Illusion of Innocence: Regency Rebelles Series

Chapter 17

It was over a fortnight since he”d almost dashed his brains out on the cobbles before the Rijksmuseum of Amsterdam and tomorrow, they would have been back in London a week.

He was done with being treated as an invalid. Between Verity and Saju he felt like a baby elephant he”d watched once, being surrounded and chivied and protected by several overzealous maters of the herd. Would they back off if he told them he saw them as a pair of lumbering elephants?

Saju was padding softly about the room tidying, fidgeting, and occasionally eyeing the drapes as if wondering if he should open them or not.

Sin sat up.

‘I”m awake, Saju. Have been since long before you crept in here like a timid mouse afraid of waking the big bad cat.’

‘Mr Sin. I did not wish to disturb you,’ the valet said, looking mildly alarmed.

‘What happened to waking me up at dawn?’ Sin growled.

‘Mr Sin, sir. You are ill. It is rest you need.’

‘I am no longer ill, Saju. I intend to go to the warehouse today so I will dress accordingly. And since you have been tiptoeing about like some sneaky hobgoblin bent on mischief, the day is half done already. I need a wash and a shave and I need it two hours ago.’

‘But Mr Sin, Lady Verity said—’

‘Lady Verity is my wife not my jailer—and it”s time I reminded her of that fact,’ he finished with a mumble he hoped Saju didn”t understand, and climbed out of bed.

They”d been married a month, and he had a marriage to retrieve, a relationship to cultivate. She”d been as attentive as any man could have wished since the accident, even though her own injuries had caused her some pain for several days. But she had admitted only yesterday the bruising was fading, along with the pain.

Regardless, she”d hobbled at his side wherever he went about the house, was always sitting exactly where she”d been when he closed his eyes. She”d watched him, queried him as to every discomfort he felt, and anticipated his every need. The only time she left his side was when he fell asleep in his own bed at night and then she went to sleep in hers on the other side of the joined dressing rooms.

She hadn”t offered and he hadn”t suggested she share his bed. He hadn”t asked what her reason was and his own was based on basic male pride.

When next he had her in his bed it would be to show her what he”d failed so cruelly to demonstrate that first time. Show her how a man made love to the woman he adored.

His head finally felt like it belonged to him, not on some pumpkin vine out in the vegetable garden. He was ready.

But damn it, he would not rush this.

‘Is my wife awake, Saju?’

‘I believe so, Mr Sin.’

‘Has she gone downstairs yet?’

‘That I don”t know. Do you wish me to ascertain?’

‘Please.’

‘And if she is still next door?’

‘I would ask she meet me at the breakfast table downstairs.’

Saju dipped his neatly turbaned head and left the room.

Sin suspected Verity would not be happy he intended to go out today, but he had things to arrange, and a wife to win back into his bed.

‘The lady would be honored to breakfast with you, sir, and will be downstairs in fifteen minutes.’

Sin glanced at the window for it felt as if the sun had suddenly broken through the heavy gloom of the winter morning. It had not, but he felt unreasonably buoyed regardless.

She arrived in the morning room a few minutes behind him and immediately began insisting he was not yet well enough to return to his normal activities, whatever it was he had in mind.

‘I assure you, my dear wife,’ he murmured, taking her hands and pressing a firm kiss to the back of each, ‘I am fully restored and shall no longer play the pathetic invalid. Come, be seated and allow me to bring you a plate. What will you have?’

He pulled out her chair, saw her settled and waited while she scanned the sideboard.

‘If Jay has made fish cakes, I will have two, a scoop of scrambled eggs and a hot bun, if you please.’

‘It pleases me,’ he said, dropping a kiss on the top of her head.

Once they had their meals before them, he asked what she would do with her day.

‘For I meant it when I said I am a very wealthy man,’ he told her. ‘If you want to redecorate this whole house to please yourself, I would be delighted. I”ve not changed a thing since I bought it. It suited me and I know little of such things. Make it yours—no, make it ours. Or you could take the opportunity to visit a modiste and have some new gowns made. Go shopping on Bond Street.’

‘Bond Street?’ Carefully she placed her cutlery on her empty plate and sat staring at it with a sad droop to her mouth which dragged painfully at his heart. ‘I used to dream of shopping on Bond Street.’

He waited but she said no more, seeming to sink deeper into melancholia.

‘The idea of shopping on Bond Street should make you happy then, surely? Instead, it”s made you look as if your dog just died.’

The words were out before he”d thought what he was saying, and he was not prepared for her reaction.

Tears welled up and flowed down her cheeks and she regarded him with a stricken expression.

‘That was too cruel, Sin,’ she whispered.

‘Cruel? I didn”t mean—’

‘No, you didn”t, but this is why we need to get to know each other better.’

‘Explain. Please. I don”t want to hurt you like that again.’

She produced a tiny square of linen from some hidden pocket in her gown and swiped impatiently at the tears on her cheeks.

‘I hate crying,’ she whimpered, like a wounded pup. ‘But there are two things that overwhelm me every time. Miss Pearl and Libby. And the two are inextricably connected. Libby came to London with Lord Earnslaw after they were married, and I used to dream of coming to London with her and of us shopping together on Bond Street. And Libby gave me Miss Pearl.’

‘Miss Pearl?’

‘A York terrier bitch. She was the most amazing little ball of white fluff with two tiny black eyes. She went everywhere with me until—one morning—I woke to find her cold and stiff in her bed. She was only eight years old, and it felt like losing Libby all over again. I so wanted her to still be alive when Libby comes back.’

This again. How could he make her see if there had been a funeral, her sister was definitely dead, no matter what Verity thought she knew? Somehow, he had to help her come to terms with the fact her elder sister was not still somewhere in this physical life.

‘Very,’ he said softly, ‘you cannot argue against a funeral. You do yourself no service by not accepting that and allowing your heart to heal.

If he”d not been prepared for her tears, he was certainly not prepared for his dainty, faerie-wife to storm to her feet and loom over him with the raging fury of an avenging angel.

‘Libby—is—not—dead, and no one will ever convince me different. She will come back. I know that too,’ she snarled, raising her fist as if to smash it into his head.

Sin caught the threatening limb. His head didn”t need any more damage.

‘Very,’ he soothed, swinging his chair away from the table and pulling her down onto his lap. ‘You can”t—’

Wrenching herself out of his hold, she jumped off his knee and headed for the door.

‘I”ve seen it,’ she said fiercely. ‘I thought you believed me. When she comes back, she will be living at Larkhurst Manor. I have no idea how that could come about, but I know it as clearly as I know you and I are wed. Charity wouldn”t believe me. Papa wouldn”t believe me. Threatened to take his riding crop to me if I didn”t hush up.’ She stopped at the door, staring back at Sin, her eyes wide and deeply troubled. ‘Papa never lifted a finger to any one of us, even Hugh. Even Charity threatened to box my ears. How will you stop me saying what I know?’

She took a step back towards him, as if to physically challenge him. But something in what she”d said—about her Papa—made him view the story in a different light. What if Liberty Davencourt wasn”t dead? What if her father and sister both knew and had threatened the much younger, but psychic, Verity, to keep the truth from being discovered?

The scandal, if she was right, was beyond imagining. He caught her up in his arms and held her close. He was gentle, but determined she would not escape him.

Pressing her cheek into the crook of his neck, he stroked her hair, and pressed kisses among the silvery blonde curls.

‘Settle, my love,’ he murmured. ‘I think you are convincing me. But have you considered the scandal should Libby come home? Come back from the dead?’

‘Of course it will be a scandal,’ she muttered against his chest. ‘But that”s going to happen whether I say anything or not. I knew that, understood I could never speak of it outside the family. But—it hurt. Papa, of course, must know the truth. I suspect Charity does also. I don”t think Hugh knows. He was away at Eton. But I was there. Why didn”t they tell me the truth and tell me to say no more? I could have done that.’

‘Perhaps they were afraid to trust someone so young with such a dangerous secret.’

A great huff of frustration broke from her.

‘It”s not just the knowing about Libby. It”s Levi too.’

‘Levi?’

‘Levi Longfellow, the miller”s son.’

‘Let”s go to my study. I think I need to hear this story.’

Sin settled into a soft leather chair before the fire that always burned in the grate in this room. It was his favorite room in the house, and he’d frequently taken his meals here. His life would need to be a little more civilized now he had a wife, perhaps.

Bringing her down onto his lap and snugging an arm about her body so her cheek lay against his chest under his chin, he said, ‘Tell me about the miller”s son.’

For a moment he thought his wife might simply have dropped off to sleep, but then she pushed back a little against his arm so she could look at him while she spoke.

Gauging whether he believed her, no doubt.

‘Levi”s mother was a lady. Cousin to Lady Wilhelmina, Uncle Charles”s wife. I don”t know how she came to be married to the miller. She was our governess. She and her children, Levi, Philip, Edith and Rose-Marie would walk from the mill to the Hall every day and she taught us all together. Levi was the eldest, two years older than Libby, but those two were like evil twins. If there was mischief afoot, they would be the cause of it. No matter what task they were set they always finished long before the rest of us and the next thing, they”d be gone. Libby told me later their favorite place was the immense and ancient oak down by the river in the meadow below the Hall.

‘They were in it the day it was struck by lightning. Libby swore the tree warned them to get down and run, no matter how heavy the rain. The lightning struck the tree as they hit the ground and fortunately, they were only scratched a bit by the top branches as they raced out from under it. Libby told me those stories for I was just a baby. I can hardly remember Levi in the school room for when he was twelve and Libby would have been ten, they went swimming in the lake—naked, and Charity raced home to tell Papa. Levi was not allowed to come to the Hall after that. I think that”s when he started his apprenticeship to his father, the miller. I don”t think Libby ever forgave Char for that. But really, Papa was probably looking for an excuse. It was so not appropriate that the twelve-year-old son of the miller should still be taking lessons with us. There was something about Levi. He was different to his father, or Philip. In fact, if I had to say, he looked more like a Davencourt than a Longfellow.’

A great quiver raced over her body and then she sat up to stare at him, her eyes wide with shock.

‘What?’ Sin asked, already expecting some claim to know something that could never be be proved. But was likely true.

‘He is,’ she whispered. ‘Levi is a Davencourt. Not a Longfellow. How could that be? Who is his father? Oh!’

Her eyes went even wider and now the prevalent emotion was distress of some kind.

‘What if—what if it was Papa?’ Then she shook her head violently. ‘No. Not Papa. Then who?’

Sin had the distinct impression his wife was no longer aware of him or anything around them. She appeared to be communing with someone he couldn”t see.

‘Uncle Charles?’ She sucked in a breath as another thought hit her. ‘Could that be why Mama called him a bad man? And if Levi was a—bastard—that could be another reason Papa wouldn”t let Libby marry him. I saw them kissing at the fair once and it was so thrilling I couldn”t wait to tell Mama and Papa, stupid child that I was. Libby tried to stop me, but the words were already out of my mouth—and they had no trouble believing what I had to say that day,’ she said bitterly. ‘It was the day I learned to think before I spoke. Especially to Papa.’

‘What happened?’ Sin asked softly, as she continued to sit staring balefully into space.

‘My adored big sister was sent away to school. I was well punished. No one understood me as Libby did. I rarely saw her after that. When she was eighteen Papa brought her home from school and forced her to marry his friend, his old friend, even older than Papa. Poor Libby. She changed then. All she could do was hug me when she left. I think she would have broken down and sobbed too hard if she”d tried to speak. Next time they came to visit she was this elegant, sophisticated—restrained—lady that I scarcely recognized. But not happy. How could she be when wed to a man old enough to be her grandfather—when I am certain all she really wanted was Levi? And he had grown into such a—handsome—well built—man.’

Sin was beginning to wonder if he should be jealous of the miller”s son, when she continued to stare inwardly as if contemplating the attractions of the man in her memory.

‘Libby brought me Miss Pearl on that visit.’

‘I don”t believe that is the end of the story, Very,’ he nudged her when she curled into his chest and buried her face against his neck cloth.

‘Of course it isn”t,’ she mumbled, and Sin had to sit forward to hear her. ‘They came for another visit. They”d been in London for the season and Libby told me later she just wanted to come home. It was all so exhausting. Pointless. Lord Earnslaw would deny her nothing it would seem and so they came—but—’

‘But?’ Sin prompted when she stalled again.

‘Lord Earnslaw had a stroke in the carriage as they were entering the village. He was completely stricken, poor man, and Libby wore herself out nursing him. I think—in a way—she”d become fond of him. But dear God, here she was with a husband who couldn”t walk or talk and was clearly going to stay that way until he died—and who knew when that would be? In fact, he lasted another two years. But Libby was gone long before that. She fell in the weir one freezing night and never recovered. Or so Papa said.

‘Papa wouldn”t let me see her body. He said she was already sealed in the coffin. But when I looked at that coffin, I knew Libby wasn”t in it. I”d swear it held nothing but logs of firewood. When I said as much to Papa he flew into a rage the like of which I”d not seen before and he threatened me with a thrashing with his riding crop if I dared speak such shocking lies again. I was only thirteen, totally spoiled and utterly babyish—for that”s how they’d raised me. The youngest, to be babied and indulged by everyone. Of course I was going to say it again. I wanted to be believed, and I wanted my sister back.

‘It was Char who threatened to box my ears then and said—if I didn”t cease my prattling, I would yet cause the scandal Papa had sacrificed so much to prevent. She made me think Libby took her own life. But now, even more so than then, I know that’s not true either. Libby would never have done such a thing—not while Levi lived.

‘I realized that day my family would never treat me as an adult. Charity knew—knows—what happened, I’m certain, but I was too young to be trusted. I felt that was how they”d always see me, so I decided I would remain the spoiled, selfish brat who pleased herself every day. I gave Mrs. Longfellow and her lessons my mornings, but then I’d disappear to be where it pleased me to be.

‘The kitchen was my favorite place and the staff indulged and encouraged me shamelessly. I think they felt sorry for me. The attics over the west wing were another sanctuary. I made sure no one ever saw me sneak up there—which was easy for that wing was mostly unused. There was a lot of old furniture stored up there, so I created my own space and wrote about the people who”d sat in the chairs, ate at the tables, and worked at the desks or davenports.’

She stopped suddenly to look up at him.

‘I can sense them you know, when I touch the things they used.’

He gave her a wry smile.

‘It’s becoming that I”d believe anything you told me, and the only way I could test that statement is to take you to Haddon Hall where I grew up and know who used the old furniture there.’

‘Oh, that could be fun,’ she said with a chuckle. ‘You are a good listener, Sin, and it has helped immensely that you listened to all of that. For now, I believe I know where my sister is and it”s scandalous indeed. Levi left for America mere days after Libby”s death. Sold his share of the mill to his brother, sold the horses from the stud he”d been building to Ben Adderley and left. It was the first anyone had heard he was even thinking of such a thing. I now believe he took Libby to America.’

‘We have a ship at our disposal. Several, in fact. Do you want to go and find her?’

‘Oh Sin, if I ever needed proof, you love me, that is it. I would love to go and find her. But where exactly? And if her leaving was to cover up a scandal, imagine what horror her homecoming would cause. There”s a casket in the family crypt bearing a silver plaque with her name on it. I think I need to wait for Hugh to come home, for one day I know he will. Then we can work out how to find our sister—and bring her home.’

‘Family secrets are the very devil,’ he murmured, drawing her up into his arms, and sealing her lips with his. To his complete delight her arms slid up around his neck, holding him to her and she was the one to aggressively explore his mouth, her fingers tangled in his hair and her tongue slipped between his lips, tested the edge of his teeth, and delved deeper.

God help him, he wanted her, now, no questions asked. But that was not the way to the redemption he sought.

The redemption he needed.

Tonight. Damn yes. Tonight.

‘Does—your family have secrets?’

Her voice was little more than breath against his lips.

His family? Maybe.

Himself? Too many.

‘I guess every family has things they don”t talk about. And yes, I do, I suppose.’

‘Like the names of your ships? I understand Jeshael, the newest one, for she was the captain”s wife. But who was Eloise? Because I know she is someone important to you. She had to be for you to name a ship after her.’

Sin felt all his satisfaction at the current state of his marriage leach out through his boots. There were secrets in his life he wasn”t proud of, shuddered at the thought of sharing with anybody. But a wife, the woman he loved, had a right to know those secrets.

Eloise Petchell was in the past, but a harsh reminder of the heedless arrogant young man he’d been, along with those he’d called friends. Miss Geraldine Scott-Noble was a not so dire indiscretion. For it could be argued, since he was considerably younger than that fair temptress, he”d been the one seduced.

And then there was the reason he”d never return to India. That piece of charitable idiocy he’d all but erased from his consciousness.

‘A man doesn”t reach the age of thirty-five without amassing a few secrets. And we try to keep them secret because they’re painful—or shameful. Or their exposure may hurt someone else.’

Verity was sitting up now, searching his eyes as he spoke.

‘That”s true,’ she said softly, when he stared fixedly back at her. ‘But there should be no secrets between husband and wife. I hope, someday, you will share them with me.’

‘Someday,’ he promised softly.

Just not today. Not until he was secure in the love of this woman.

‘What will you do with your day?’ he asked by way of turning her thoughts from secrets.

She pursed her lips at him, but allowed him the diversion.

‘I thought I might seek out a music shop and buy a pianoforte. A house without one feels not quite—finished. Don”t you think?’

‘Perhaps,’ he conceded, then observed her with a tilt of an eyebrow. ‘So, the modistes and haberdasheries of Bond Street are not your first choice?’

‘Gowns and fripperies I have already. That can wait for another day. Right now, I want a piano and there isn”t one here. Where does one buy a piano in London?’

Would she surprise him in everything?

‘Broadwoods in Soho. But I really would rather you wait until I can escort you to Soho. Would you please me by venturing into Bond Street with your maid and a footman today and perhaps discovering a modiste to suit your future needs?’

She raised startled eyes to him then. Now it appeared he had surprised her.

‘You want to come shopping for a piano with me?’

‘I do. I might even play it from time to time.’

He was certain she’d been about to pout like that spoiled child she’d mentioned earlier at the idea of postponing her plans for the day, then donned her new maturity and acquiesced.

‘Very well. Bond Street it shall be.’

‘All accounts to be sent to me.’

‘You? But I have my own money. You said so.’

‘You have. But I would like the pleasure of knowing I am responsible for how exquisite my wife looks as she goes about town. I rather think I might also enjoy visiting the modiste with you. But I can”t today. You and Clara will have fun visiting every fashionable establishment on Bond Street so you can make your choice as to which you deem worthy of your patronage. I”d suggest a gown from the three best and then make your choice based on the quality of the work. Although I”m sure you will know which one will suit you best. Now if I am to spend a few hours catching up on things at the docks and yet to be home in time to satisfy my nagging wife I”m not overdoing it, I”d best start out.’

‘Nagging wife? That would be loving wife, I believe,’ she told him with a haughty toss of her head.

Sin froze, then tightened his arm around her waist and tilted his head back, the better to see her eyes.

‘Loving wife? Does that mean—you love me, Very?’

He was every kind of pathetic. He could even hear the needy uncertainty in his voice. Suddenly he had a greater respect for what Nik suffered in his loss of Jeshael. Losing Verity would kill him.

He needed those three words from her lips as surely as he needed his next breath.

Her hands settled on his chest, then crept up to rest with the delicacy of butterflies on his cheeks.

Followed immediately by her lips, with no delicacy at all.

His wife meshed her mouth to his and the butterfly fingers tightened, gripped, claimed.

Instantly he was hard and surging against her, rabid to have her beneath him, to be driving his cock deep inside—

‘Love,’ she declared between tiny, smacking kisses all over his face, ‘is too pale a word for what I feel for you, Sinner Wolfenden, but since I can”t think of any other—of—of course I love you.’

It was some time before either of them surfaced to notice the morning slipping away.

Bond Street was everything and more than Verity had ever imagined it could be, but the experience was bittersweet without Libby to share it.

Which made her all the more grateful for Clara’s presence. She was fast becoming a trusted friend. The maid had been so relieved and happy to have her mistress home again Verity had been quite gratified.

The first and most elegant place they entered sent a shiver of negativity up Verity’s spine the moment they walked in the door. The display gowns were of a quality indisputable, as were the two customers already in the shop.

The mother and daughter, for there was no mistaking the mold from which the younger had sprung, surveyed the newcomers down their identical noses with haughty frowns.

The modiste, who was attending them, excused herself which turned the frowns into downright scowls.

‘Good morning. I am Madame de la Courte. How may we help you?’

‘Good morning, madam. I am Mrs. Sinclair Wolfenden. I am newly wed and new to London so I am visiting the modistes of Bond Street with a view to finding the one who would suit my future requirements.’

Verity had decided to weed the foxes from the hens by being direct about her naiveté and her status and then to trust her psychic instincts for the rest.

‘I am sorry, Mrs Wolfenden,’ Madame said with a condescending smile, and a slight emphasis on the Mrs., but we are not taking on new accounts at the moment.’

Verity let her knowing smile show, just a little.

‘Thank you, Madame de la Courte. I suspected that might be the case. Come Clara. We shall not be disheartened at the beginning of our quest.’

‘But, my Lady,’ Clara protested, loud and clear and Verity was gratified to see the modiste’s head turn sharply at the maid’s use of the honorific. ‘Do you not even want to look at the styles they have on display?’

‘Not particularly, Clara. What would be the point?’ Verity said brightly and stepped out the door.

‘That was fun,’ she said when they reached the street. ‘And you are the best accomplice I could possibly have. Did you see her face when you called me my Lady?’

‘I did and it was ever so satisfying,’ Clara declared.

Verity sighed as they continued along the street, the footman falling in behind them.

‘I fear we were dreadfully sheltered and—provincial—in Oxfordshire. Of course I”d heard how the ladies of the ton in London could be, but seeing it played out is rather shocking. I”m much more inclined to cock a snook, which would likely do me no favors if I cared to mix in society. But I”m pretty certain I don”t. Let”s see what else Bond Street has to offer.’

By mid-afternoon Verity had had enough. They had made their way the length of the street, left orders for two gowns at three different establishments and she was reasonably certain she”d made her choice.

Mrs. Camden at the northern end of Bond Street was welcoming and easy to deal with and the workmanship on the display gowns was exquisite.

‘Mr. Briggs will be waiting with the coach at the end of the street. Will you fetch him please, Lomas?’

‘At once, my Lady’ the footman said, setting off with such alacrity Verity almost laughed aloud.

‘Poor Lomas. I think he’s had enough of following us in and out of shops.’

‘Pfft,’ Clara sniffed. ‘It”s his job.’

Feeling tired but well pleased with her morning, Verity climbed the steps at St. James’s Square to be greeted by Nesbitt, holding the door with his usual regal presence, but with an unprecedented frown on his face.

‘Is something amiss, Nesbitt?’

‘I couldn”t rightly say, my Lady. There is a visitor. A Mrs Edith Fontaine. She asked to see Mr Sin and when I informed her he was from home, she said she would wait. I”ve put her in the blue drawing room, my lady.’

A strange chill rippled up Verity’s spine, a bit like the negative feeling she”d had on entering Madame de la Courte’s establishment. But while this was definitely negative, it also felt—jealous? Weird. She clenched and loosened her spine to banish the odd sensation.

Back straight and chin up she followed Nesbitt to the blue drawing room. It was much more intimate than the formal salon at the front of the house and better suited for entertaining individual guests.

‘My Lady,’ Nesbitt said in more formal tones than she”d ever heard him use, ‘Mrs Edith Fontaine. Mrs Fontaine, this is Lady Verity, Mr Sin”s wife.’

‘Tea, if you please, Nesbitt,’ Verity managed, as she handed her outer wear to her maid, who backed quietly out of the room and headed for the stairs.

Mrs Fontaine, a beautiful sultry brunette, dressed in dark burgundy velvet, stood at her entry then collapsed in a fetching pose on the chaise, her eyes dropping to the child playing on the floor at her feet.

A boy of about four years old, he sat cross-legged on the thick, woolen mat arranging a half dozen tiny lead soldiers. Beside him lay a small hinged box containing several more of the exquisite figures in different colorful uniforms.

But it was not the toys or the careful formation of them that caught Verity’s attention.

It was the child himself. He had the same crisp, almost black curls hugging his head as Sin did and he stared up at her from cruelly familiar storm gray eyes.

The same eyes she”d smiled into only that morning.

Oh, Sinner, Sinner. It would have been better if I”d known about this secret before it was thrust upon me.

Moving blindly across the room, she sank into the first chair she came to.

‘You wanted—to see—my husband, Mrs Fontaine?’

‘Sin is—married?’ the woman asked, hazel eyes wide and pleading.

The woman’s skin had leached of all color and Verity realized Mrs Fontaine was pleading for her to deny what had already been stated.

‘I—cannot deny it. If that”s what you”re hoping,’ Verity replied, her voice sounding strained and aloof to her own ears.

She’d tried to inject compassion into the words, but seemed to have failed miserably.

‘Oh dear. I”m sorry. Perhaps it would be best if we—just go—’

‘No,’ Verity muttered. That was not going to happen, but before she could say more the child leaped to his feet and confronted his mother.

‘You said we were going to meet my real papa. You said papa in India is not my papa. You said my real papa would love me and that we would live with him if I was good—and I”ve been—‘cep—‘ceptional. Amah would say so.’

It was as if everything in the room but the child, had turned to stone. Neither Verity nor his mother had been able to move to stem the flow of damning words from the child”s mouth.

Although they were only a confirmation of what she could already see for herself, Verity felt everything inside her become petrified also.

The woman finally regained some animation and struggled clumsily to her feet.

‘Come, Sin. It”s not how I thought it would be. We will talk in the c—’

Verity had scarcely registered the child”s name when the door slammed back on its hinges, and Sinclair stood in the opening, a tower of blazing fury.

‘What the devil are you doing here?’

Almost the exact words he”d thrown at Verity the night he”d found her in the cabin aboard ship. Verity’s legs threatened to buckle and collapse her back onto the big leather couch.

Mrs Fontaine however, was not in the least cowed. Leaping to her feet, she threw herself across the room and into Sin’s arms.

Which opened so naturally to receive her.

‘Oh, Sinner,’ she cried, her voice husky with pain and intimacy. Then she wrapped her arms around him like a climbing vine and buried her face in the intricate folds of his neck cloth.

Verity knew well how it felt to be overlooked, ignored—invisible.

With the celerity born of years of slipping away to hide, and fueled by the bitter betrayal of watching Sin’s arms open to receive the Jezebel, her legs swept her from the room, out into the hall and up the stairs to her bedroom.

Throwing herself on the bed, she pulled the pillows over her head, in search of the solace of darkness and silence. Running away. Hiding.

Just as she’d always done since childhood.

Not. Still. Doing. That. Verity.

No she wasn’t.

Tossing the pillows aside, she bounced back onto her feet, a sound issuing from her throat with the tones of a strangled war cry.

She was no longer that child to be pushed aside, hushed or patted on the head.

Or ignored, so long as she remained silent and unseen.

She was a woman grown, with a woman’s needs and the right to expect to be heard, acknowledged, noticed, loved.

Sin had said he loved her and had seemed inordinately happy when she’d told him, only this morning that love was reciprocated.

Nothing she’d ever experienced had hurt like this. How could Sin, who’d been in her life a scant six weeks, rend her heart even more deeply than Libby, the sister she’d known all her life?

She’d thought the pain of Libby’s disappearance beyond forbearance.

But this—

To have reached such an understanding with Sin, to have arrived at the moment where all they could be to each other was about to unfurl like a beautiful rose, the moment of perfect consummation, only to have the bloom dashed from her fingers at the moment she reached to pluck it from the garden.

This was akin to having her heart brutally incised from her chest.

With the destructive potential of a rogue storm, Mrs Edith Fontaine and a small boy named ‘Sin” had blasted into her life creating havoc in the rose-bed of her marriage.

Reminding her roses came with thorns, small and vicious, or large and painful.

She’d forgotten that in her usual childish way of thinking and believing a garden grew no weeds and never suffered the depredations of predators or foul weather.

Impatient with the futility of her inner raging, Verity dropped onto the stool before her duchess. The disheveled creature who looked back at her from the mirror definitely had the appearance of being swept up by a tempest and tossed about and discarded in a broken tangle.

No wonder, an insidious little voice surfaced from beneath the broken debris of her thoughts. ‘No wonder Sin welcomed that woman into his arms.’

Vibrant, dark hair, richly coiled. Eyes with the sultry, warm hue of violets. A child—

Don’t think about the child.

What did she have to offer the worldly, wealthy Mr. Sinclair Wolfenden? To compete with the mature, sensual allure of a woman who’d clearly already been her husband’s lover?

Her own hair was a fly-away tangle of white-blonde curls with the substance of a Stannesford River mist. Her eyes were a pale-washed turquoise blue, totally lacking in any fire or sultry magnetism. As for her gown of pale lemon corded silk, it certainly did not reflect any decision on her part to cease acting the na?ve miss.

Why would a man of Sinner’s age and experience choose her over the obvious tried and certified enticement of a woman who’d already given him a son?

Nom de dieu. Nanny’s favorite saying flashed through her mind. Acting and thinking grown-up was not enough.

She needed to be an adult and leave no one in any doubt of that fact. Ringing for Clara, she began ripping the pins from her storm-tossed hair. Hopefully her maid could tame it into something restrained and elegant.

And find her a gown to rival the sensual suggestion of burgundy velvet.