“No!” Callie bit out with more force than necessary.
Her aunt flinched and gave her a curious, searching look. “But of course, we must send word to your brother. I know you have long since reached your majority, but Westmorland will want to be present.”
Callie could not bear for that. If Benny returned before her marriage, he would interrogate her until she revealed the truth. And she was doing everything in her power to keep the truth—and scandal—from tainting him.
“I…” She faltered, struggling to find a plausible excuse for keeping her beloved brother from her own nuptials. “I am ashamed,TanteFanchette. Benny will be very upset with me for being so reckless with Lord Sinclair and spending the night alone with him. I do not dare wait.”
“Oh my darling,” said her aunt with such sympathy and tender caring that Callie felt a corresponding rush of guilt all over again. “Pray do not believe you are the only lady who has found herself in such a position. And look at what happened—Lord Sinclair is a hero, rescuing you from those brigands! I am certain Benedict would be understanding.”
“I am not,” Callie countered, and that, too, was grounded in veracity. “But more importantly, I could never forgive myself if I were to interrupt his honeymoon because of my own lapse in judgment. It took him weeks to recover after he was shot,TanteFanchette. He deserves this time of unfettered happiness with his bride.”
Callie could not hide the earnest feeling from her expression or voice. She meant that, even if marrying the Earl of Sinclair was essentially a prison sentence for her. She had already lost her chance at happiness when Simon had died. The least she could do was make certain Benny and Isabella were unaffected from her actions.
Her aunt nodded. “Very well, darlingnièce. Are you certain this is what you want?”
No, she wanted to cry out again.
Anything but this.
Her smile felt tight and insincere. “Yes, of course. Now do tell me what you have in mind for a dress, if you please.”
“Something burgundy, perhaps,” Aunt Fanchette continued. “Or scarlet. Crimson? Cerise? Hardly ivory, I should think. Warm shades complement your lovely dark hair. You must wear my diamonds, I insist!”
Although Aunt Fanchette had never married, she was an incurable romantic.
“Whatever you decide shall be fine,” Callie said.
Though mourning black would be the most fitting for the occasion. How to explain such a choice to dear, fawning Aunt Fanchette?
“We will need flowers as well,” Aunt Fanchette said. “Lilies of the valley, do you think? No, roses. Red roses, and your lady’s maid will entwine some in your hair the way she did in Paris when you met Moreau and he decided he must paint you…”
Callie gave herself over to her aunt’s excited plotting even as desperation unfurled deep within her.
One cursed week.
How could she save herself?
Chapter Eight
She could have saved herself, dear reader, had she never become my wife. Her only sin was in marrying a man who could not silence his inner demons or overcome the evil in his soul.
~fromConfessions of a Sinful Earl
“What do youmean you are getting married to the Earl of Sinclair?”
Callie winced at the shrill disbelief emanating from the voice of her dear friend, Lady Jo Danvers. “Pray do not be so loud, lestTanteFanchette burst in here with more notions about dresses and flowers for the unhappy event. I mean precisely what I said. The villain has forced me into accepting his suit.”
She and Jo had bonded instantly over their mutual work for the Lady’s Suffrage Society. They were like-minded in many ways, though opposite personalities in others. Where Callie was bold and devil-may-care with her reputation, Jo was quiet and circumspect. A wallflower to Callie’s butterfly. And yet, they were the best of friends.
Only Jo knew Callie was responsible for writingConfessions of a Sinful Earland the reason behind it. Well, Jo and their publisher. And now, the Earl of Sinclair.
“Do not fret over your aunt,” Jo said, lowering her voice. “I do believe my sister has her cornered for an intense meteorological discussion. When I made my way here, she was going on about rainbands and spectroscopes in the picture gallery.”
Although their gathering today had a larger purpose—a meeting of the Lady’s Suffrage Society—Callie had managed to pull Jo aside for a private chat in the grand library at Westmorland House since Jo and her sister had both arrived early. Their premature arrival had been down to Jo’s sister, Lady Alexandra, whose science-loving mind refused to even contemplate such a disgraceful notion as tardiness.
“Thank heavens for Lady Alexandra,” Callie said. “I find myself in a dreadful muddle, Jo. I am to marry him in one week’s time.”
“How can he force you into such a thing?” Jo demanded, sounding outraged on her behalf. “Callie, you believe he murdered your brother. He is known as Sin. His reputation is more scandalous than my brother’s once was, and that is rather saying something. Julian was a wretched scoundrel before he married Clara.”
