But if it became common fame that she had writtenConfessions of a Sinful Earl, her reputation would not be salvageable. In truth, she did not care for herself. Callie’s heart belonged to Simon, and he was forever lost to her. She had no intention to marry. However, it was not herself she was concerned for.
Benny and Isabella…their marriage was so new, so hard-fought, so well-deserved. Isabella and Benny had nearly been killed by a Fenian in her typewriting school. It had only been Benny’s bravery and timely intervention which had saved her. And now, they were married, on their honeymoon, savoring each other and their love.
If Benny returned to Callie’s ruination, he would be devastated.
And he had just found his happiness.
The woman who was meant to be his wife, just as Simon had been meant to be Callie’s husband. If she could not have the life she had dreamt of, she would be damned before she would allow anyone to take that from Benny. She loved her brother. Fiercely and devotedly.
Worse, this black mark against her, if it were to be made known, could do far more than cause Benny and Isabella upset and worry. It could harm them as well. Sinclair was correct, damn him. There had been a great deal of rumors surrounding Benny and Isabella. With Isabella’s life in danger, Benny had diverted Scotland Yard agents to her protection. If scrutiny were to be placed upon him because of her…
“I see your devious mind at work, my future countess.”
The earl’s voice cut through her wildly spinning thoughts.
She met his gaze. “What manner of despicable villain would seek to hurt a man who is courageous and good, a man who has devoted himself to keeping us all safe from danger? A man who has nothing to do with any of this?”
He inclined his head. “A man who has nothing left to lose, princess. A man you ruined.” He took a lingering bite of his strawberry. “Me.”
Sin watched asunderstanding dawned on Lady Calliope’s expressive face. For a fleeting moment, her countenance took on that same haunted quality of a wild creature facing down her hunter. He knew a moment of guilt at what he was doing, but then he ruthlessly squelched the inkling.
She deserved this.
Shehaddestroyed his reputation—not that it had required much effort on her part—withConfessions of a Sinful Earl. And she had not stopped after that. Rather, she had enjoyed her vengeance. She had continued.
Only now, too late, did she realize that in so doing, she had made herself vulnerable to him. Oh, so very vulnerable. Yes, she had brought this on with her madcap scheme to decimate his chances at making a match. Before she had disseminated her tripe, he had been about to secure the hand and vast dowry of Miss Vandenberg.
Never mind that Miss Vandenberg paled in comparison to the delectable, dark beauty of Lady Calliope. He did not need to desire his wife. Lord knew, by the end of his marriage with Celeste, he had been so repulsed by her, he had not been able to touch her.
“This is blackmail,” Lady Calliope accused then.
Quite accurately, as it happened.
“You are damned right it is.” Smiling, he nibbled at another strawberry.
She was looking rather pale at the moment, his future countess. Likely because she was still refusing his offer of food and drink. He could outlast her in a battle of stubbornness, however. Perhaps she was also feeling bilious at the notion of being forced to marry a man she erroneously believed had caused her brother’s death.
Again, a stab of something akin to guilt prickled at his conscience.
Again, he sent it to the devil.
“If I agree to this…this horrid plan of yours, how do I have any proof you will not still reveal I am the author ofConfessionsjust to spite me?” she asked next.
He swallowed his bite of strawberry, his grin deepening. “Why would I want to harm my own wife?”
Her pallor grew even more heightened. “Why indeed?”
Ah yes, she believed him a wife murderer as well as a brother murderer. How could he have forgotten? The creature certainly had a wild imagination. But then, he knew from his own experience that having someone to blame always felt better than the realization that one was completely and utterly at the mercy of the universe.
“You have my word as a gentleman that I will take your secret to my grave,” he reassured her, keeping his tone light. “I have had enough scandal to last a lifetime. It will be an even exchange—you marry me, and in return, I will never reveal the truth, and nor shall the younger Mr. White. When we return to London, I will pay a call to your publisher on your behalf, explaining to him that he is no longer permitted to publish the next installment of the serial, and further, that no more shall be forthcoming. I will instruct him to deliver the manuscript to me, for safekeeping. You are amenable?”
“Amenable as I must be,” she allowed. “However, I will not share your bed.”
Still imagining she possessed the power to bargain, the foolish chit.
He chuckled. “Yes, you will. I cannot very well get an heir on you if I do not bed you, my lady.”
“You cannot possibly expect me to suffer your attentions.” Her lip curled, as if the notion of his touch disgusted her.
