Seven Years to Sin

  She pulled her arms out from beneath him and wriggled her way up his torso. “The best orgasm so far,” she corrected, straddling his hips and embracing his shoulders. “Henceforth I will endeavor to bring you greater and greater pleasure every time we make love.”

  His cock twitched in its initial effort to rally. She’d wrung him dry in every respect.

  “Not yet,” she said, with her lips to his ear. “Let me hold you; I promised you I would. You don’t always have to use sex to show me how you feel.”

  The rush of longing that assailed him was nearly too great. It stung his eyes and burned in his throat. He set his hands on the bed to hide their unsteadiness.

  “Was she the only woman you cared for?” she asked, leaning fully against him.

  “If that is what you want to call it.”

  “What would you call it? Lust?”

  “I’ve no notion. I know it was never like this.”

  “But there are women who’ve loved you.” It wasn’t a question.

  “Those who have, came to lament it. The detriments outweigh the benefits.”

  Her fingertips curled around the back of his neck, kneading the tense muscles. “There is no shame in what you did.”

  “You don’t know what I did.”

  “I know you. I love you, and I will not regret it.”

  Alistair was horrified by the violent shudder that moved through him. She was deep under his skin now, able to see everything he was so adept at disguising on the surface.

  God, he didn’t want her to see …

  “You don’t know that, either,” he said sharply.

  “You’ll have to trust me, Alistair, and take my word for it.” Her embrace lightened, her body withdrawing as if giving him room and permission to flee.

  In truth, he was tempted to. He’d done things in his life that made him unacceptable … the very nature of his birth made him unsuitable for her. She’d suffered so much to become the polished, elegant, irreproachable woman she was. And with his courtship, he would destroy the social esteem she had worked so hard to attain. If he could, he would keep her captive in his bed, the one place he knew he could make her forget everything but the pleasure he could give her.

  Alistair caught her close, fighting for the strength to be gentle when he felt so violently. She needed tenderness and sheltering, and he was like a battering ram against her, constantly trying to crash his way through the defenses she’d been forced to build as an abused child. “I do trust you,” he said gruffly. “Don’t I tell you everything?”

  “You tell me all the disreputable things about yourself.” Jessica pulled back to look at him. “And you say them with such defiance, as if you’re daring me to turn away from you.”

  Better now than later. With every day that passed, she became more and more indispensable to him. Soon, he wouldn’t be able to breathe without her. He already felt that way at times.

  She kissed one corner of his mouth, then the other. “Remain constant, and I will remain with you.”

  “You are my every desire.” He groaned as she moved sinuously against him.

  “Prove it,” she breathed.

  As always, he accepted the challenge. He knew his strengths—he could disregard his conscience, he was adept at making money, he was attractive, and he was good at sex. It was precious little to offer to a woman such as Jessica, but he would offer it in spades and pray it would be enough to keep her.

  Chapter 18

  Hester paused on the threshold of her bedroom and stared at her sleeping husband. He’d come to her often over the past sennight, seeking surcease from his torment in her bed. She tried to comfort him, tried to tell him that no one remembered a boxing match a week old, that he wasn’t humiliated or diminished, but nothing she said or did soothed his inner turmoil. She was exhausted from the effort, disheartened, and sickened by his weakness and her own weakness for him. Despite everything dark and twisted that had passed between them, she still couldn’t wish him ill.

  It was her greatest failure that she couldn’t save the man she’d once loved from himself. She could not even save their love, which had withered and was surely dying. As much as it pained her, she could no longer afford to waste her energies and affections on a man who couldn’t accept and value her efforts. She had a child to consider now, a tiny being who would need all her time, attention, and adoration. The strength she hadn’t been capable of finding for herself, she’d found for the babe growing within her.

  Her shoulders went back and she moved toward the bed.

  Regmont had the potential to be such a wonderful man. He was handsome and emminently charming. He had a fine wit and was brilliantly adept at everything he set his hand to. Women coveted him and men respected him. Yet he saw none of those admirable qualities in himself. Sadly, his father’s demeaning and belittling words were all he heard in his head; they drowned out the praise directed his way. He felt unworthy of love, and he reacted to those feelings in the manner his father had taught him by example—through violence.

  But she couldn’t make excuses for him any longer. His most prominent traits were the need for absolute control over her—from the clothes she wore to what she ate—and manipulation. He laid the blame for his rages on the spirits he drank to excess and, sometimes, on her. If he couldn’t accept his own culpability, there was little possibility he would change. She had to take steps to protect her child.

  As she neared, he stirred, one sleekly muscled arm reaching toward her side of the bed. His head lifted from the pillow when he felt her gone. When he found her, he gifted her with a slow and sleepy smile. A soft tremor flowed through her. Tousled and naked, his golden masculine beauty was undeniable. An angel’s face hiding the demons that ruled him.

  He rolled to his back and pushed up to recline against the carved wooden headboard. The sheet pooled around his hips, leaving the breathtaking expanse of his chest and stomach bared. “I can hear you thinking from here,” he murmured. “What thoughts have you so occupied?”

  “I have something to tell you.”

  He slid his legs off the side of the bed and stood, shamelessly and gloriously naked. “You shall have my undivided attention … in just a moment.”

  He kissed her cheek on his way to the chamber pot and screen in the corner.

  When he appeared again, she spoke. “I’m increasing.”

  He came to a halt so abruptly, he stumbled. Wide eyed, he paled. “Hester. My God …”

  She couldn’t say what reaction she had been expecting, but his terrible stillness wasn’t it. “I hope you’re pleased.”

  He breathed roughly. “Of course I am. Forgive me, I’m a bit startled. I had come to think you might be barren, like your sister.”

  “Is that partly why you become so angry with me?” How much angrier would he become if he learned how she’d worked to prevent conception these past few years … ? The thought alone terrified her.

  “Angry—?” He flushed. “Do not start a row. Not today.”

  “I never start rows,” she said neutrally. “I abhor discord, as you know. I had quite enough of it in my childhood to last me a lifetime.”

  His blue eyes glittered dangerously. “If I didn’t know your gentle nature so well, I would wonder if you were deliberately attempting to provoke me.”

  “By speaking the truth?” Fear made her heart race, but she refused to give in to it. “We are simply having a discussion, Edward.”

  “You don’t seem happy to be breeding.”

  “I will be, once I know the baby is safe.”

  “What’s wrong?” He jerked into motion then, striding to the chaise where he’d discarded his robe the night before. “Have you called for the doctor?”

  “I have morning sickness, which is quite normal. I’m told that everything is progressing nicely so far.” She fought against the urge to lift her chin, knowing the silent challenge would only aggravate Regmont further. “However, I must take care of myself and a-avoid injury.”


  A warning muscle in his jaw ticked. “Of course.”

  “And I need to eat more.”

  “I tell you so all the time.”

  “Yes, but it’s difficult to eat when one is in pain.” His lips whitened, a warning sign she forced herself to ignore. “With that in mind, I should like to retire to the country early. You can join me when the Season ends.”

  “You are my wife,” he bit out, yanking the belt of his robe into a knot. “Your place is by my side.”

  “I understand. But we have to think of the babe.”

  “I dislike your tone, and your intimation that I am somehow a danger to my own child!”

  “Not you.” A necessary lie. “The spirits you drink.”

  “I won’t be drinking.” His arms crossed. “In case you hadn’t taken note of it, I have not had a drink in nearly three weeks.”

  He’d abstained for longer stretches, but something always tipped him into his cups again. “Can any precaution be excessive when it concerns our child?”

  “You’ll stay here,” he bit out, heading toward the connecting door to his rooms. “And I will not listen to any further nonsense about you leaving.”

  “Edward. Please—”

  The slam of the door ended the conversation.

  “How dashing you look!” Elspeth praised as she descended the stairs to the visitor’s foyer. “Which fortunate debutante will be enjoying your call today?”

  Michael ceased fiddling with his immaculate cravat and met his mother’s gaze in the mirror’s reflection before him. “Good afternoon, Mother.”

  Her brow arched when he collected his hat from the console and said nothing further. The afternoon sunlight slanted onto the marble floor through the arched window above the double front doors. The indirect illumination flattered his mother, whose floral gown made her appear far younger than she was.

  Her mouth curved. “Lady Regmont helped me put the list of debutantes together. She’s very perceptive, well connected, and most eager to see you wed.”

  He stiffened. The perfectly tailored fit of his blue coat was suddenly overly tight. “I’m pleased to hear you two are rubbing along well. I thought you might.”

  “Yes, we suit better than I expected. The poor dear has been without a mother for many years, and with Jessica gone, I can dote on Hester as I would a daughter.”

  He wished they could have been mother and daughter in truth, through marriage. But fate had other designs.

  “And now that she’s increasing,” Elspeth went on in a breezy tone, “I can experience that joy as well. Preparation for your wife, whoever she may be.”

  Breath hissing between his teeth, Michael gripped the edge of the console and fought to collect himself. A poker through the chest could not have hurt worse.

  He rounded on Elspeth. “Sheath your claws, Mother. You’re drawing blood.”

  She recoiled, then paled. “Michael …”

  “Why?” he asked bitterly. “We both know she’s beyond my grasp. You’ve no need to wound me with it further.”

  “I’m sorry.” Her shoulders fell, her lovely features aging before his eyes. “I …”

  “You what?”

  “I am afraid your love for her will hold you back.”

  “I know my responsibilities. I’ll see to them.”

  “I want you to be happy.” She stepped toward him. “I want that so badly. I thought if you knew …”

  “That I would simply shrug off my troublesome affection and move forward unencumbered?” He laughed without humor. “If only it was that simple.”

  She sighed. “I want to help you. I wish I knew how.”

  “I told you how.” He set his hat on his head. “See to Hester. Give her whatever support she may need.”

  “I’m afraid there’s nothing to be done for the girl, Michael. Leastwise, nothing you and I can do.”

  He looked at her. “Regmont,” he bit out, acid sliding through his veins.

  “The way she reacts to his name … I have seen that look before, and it never bodes well. But what can be done?”

  “We can extend our friendship.” He moved toward the door, which was hastily opened by the butler. “And pray.”

  Hester’s breathing quickened as she entered her parlor. Michael stood when she swept in, his dark eyes heating with masculine appreciation. She basked in that warmth, allowing it to thaw the frozen recesses of her heart.

  “You waited the entirety of the sennight before keeping your promise to call on me,” she accused.

  A faint tinge of sadness marred the smile he gave her. “My mother suggested I wait.”

  “Ah.” She sat on the settee across from him. “She is a wise woman.”

  “She likes you.”

  “The affection is mutual.” Hester smoothed her skirts, feeling unaccountably nervous. “How are you?”

  “I’ve been half-mad with the need to ask that question of you. You spoke of some things when I last saw you. I feared I might have aggravated … that I caused you unnecessary …” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “Christ.”

  “I’m well, Michael.”

  “Are you?” His hand fell to his lap, and his gaze sharpened. “I should have let him win. I was too arrogant—too angry—to do so. I should have been thinking of you.”

  Hester’s heartbeat thudded in a strong, steady rhythm as if revived. In truth she felt more alive in Michael’s presence than she had in many years. “You were thinking of me, were you not?”

  He tensed, then flushed.

  “Whatever promise you made to my sister to look after me,” she went on, “I doubt she expected you to take the responsibility to such lengths. But I’m touched that you did.”

  “Do you need a champion?” he asked softly, leaning forward.

  “There is a princess out there waiting for you, gallant knight.”

  “By God.” He pushed to his feet with graceful violence. Controlled, despite his frustration. “I hate talking in riddles.”

  She nodded at the maid who set a tea service on the low table in front of her. When the servant departed, Hester said, “You didn’t answer my question about how you’re faring.”

  He exhaled harshly and resumed his seat. “As well as can be expected, under the circumstances. I never realized how many tasks Benedict faced. He bore them all with quiet efficiency. I have yet to figure out how he managed. He must have found more hours in the day than have been allotted to me.”

  “He had a wife to support his efforts.”

  “By God, if one more individual posits that a spouse will alleviate all my burdens, I cannot be held responsible for my reply.”

  Hester laughed softly, secretly and horribly pleased to hear that finding a wife was not high on Michael’s list of priorities. “You don’t believe you would find a wife helpful?”

  “I am barely keeping my own head above water. I haven’t the faintest idea of how I would care for a spouse at this time.”

  “I want you to find a wife who will care about you. It shan’t be hard. You are very easy to adore.”

  “If only you spoke from experience,” he said quietly.

  “I do, of course.”

  His beautiful mouth twisted wryly. “Of course.”

  “More than I realized,” she confessed. “More fool I.”

  “Hester …” Surprise swept over his features, followed swiftly by stark despair.

  How had she missed the signs that Michael carried a tendre for her? She had been blinded by Regmont’s rakish charm and the sensual spell he wove so well. By the time they wed, she’d been desperate for the consummation of their union, aroused to a fever pitch by clandestine touches, ravenous kisses, and hotly whispered promises of boundless pleasure.

  “We shall find you someone who loves you madly,” she said hoarsely. “Someone whose primary concern is your happiness and pleasure.”

  “She would resent me after a time.”

  “No.” Hester set about preparing the tea, spooning te
a leaves into the steaming pot. “You will reciprocate her affections soon enough. You won’t be able to help yourself. And then you shall live in contentment ever after, as you deserve.”

  “And what of you?”

  Leaving the tea to steep, Hester straightened and set her hand over her stomach. “I have my own joy on the way.”

  His smile was genuine, if melancholy. “I could not be happier for you.”

  “Thank you. So let’s narrow the list I assisted your mother with.” She stood, and he stood with her. Moving to the escritoire by the window, she opened it and withdrew a sheet of foolscap. She settled onto the wooden seat and opened her inkwell. “You can list desirable attributes, and I will record them.”

  “I should rather go to the tooth drawer’s.”

  She assumed her most formidable expression.

  “Blast. Not that look, Hester, please. I thought you liked me.”

  “Hair color?”

  “Not blond.”

  “Eye color?”

  “Not green.”

  “Michael …”

  He crossed his arms and arched a brow. “Have to give the gel a fighting chance. Wouldn’t be sporting otherwise.”

  She laughed softly. Beside her, on the other side of the window, whips cracked against horseflesh and whinnies rent the afternoon. On most days, Hester sat by the window and watched the world go about its business. The thought of happier homes and lives just beyond the one she was trapped in offered her comfort. At the moment, however, she was content to focus her attention on her own life and the vibrant man who so briefly occupied it. “Tall or short?”

  “I don’t have a preference.”

  “Slender or voluptuous?”

  “Proportional is all I ask.”

  “Any particular talents?” she queried, glancing at him as he approached. He moved with such economical grace and confidence that she couldn’t stop herself from watching.

  Michael drew to a halt beside her, resting his arm along the top of the escritoire. “Such as?”

  “Singing? The pianoforte?”

  “I truly don’t care about such things. I will follow your discretion.”