit it. Yet clearly he was more than capable of piercing her defenses. The restraint she desired would have to originate with him. And although she regretted achieving the aim by wounding him, abstaining from further interaction was better for them both.
Jess excused herself as soon as was seemly. As the men rose to their feet, Alistair said, “Would you grant me the honor of a walk around the deck, Lady Tarley? Perhaps the fresh air will revive you further?”
Nervous, she managed a small smile with her acceptance. They left the cabin along with the first mate, who vacated the passageway quickly, leaving them alone.
She paused beside her cabin door. “Let me fetch a shawl.” “Here.” He unfastened the row of buttons securing his tailcoat.
She protested, averting her gaze from a direct view of his chest. “A gentleman is never seen in his shirtsleeves!”
His answer was delivered in a biting tone. “You are the only individual on board who will take offense, Jessica, and after what transpired yesterday, I find any attempt at modesty tiresome.”
Her heart tripped over the austerity of his features. He had the glint of the devil in his blue eyes and a determined set to his square jaw that warned her he would not be easily deterred. How intimate she was with that look of barely restrained temper! It never portended well. “Perhaps we had best speak some other time.”
“There are issues that need airing. The sooner, the better.”
Despite her misgivings, Jess obliged him and set off toward the companionway. A warm weight settled on her shoulders as he dropped his jacket neatly over her. Immediately the smell of him teased her senses, stronger now, with an underlying unique masculine scent. Alistair was a virile male, and her body stirred with vivid memories of the evening before.
They took the stairs up to the deck. Caulfield paused in a space unshadowed by the masts and rigging. With an impatient and imperious gesture, he waved away the two sailors who worked nearby.
He loomed over her in a manner that made her both aroused and wary. He was flagrantly handsome. His classical bone structure took well to the moonlight that bathed him in silver. He could have been an ancient heroic statue come to life except for the vitality charging the air around him. Alistair Caulfield was alive in a way Jessica had never been.
“I don’t know how to do this,” he growled, raking a hand through his hair.
“Do what?”
“Dance around the truth, pretend things are not what they are, and use formality as a shield.”
“Formality is indeed like dancing,” she agreed softly. “It creates a known pattern of steps to follow that allow two disparate people to spend a length of time together with some purpose. It creates an avenue upon which strangers can travel together.”
“I am not interested in dancing at the moment, or being strangers. Why did you stay?”
“Beg your pardon?”
“Don’t be coy. Why did you linger in the woods that night?”
She clung to the lapels of his coat from the inside, holding the two halves tightly together. Not because it was cold, but because she felt too exposed. “You asked me to stay.”
“Oh?” His mouth took on a cruel curve. “Will you obey all my commands?”
“Of course not.”
“Why did you obey that one?”
“Why not?” she rejoined with lifted chin.
Alistair stalked closer. “You were innocent. You should have been horrified. You should have run.”
“What is it you want me to say?”
He caught her by the elbows and lifted her up onto her tiptoes. “Have you thought about that night since then? Did you ever think of it when lying with Tarley? Has the memory haunted you?”
Jess was dismayed by how close to home he struck with his questions. “Why is it important?”
One of his hands lifted and cupped her nape, angling her lips to a position suiting him. His words puffed hot and damp over her mouth. “I remember every second you stood there. The rise and fall of your breasts as you panted. The feverish brightness of your eyes. The sight of your hand at your throat as if you forcibly held back begging little whimpers.”
“There are witnesses around us,” she whispered furiously, trembling with fear and excitement. She was astonished to be responding amorously to his rough handling. She, of all people, should not find such attentions thrilling. It horrified her to think some part of her mind might have been trained to seek such treatment.
“I don’t care.”
Torn by her confusion, she spoke harshly. “Your brutish lack of charm may be sufficient for some women, but I assure you, I am not amused.”
His hands fell away so quickly she stumbled. “Sweetheart, it’s more than sufficient for you. You look as hungry for me now as you did then.”
She winced. Something dark and tormented passed over his features; then he turned away with a smothered curse.
He spoke over his shoulder. “I have attempted to forget that night, but it’s impossible.”
Jess looked away from his rigid back, allowing the crisp misty breeze to blow over her face. “Why does the memory trouble you so? You have had my discretion.”
“For which I have long been grateful.” In the periphery of her vision, she saw him shove his hands into the pockets of his satin breeches. “You have avoided me in the years since. Why, if what transpired was of no importance to you?”
“I know something of you I should not know. It made me uncomfortable.”
“
I
made you uncomfortable,” he corrected. “I still do.”
I
made you uncomfortable,” he corrected. “I still do.”
Whether consciously or no, a part of Jess recognized the feeling of being hunted. She sensed the turbulence of his desire and was frightened by it. Perhaps not so much because of his appetite, but because of her own.
Alistair rounded her, so that he stood before her and took up the whole of her vision. “The more you hold yourself aloof, the more determined I become to draw you out. Yes, you know something of me that exists only between us. We should be more accessible to one another because of that, not more distant.”
“As accessible as I am now, engaging is such candid conversation?”
“As accessible as you were last night, without the excessive drinking. Although it was not our intention to cross the threshold we did seven years ago, it has been crossed and there is no turning back. I asked you to stay and you did not run. We shared a moment uniquely separate from our lives before or since. You clutch social mores, propriety, and rules of conduct around you as you do the shawls you wear, but we are beyond such barriers. Fate has conspired to bring us together at this time, and I, for one, am weary of fighting against it.”
The possibility that they were fated to be lovers was somehow comforting, as if taking the decision from her hands freed her from responsibility for the inevitable consequences. It was cowardly to view it that way, yet the thought also gave her courage.
She inhaled and spoke in a rush. “I am sorry for what I said to you last night before you left. I-I wanted you to stay—”
“I whored for money,” he interrupted harshly. “I need you to know why.”
Once the words were out, Alistair felt a profound relief, swiftly followed by a high tension. Baring himself was something he avoided at all costs.
Jessica’s head tilted to the side, causing one thick pale curl to glide over her shoulder. She fisted the lapels of his coat, and fine lines bracketed her lush lips. She’d recently lost a husband she’d cared for deeply, yet Alistair had pushed her to ignore that for his own selfish need of her. Even now, her pale gray gown spoke of lingering mourning. He deeply resented the reminder of a man whose pristine conduct and fine morals were aspects of character he could never compete with.
“Tell me,” she coaxed. “Explain so I may understand.”
He spoke before he dissuaded himself from doing so. “At the urgings of my mother, Masterson granted me a parcel of land in Jamaica. The property was notable only for its insubstantial size and dearth of viable crop. It came with no slaves, no buildings, and no machinery. My mother also saw to it that his lordship provided a ship, and he was able to find the least seaworthy vessel I have ever had the misfortune of laying eyes on. I was faced with the possibility of being a man of means, but with no funds with which to purchase any of what was required to make a success of it.”
She exhaled audibly. “I cannot imagine facing such a daunting endeavor while knowing your livelihood rested on the outcome.”
“You will never face it, thank God. But perhaps you can see how I was motivated to sell what skills I had at my disposal to earn the coin necessary to prosper.”
“That is how you came to be known as one who would accept any wager.”
Alistair nodded. “Any race, any odds. Anything pitting my talents against another’s for gain. I am also fortunate enough to be attractive to women.”
“Impossibly handsome,” she agreed. “But you were so young then …”
“Yet old enough to know I couldn’t afford to have ideals,” he finished tightly. It was not a decision he lingered over. If ruthlessness was required to survive, he had no qualms about doing whatever was necessary. “And in some respects, my youth was an advantage. I was randy, energetic, and far from discerning.”
The last was said with more defiance than he would have chosen to share, but he was on edge, his stomach knotted with the concern that she might find his past insurmountable. “I enjoyed it in the beginning. All the sex I could manage, which was considerable, with women who were worldly and confident in their pleasures. The first time I was offered an expensive gift, it was a surprise. I realize now that for some it was a way to assuage their guilt over fucking a man less than half their age, but at the time I saw it as a game; what could I wheedle out of them in return for doing something I was enjoying immensely? I was also learning astonishing secrets about women’s bodies—how to read them and listen to them, how to drive them wild. There is an art to bestowing pleasure, and I realized I could master it, similar to any other skill.”
“You were clearly an adept pupil,” she whispered.
“Women talk a lot,” he pressed on grimly, unable to determine how she was responding to his brutally frank revelations. “Especially about things they enjoy. As with anything, the more demand there is for an object, the higher the price that can be set for it. I realized how I could profit and recognized that I’d be foolish to turn away any avenue of income, considering what my circumstances were. And after a while, it ceases to matter how you feel about the business. You learn to master your body regardless.”
“Well.” It took Jessica an interminably long time to say more. Finally, she said, “I’m an idiot. It never occurred to me that you might not …
appreciate
the act. After all, Lady Trent is quite lovely—”
appreciate
the act. After all, Lady Trent is quite lovely—”
“Some of them were; some weren’t. Some were lovely only on the outside. Regardless, when you sell something, it no longer belongs to you. You lose any right to refuse or deny anything, and if you want referrals and repeat business you dare not be too difficult or unaccommodating. Once I understood that I’d become a commodity to be used as required, whatever enjoyment I’d found previously was lost to me. It became a chore like any other, albeit a lucrative one.”
“What of your family? Couldn’t they have—?”
“I took the blasted ship and land given to me. My pride was not enough to impede my acceptance of those. Believe me, if I could have turned to anyone for assistance, I would have.”
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