Seven Years to Sin (24 page)

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Authors: Sylvia Day

BOOK: Seven Years to Sin
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He stared into her, seeing how and why she commiserated with his mother. She’d suffered through her own feelings of despair and inadequacy.
“It isn’t you,” she said again. “But you feel responsible and you have worked the whole of your life to stay out of sight and be as little a burden as possible. Now, you will be the most prominent face of a family you don’t feel a part of, and you will be expected to carry that family forward. I am useless to you in that regard.”
“Don’t.” Alistair pressed his lips to her forehead. “Don’t ever talk about yourself in that manner.”
“My barrenness pained me before. But Tarley and I had Michael and the children he would father. There is no one to carry that burden for you, or you wouldn’t be here.”
“I am not a damned martyr, Jess. I have sacrificed all I am willing to for this farce. I will never give you up. Not for this. Not for anything.”
“And I won’t lose you to remorse and blame. I would rather lose you now, with love between us, than years down the road with your mother’s unhappiness and your feelings of responsibility for it wedged between us.”
“What would you have me do?” His gaze darkened to a deep sapphire. “If I cannot have you, I won’t have anyone. No one gets what they want then.”
“Settle your affairs, then settle yourself. Live this life you’ve assumed. Accustom yourself to it. Gain your bearings. If you still want me after you’ve done that and your mother can give her blessing without reserve, you know where to find me.”
He kissed her sweetly, his lips clinging to hers. When he pulled back, he looked at her with shadowed and sultry eyes, his face a stunning mask of masculine beauty and aching torment. “I will see to this; you see to your sister. Be quick about it. It won’t be long before I come for you, and you’d best be ready, Jess, with my ring still gracing your hand. You won’t stay me then. I’ll drag you to Scotland in irons if I have to.”
He left her in a rush. As always, taking her heart with him.
 
Jess was still in the parlor when Hester joined her, three hours and three glasses of claret later.
“I was told Baybury called this morning,” her sister murmured.
Wincing inwardly at the sound of Alistair’s title, she nodded and took another drink.
Hester paused by the table and frowned down at Jess. “Claret for breakfast?”
Jess shrugged. She’d begun imbibing as a young girl, after the cook took to slipping brandy into her tea when her body ached too much to allow sleep. It swiftly became apparent to her that liquor dulled emotional pain as well. In the early years of her marriage, she’d had no need to drink. But once the consumption had dug its greedy talons into Benedict’s lungs, she’d turned to the comfort found in a bottle and hadn’t yet turned away.
Hester took a seat on the settee beside her. “I have never seen you look more melancholy, and there is no good reason to drink spirits first thing in the morning.”
“Don’t fret over me.”
“Did he throw you over, Jess?” Hester asked softly.
Of course Hester would leap to the obvious and most sensible course of action. She had been raised by the same parents as Jess, after all. Women of the peerage served one vital purpose—to bear heirs, as many as possible.
Reaching over, Jess squeezed her sister’s thin hand. “No. And he won’t. He loves me too much.”
“Then why do you look as you did when Temperance died? Does he wish to delay the wedding?”
“On the contrary, he hoped I would elope with him.”
“You refused? Why?” Her eyes glistened. “Dear God … Please, don’t say you stayed for me! I couldn’t bear it. You have already given up too much on my behalf.”
“I did it for him, because it’s best for him. He needs time, even if he refuses to acknowledge that need. The man I intended to wed no longer exists. The man he will have to be now has different needs, and goals to which I am an impediment. It is the former who clings to me so stubbornly. And so I’ve asked him to spend some time living the life of the latter. If that man wants me and if he can love me wholeheartedly, with no regrets or recrimination, then we can be happy and I will gladly marry him. But he can’t know that yet. He still believes he can be Alistair Caulfield.”
“He will come back for you, won’t he?”
Jess’s heart ached. “For a certainty. He’s wanted me a long time. Since before I wed Benedict.”
“Truly?” Hester brushed at the wetness on her long lashes. “I find that wonderfully romantic.”
“He is the world to me. I cannot tell you what he’s done for me … how he’s changed me. He knows me as well as you do. All my secrets and fears and hopes. There is nothing to hide from him and no reason to try if there was. He accepts my faults and shortcomings as a means to bind us closer together.”
“And what of the errors of his ways?”
Jess found her sister’s question very telling. “There are plenty of those, as everyone knows, and he goes to great pains to tell me about them.”
“He does? Why?”
“He wanted anything that might later turn me away from him to be disclosed from the outset, before our attachment to one another grew and the possibility of separation became too painful.” All his best intentions, for naught.
Hester’s face took on a wistful cast. “I would never have guessed Alistair Caulfield would be so …”
“Mature?” Jess smiled sadly. “His circumstances have been more difficult than anyone would expect. His maturity comes from cynicism and a jaded outlook. His is far older than his years.”
“What will you do now?”
“Focus on seeing you hale and hearty. Rejoin Society in truth.” Restless, she stood. “I need new gowns.”
“Your mourning is over.”
Was it? Perhaps she would be in mourning still, but not for her former husband. “Yes. It’s time.”
“It is,” Hester agreed.
Jess looked at the wine on the table, her fingers clenching against the need to reach for it. That dependency would have to be addressed, as well. She had no right to ask Alistair to conquer his demons while still clinging to her own.
“We’ll need to eat a hearty breakfast to sustain us through the volume of shopping I intend to accomplish today.”
Hester rose to her feet like a graceful wraith. “I would love to see you in a berry-hued gown.”
“Red. Also gold.”
“Astonishing,” Hester said. “Father would have an apoplectic fit.”
Jess almost laughed at the image that came to mind, but Hester gasped, then slumped against her. Jess barely caught her unconscious sister before she hit the floor.
Chapter 22
 
“
S
he is starving to death,” Dr. Lyons said, his pale blue eyes grim behind his spectacles. “She’s too thin for any woman, but dangerously so for a woman in her delicate condition.”
“She’s been eating more since I arrived, but that was only a couple of days ago.” Jess’s stomach twisted with concern and fear. Where in hell was Regmont? She had yet to see him. Either he kept odd hours, or he’d yet to come home … for nearly three days.
“Not nearly long enough.” He set his hands on his lean hips. For all the doctor’s concern over Hester’s weight, he appeared unusually slender, too. “She should begin her lying-in immediately with bed rest for the duration and many small meals throughout the day, every day. And no excitement in her delicate condition—her heart is weakened by her emaciation.”
“I don’t understand. What ails her? She has grown progressively more ill for many months now.”
“I’ve rarely been afforded the opportunity to examine Lady Regmont thoroughly. She is very reticent; I’m inclined to say excessively so. Regardless, I can say that she seems prone to melancholia. Mood affects the body more than we fully understand.”
Jess’s lower lip quivered, but she stemmed the rush of tears that threatened and nodded.
Life. Too fragile. Too precious. Far too short.
The doctor collected his fee, then made his egress.
Moving into her sister’s bedroom, Jess sat on the edge of her sister’s bed and took in the sickly pallor of Hester’s once luminous skin.
Hester smiled weakly. “You look so serious. It isn’t that dire. I am just weary and my morning sickness was severe, but it’s over now.”
“Listen to me.” Jess’s voice was low and angry. “I have had my fill of bedside death vigils.”
“You have had one,” Hester retorted dryly.
“One too many. If you think I will do it again, you are sorely mistaken.” Jess caught her sister’s hand to soften the sting of her words. “My nephew or niece is making a valiant effort to grow within you, and you are going to help, damn you.”
“Jess …” Hester’s eyes watered. “I am not as strong as you are.”
“Strong? I’m not strong. I drink too much, because it’s a way to hide. I sent the man I love away because I am terrified that if I don’t
he
will eventually send
me
away, and I couldn’t bear it. There was a man on Alistair’s ship abusing a child, and when I confronted him, I thought I might faint or vomit or soil myself. I am weak and flawed and absolutely incapable of watching you waste away. So I will not be listening to any further excuses. You will eat what I bring you to eat and drink what I bring you to drink, and in a few short swift months you will reward us both with a healthy child to love and spoil.”
There was a flare of irritation in Hester’s green eyes. “As you command,” she said crossly.
Jess took the show of temper as a good sign. She also took the lesson of the day to heart: life and happiness are both too dear to throw away. She would give Alistair the time he needed to regain his bearings, but she wouldn’t allow him to slip away from her without a fight. If she had to lock him, his mother, and Masterson in a room to clear the air between them, so be it.
She pressed a kiss to Hester’s forehead and went to speak to the cook.
 
Michael entered Alistair’s study and found his friend poring over architectural renderings of a prospective new irrigation system. He took a moment to absorb the sight of his friend, taking in the changes the time away from home had wrought in the young man with whom he’d spent so much of his youth.
“You look horrendous,” Michael said, noting the day’s worth of stubble shadowing Alistair’s jawline and the crumpled state of his shirtsleeves. “And why are you here instead of at Masterson Place?”
Alistair looked up. “Nothing on earth could entice me into residing under the same roof as Masterson.”
“I knew that’s how you would answer.”
“So why ask?”
“To aggravate you.”
With a low groan that sounded suspiciously like a growl, Alistair straightened and ran a hand through his hair. Michael knew all too well how overwhelming the first few months would be for his friend. A year and a half after Benedict’s death, and he was only just beginning to feel as if he wore his own skin. “I have enough aggravation without your assistance.”
“What are friends for?” Michael held up a hand before a retort could be made. “You will have bigger troubles once you come out of hiding and appear in public. The scandal sheets say you have replaced me as the bachelor most hunted, for which I will be eternally grateful.”
Alistair sank into the leather chair behind the desk. A nautical feel embellished the space, not overt, but present nevertheless. It was there in the color palette of blue and white, the shape and fluidity of the designs carved into the walnut furnishings, and the touches of brass spread all around the room. The study suited the gentleman who used it, a man best known as an adventurer and wanderer, which made Alistair’s next statement seem even more out of place.
“I am not a bachelor.”
“You’re unmarried,” Michael pointed out dryly. “That makes you a bachelor.”
“Not to my mind.”
“You are still determined to have Jessica?”
“She’s mine already.” Alistair lifted one shoulder in an insolent shrug. “Everything else is merely a formality.”
“I pray you aren’t implying that you’ve taken liberties.” It was a thought that didn’t sit well. Jessica was his brother’s widow. She was a member of his family and a friend. She’d loved his brother and brought him great happiness, and when Benedict had fallen ill with consumption, she had stayed by his side to the very end. She had shunned Society and social events in favor of tending to Benedict and entertaining him on the days he felt up to it. For her care and consideration, Michael would protect her safety and interests for the rest of her days.
Drumming his fingers on the armrests, Alistair studied him with a narrow-eyed stare. “My relationship with Jess is none of your concern.”
“If your intentions are honorable, why not announce your engagement?”
“If the decision were mine alone, we’d be wed and under one roof now. Jessica is the source of the delay, for reasons I don’t fully comprehend. She acts as if there might be something capable of diminishing my affection for her.”
“Such as?”
“Such as Masterson’s need for an heir combined with a young debutante capable of producing one. Or my mother’s unhappiness over my choice. Or some future urge to procreate that might strike me.”
“All reasonable arguments.”
“I have been unreasonably in love with her as long as I can remember. That has trumped everything so far, and I don’t foresee it changing.”
“Everything except more women than I can count,” Michael said dryly.
“You should hire a tutor for yourself, then, to help you with basic math.”
“I didn’t have to see them. There was rarely an evening when you didn’t smell of sex and a woman’s perfume.”
To Michael’s surprise, his libertine friend’s cheekbones were flagged with a dull red flush.
“And the ones you did see,” Alistair said gruffly. “What do you remember about them?”
“Sorry, chap. Your ladybirds didn’t interest me as much as they interested you. And I rarely saw one more than once, as I recall.”
“Hmm … It wasn’t notable that all were blondes? Pale-skinned and light-eyed, too. I never found one with gray irises, like a brewing storm, but that was just as well. I have never been one who is satisfied by replicas of priceless things. There is nothing quite like the genuine article,” Alistair murmured, his thoughts clearly elsewhere. “And once a man is fortunate enough to acquire a treasure, it is to his pleasure to protect her and coddle her and make her the most prominent feature of his life and home.”
Michael frowned, thinking back. He exhaled in a rush, understanding how deep and far reaching Alistair’s captivation with Jessica went. Perhaps as deep and far reaching as his affection for Hester. “Damnation.”
A knock came at the door.
Alistair’s head turned, and one brow rose in silent query.
The butler’s voice drifted over Alistair’s shoulder. “Forgive me, my lords,” the servant said. “Her Grace, the Duchess of Masterson, has come to call.”
With a long-suffering sigh, Alistair nodded. “Show her in.”
Gripping the arms of his chair, Michael moved to stand.
“Stay,” Alistair said.
“Beg your pardon?” Both of Michael’s brows rose.
“Please.”
Michael settled back into his seat, only to rise a moment later when Alistair’s mother entered. He smiled, pleased as all men were by the sight of a beautiful woman. Unlike his brothers, Alistair took after his mother to a marked degree. Both had inky black hair and piercing blue eyes. Both were elegant and innately sensual in build and carriage, with a rapier wit that charmed and sliced with equal measure.
“My Lord Tarley,” she greeted in a breathless, lilting voice. She held out her hand to him. “You look well and far too handsome for a woman’s well-being.”
He kissed the back of her ungloved hand. “Your Grace, always the most sublime of pleasures.”
“Will you be attending the Treadmore’s masquerade?”
“I wouldn’t miss it.”
“Excellent. Would you be so kind as to assist my son in finding his way there?”
Michael glanced aside at his friend, smiling when he found Alistair scowling with both palms flat on his littered desk.
“I do not have room in my schedule for such nonsense,” Alistair said.
“Make room,” she retorted smoothly. “People are beginning to talk.”
“Let them talk.”
“You have been absent for years. People want to see you.”
“Well, then,” he drawled, “a masquerade is the last place I should go.”
“Alistair Lucius Caulfield—”
“Dear God. When is this damned event?”
“Wednesday, which gives you five days to clear your schedule for one evening.”
“The first of many,” he muttered, “if you have your way.”
“I am proud of you. Is it a crime to want to show you off?”
Michael crossed his arms, grinning. It was a rare pleasure to see Alistair bending his will for another.
“I will go ”—Alistair held up one hand when she smiled triumphantly—“only if my betrothed attends. She will make it bearable.”
“Your betrothed …” The duchess sank slowly into the chair beside Michael’s. A look of wonder spread over her lovely features. “Oh, Alistair. Who is she?”
“Jessica Sinclair, Lady Tarley.”
“Tarley,” she repeated, glancing at Michael.
Michael’s hands curled around the end of his armrests. Anger began to simmer. “My sister-in-law.”
“Yes, of course.” She cleared her throat. “Isn’t she … older than you?”
“By the barest degree. Two years is hardly worth mentioning.”
“She was wed to Tarley for some time, was she not?”
“Several years. A pleasant union by all accounts.”
She nodded, but appeared dazed. And Michael’s fury grew. The duchess could not care less how pleasant or not the marriage had been, and Alistair damn well knew it.
“She’s a lovely girl.”
“The most beautiful woman in the world,” Alistair said, watching his mother with the predatory sharpness of a hawk. “I am eager for you two to become better acquainted, but Jessica holds back. She fears you will judge her on criteria having nothing to do with how happy she makes me. I assured her that was a misplaced concern.”
The duchess swallowed hard. “Of course.”
“Perhaps you could send a reassuring note to her? I am certain that would ease her mind considerably.”
Nodding, she stood. “I will endeavor to find something appropriate to say.”
Michael and Alistair stood. Michael helped himself to a glass of brandy as Alistair showed Her Grace out. That Michael was goaded to drink this early in the day aggravated him further. Alistair had always been dragging him into one crazed adventure after another in their youth, and it appeared his influence was still questionable.
When his friend returned, Michael rounded on him. “By God, you’re a heel, Baybury. A complete and total ass.”
“You must be spitting mad. You’re wielding my title like the weapon it is.” Alistair’s stride was leisurely and arrogant. “If you are surprised by the way I handled the situation, you’ve been blind to my faults for too many years.”
“There was no good reason to ask me to stay for that! It was awkward in the extreme, for both me and Her Grace.”

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