Decker rose and stalked across the library, returning with a small, unframed canvas depicting a man standing alongside a woman. At first glance, it looked as if the two were not even touching. But upon a closer look, the woman’s dress was not a dress at all, and the man’s hand was claiming her in full, carnal, primitive possession.
“What do you think?” Decker asked.
It made him think of his wife. His conniving jade of a wife. The one he could not stop thinking about or wanting.
Fuck.
“I think I need more whisky,” Sin said, raising his empty glass.
That was the most honesty he could manage at the moment.
Callie told herselfshe ought to be overjoyed that her husband had not returned.
She had eaten her bland supper in silence.
And now, she was lying in the darkness in her new chamber, staring into the murky shadows, telling herself she would not be bothered if he continued staying away. Forever.
But that was a lie, and she knew it.
Well, Callie? What did you expect? That he would fall madly in love with you and fawn over you like a lovelorn suitor after one day of marriage?
On a sigh, she rolled over. How foolish she was. She had allowed the earl’s lovemaking to rot her mind. Theirs was not a happy marriage. It was a marriage of convenience.
Sinclair had what he wanted now—her dowry, her silence, and the consummation of their union. Having secured that, he had gone off to do whatever he wished, not even bothering to inform her where he had gone or when he might deign to return.
Where had he gone? To his illicit club?
Did he have a mistress? He had claimed he did not, but Callie was not certain he was to be believed. His sobriquetwasSin, after all. After last night, she could attest to the reason for it.
At the memory of his wicked caresses and kisses, her traitorous body heated up and a new awareness burned between her thighs. She promptly squelched the sensations with the reminder that her husband could, for all she knew, currently be visiting those same kisses and caresses upon another woman.
Or, worse, otherwomen.
Feeling ill, she rolled again, onto her stomach.
And that was when she heard a thud from the chamber next door.
Apparently, her errant husband had returned.
Another thump echoed through the silence of the night.
Callie sat up in bed, scowling in the direction of the earl’s apartments. How dare he return in the midst of the night and then proceed to make so much noise? Had he no respect for her?
Sadly, she suspected she already knew the answer to that question.
Callie’s dudgeon would no longer be ignored. She slid from her bed, not even bothering to find her dressing gown. Her nightdress—long and high-necked and modest—would suffice. She made her way through the shadows, narrowly avoiding crashing into a chair, until she reached the door joining their chambers.
Light shone beneath it like a beacon.
Without bothering to knock, Callie swept the door open.
Her husband was seated on the edge of his bed, fully clothed save his boots, which she gathered were the source of the noise. They lay on their sides, half a dozen feet from him, as if he had launched them there. His neck cloth was loose, and his dark eyes devoured her as she hovered on the threshold. Somehow, the sight of him—dissolute yet handsome as ever—filled her with trepidation.
“You look like a bloody governess in that night rail,” he said, breaking the silence.
How insufferably rude.
“Where have you been all day and evening, my lord?” she demanded, although she had promised herself she would not ask.
