Lady Calliope emerged from hiding then, frowning as her fingers fumbled to restore her coiffure to its previous state, to no avail. “Forgive us,TanteFanchette. It was remiss of me to meet Lord Sinclair alone.”
“Just a few more days, and then the two of you will have the rest of your lives together,” said the aunt, her tone cautioning. “I have already been remiss in my duties. Westmorland will never forgive me if there are any further lapses in propriety, and nor will I forgive myself.”
“Lord Sinclair was just about to take his leave,TanteFanchette,” Lady Calliope said, casting him a furtive glance of warning.
Actually, it was more glare than warning. The virago was angry with him. Likely, she was probably angry with herself as well for having responded to him in the manner she had. Such glorious fire. He could scarcely wait to bed her.
“Do not be silly,” said her aunt, waving a dismissive hand in the air. “Tea is ready, and of course his lordship must join us. I insist. We are to be family soon, after all. I must have time to better acquaint myself with him before my darling niece becomes his bride.”
“He cannot stay,” Lady Calliope said.
Sin grinned. “It would be my honor to join you both for tea.”
If looks could kill, his betrothed would have slit his throat. “I distinctly recall you saying you had other engagements for the afternoon.”
Did she truly think she could be rid of him that easily, particularly if his remaining would nettle her as much as he supposed? Foolish Lady Ruthless. He was made of sterner stuff than that.
“Nothing could be more important than spending time with my beloved betrothed and her aunt,” he returned with false gallantry.
“It is settled,” said the aunt decisively. “Do come with me, the two of you. No more nonsense!”
Lady Calliope’s lips pinched. Sin’s grin deepened.
Oh, yes. The wedding night was going to be one delicious clash indeed.
Chapter Eleven
If you feel pity for the Countess of Sin, dear reader, pray try to banish it. She is not worthy of your concern. She earned her death by daring to desecrate our marriage vows with the Duke of W. I would kill them both again if I could.
~fromConfessions of a Sinful Earl
“You look asif you are being sent to the gallows,” observed the Earl of Sinclair.
Callie kept her gaze upon the hands in her lap, which clenched the silken skirts of her wedding gown. There was a thin, golden band upon her finger that felt more like a prisoner’s irons than a lifelong promise to love and obey. Her white gloves hid the ring. But she felt it there, burning her as if it were a brand.
She was too numb to speak, to even offer a response.
Earlier that morning, she had spoken her vows in the drawing room at Westmorland House. The occasion had been presided over by Aunt Fanchette, Lady Jo, and a small handful of other friends from the Lady’s Suffrage Society, followed by a small wedding breakfast. There had not been time to arrange for a church, and it had seemed fitting to Callie to marry in the only place she had ever felt truly at home. Fitting, too, to begin her new life in a place of familiar comfort.
She had the sinking feeling that comfort would be the last she would know for some time.
“It is going to be an awkward marriage indeed if you do not deign to speak to me,” Lord Sinclair added, his tone wry.
She rolled her lips inward and held her tongue, saying nothing. Whatcouldshe say? The days had blurred together, passing by too quickly, until she had collided, headlong, with her unwanted fate.
She was married to the man seated opposite her in the Westmorland carriage. Her new husband had not possessed the funds to provide an adequate conveyance. He had nothing more than the dilapidated barouche and one mount. Ironically, it was Lewis, the coachman he had left with the splitting headache back in an alleyway near her former publisher’s office, who was driving them to Sinclair’s townhouse.
Her new home.
Not that it would feel like home.
Lord Sinclair gave an irritated sigh to accompany the sound of him strumming his long fingers upon his thigh. “Have you nothing to say, wife?”
Wife.
Yes, she was that. To him. To a man she still did not dare trust. A man who had once been her nemesis. A man she did not know, beyond the span of a week and a few, turbulent kisses. To say nothing of a forced carriage ride and an overnight abduction…
She stifled a shudder. She would be damned before she would show him a single weakness.
