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Authors: Sylvia Day

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BOOK: Seven Years to Sin
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Jessica sighed. “In many ways. She’s altered a great deal in the last year. I am ashamed to say I don’t know if the change was gradual or sudden. After Tarley became ill, I had little time to visit with anyone.”
“Altered in what way?”
She lifted one shoulder in a helpless shrug. “I fear she might be ill. She has become quite thin and is often pale. There are times when there is a pinching around her eyes and mouth, as if she might be in pain. But when I’ve begged her to call for the doctor, she insists nothing is amiss.”
“If anything is wrong, I am certain Michael will see to it in your absence. You can rest easy.”
“With everything demanding his attention, I doubt he has time to see to himself. Dear man. He needs a wife to ease some of his burdens.”
“Your sister still has the ability to garner the whole of his attention, which is why, I believe, he hasn’t wed.”
Her eyes widened. “Are you saying Michael has a
tendre
for Hester?”
“Has for years,” Alistair said dryly. He knew well how consuming such an obsession could be.
“No,” she breathed. “I can’t credit it. He’s never shown any signs of affection greater than friendship.”
“And you have paid strict attention to be certain?”
She stared at him for a long moment, then smiled sheepishly. “I had no idea.”
“Neither does Lady Regmont, which was the bulk of his problem.”
“She did mention him once, when listing desirable qualities to be found in her future spouse.”
“Oh? What did she say? Perhaps it might offer him comfort to know she finds him appealing in some regard. Then again, perhaps it would be torturous since there’s nothing to be done about it now.”
“She appreciated his congeniality, I believe.” Jessica’s eyes sparkled. “However, you possess the appearance she most admired.”
“Flattering. Did you agree?”
“I lied.”
His brows rose.
“In a fashion,” she qualified. “I told her you were too young for me to assess in that manner.”
Alistair clapped a hand over his heart. “Ho! The fair lady cuts me to the quick.”
“Stuff,” she scoffed.
“Youth does have its advantages. Vigor, stamina—”
“Impetuousness.”
“Which can be delicious,” he retorted, “when done properly. Since you admit to lying, you are confessing that you found me physically appealing even then. Why didn’t you say as much to your sister?” Did she share nothing personal with anyone?
“I couldn’t encourage her interest! I don’t believe you two would suit. You would quickly overshadow her, I think.”
“I would not have been receptive in any case. It would be very unwise for a man to court one sister while secretly pining for the other.”
Jessica flushed. “You have never pined for anything. It’s not in your nature. Besides, like Mr. Sinclair, you never once gave any indication of knowing I even existed.”
“The same can be said of you in regard to me. Both of us appear to have been aware of each other, but you were promised to Tarley and I
was
too young. I had no notion of what I wanted to do with you beyond unrestrained fornication, and I was confounded by how to achieve that end. You are such a perfect, pristinely glorious creature. Rutting atop you in a frenzy of adolescent lust seemed obscene and impossible.”
It was a testament to her growing ease in his company that she wasn’t completely scandalized by his bluntness, as she certainly would have been mere days ago. “You appeared to have more skill and control in such matters when I bore witness to them.”
“It would have been different with you.”
Her blush deepened. She looked down at the food between them. “Perhaps if Michael had been more obvious or forthcoming about his feelings for Hester—not that she isn’t remarkably happy with Regmont …”
“I avoid speculating on past possibilities. Life is what it is. Making the best of it takes energy enough. Pointless to waste any effort regretting what cannot be changed.”
Jessica nodded as if she agreed, but her gaze was slightly unfocused, betraying the inward turn of her thoughts. “You act with the intention of not regretting your decision to do so,” she murmured, almost to herself. “While I have always chosen not to act, so there would be no possibility of regret.”
“Who is to say which approach is better?”
“I should like to try your way. At least for a little while.” Alistair looked up at the sky to mitigate any pressure his next words might exert. “It would seem to be the perfect time. You can reinvent yourself while away from home, and no one will be the wiser.”
“
You
will know.”
“Ah, but I won’t tell a soul.”
She wagged a finger at him, a gesture he found enchanting for its playfulness. “You are influencing me. Whether that is for my betterment or detriment remains to be seen.”
“I know precisely what you need.”
“Do you?”
“Freedom without censure.” He sat up. “It does exist, and I can show it to you.”
“Freedom and consequences go hand in hand.”
“Yes. But is censure a consequence or simply a nuisance? Does it really matter what others think of you, if you have the means to ignore them?”
Jessica exhaled audibly. “I am beginning to care about what you think of me.”
“I’m mad for you.” Alistair reached for the bottle of wine protruding from the basket. “And I have liked all the sides I have seen of you so far.”
“Both of us cannot flaunt convention.”
“We can’t?”
“Someone has to be the voice of reason. I designate you.”
He laughed. “Do you?”
“We shall reverse roles. I will proceed without concern for consequences, and you will act with an eye toward propriety. You certainly will need the practice, since you intend to rejoin Society when you return to England.”
Alistair was beyond intrigued with her bold suggestion.
“Come now,” she prompted. “We both know you are well versed in how to break rules. The question is: can you follow them? Can you withdraw from an endeavor, goal, or desire simply because it would be scandalous to continue? Can you pass opportunities in order to avoid censure?”
“Can you break rules?” he rejoined. “Can you continue, even if doing so is scandalous? Can you risk censure to seize opportunities?”
“I can certainly give it my best effort.” Her smile was brighter than he’d ever seen it. “Shall we wager to make my proposal more appealing?”
“Oh, it’s appealing enough.” The reversal of their roles introduced a host of wickedly wonderful possibilities. “But, as you know, I never walk away from a challenge. Twenty guineas?”
Jessica extended her hand. “Done.”
Chapter 11
 
“
I
t’s a lovely chapeau!” Lady Bencott exclaimed.
Hester stared at the monstrosity on Lady Emily Sherman’s head and tried to decide whether Lady Bencott was being facetious or simply the victim of horrendous taste. Because Lady Bencott was widely lauded for her fashionable attire, Hester had to assume it was the former.
“There is a bonnet in the window,” Hester offered. “I think it would be exquisite on you, Em.”
Moving toward the front of the shop, Hester was acutely aware of how much she missed Jessica. Her sister’s presence always enhanced shopping excursions, such as the one Hester had arranged today. Jessica had a way of keeping women such as Lady Bencott in line with a carefully worded chastisement that made its point in the most genteel of ways while leaving no room for reproach. That thread of steel in Jessica was a source of envy for Hester. She did not possess the same strength as her sibling. She was the conciliatory sort, quick to ease tensions and avoid conflicts, no matter the cost to herself.
Hester reached for the aforementioned hat perched so prettily on a stand, but paused when her gaze was caught by a figure outside. Bond Street was congested with pedestrians, as usual, and yet one form caught her attention and held it.
The man was tall and fit, elegant, with a horseman’s thighs and shoulders requiring no padding. His dark green coat and doeskin breeches were modestly adorned but clearly expensive. He had such a confident way of moving that others instinctively made way for him. The women watched him with feminine awareness; the men moved out of his path.
As if he felt the intensity of her regard, the man turned his head toward her. Beneath the brim of his hat, Hester saw a square jaw she would know anywhere.
Michael.
Warmth spread through her veins, a feeling she hadn’t experienced since the first time Regmont had struck her. Something inside her had numbed that day, but it stirred now, awakening.
Dear God. When had he become such a fine specimen of a man?
When had her childhood companion left boyhood behind? When he became Lord Tarley? Or prior to that? She so rarely saw him anymore that she couldn’t pinpoint when he might have become so formidable.
He paused as she did, a lone stationary figure in the midst of a flurry of activity. He carried himself so beautifully, so easily. Comfortable with his height in a way her husband, who was a few inches shorter, had never been.
Hester’s hand fell to her side. Before she quite knew what she was about, she found herself outside, waiting for Michael, who weaved through traffic en route to her with graceful impatience.
“Good afternoon, Lord Tarley,” she said when he reached her. She was surprised her voice was so clear and steady, when she felt fuzzy headed and shaky.
He removed his hat, revealing rich chocolate-brown hair. With a bow, he greeted her. “Lady Regmont. I am feeling most fortunate to have crossed paths with you this morning.”
She was ridiculously pleased by the smoothly voiced platitude. “The feeling is mutual.”
Michael looked over her shoulder into the milliner’s shop. “An afternoon with friends?”
“Yes.” Which meant she couldn’t speak to him about the matter weighing heavily on her mind. “I must see you as soon as you can possibly spare the time. I have something I wish to discuss with you.”
He tensed. “What is it? Is something amiss?”
“I’ve heard about your wager with Regmont.”
With brows raised, he said, “I won’t hurt him. Too much.”
“It isn’t Regmont I worry about.” Michael had no notion of what sleeping beast he might awaken.
His lips twitched, then he lost the battle and smiled in truth. The gesture took her breath away, making her realize how rarely he ever smiled around her. His reserve had always been notable. He’d never been soothed by her charm as so many others were.
“I cannot decide,” he said, “whether to be flattered by your concern or insulted by your lack of faith in my pugilistic abilities.”
“I cannot bear to think of you injured.”
“I will endeavor to protect my person on your behalf. In all fairness, however, you should know that my doing so could result in injury to your husband.”
Had he always looked at her with such warmth in his dark eyes? “Regmont is physically capable of defending himself.”
When Michael frowned at her tone, she realized she might have revealed more than she should. She deflected his concern with distraction. “I very much enjoyed your visit the other day. I do wish you would call on me more often.”
“I wish I could, Hester.” His voice was low and intimate, his gaze shadowed. “I will try.”
They parted ways. It was with great force of will that Hester refrained from looking back over her shoulder when she returned to the shop. It was one thing to take a moment to speak to her sister’s brother-in-law. It would be quite another to be seen ogling after him.
When she returned to her companions, Lady Bencott said, “The title suits Tarley.”
Hester nodded, knowing the grief and other burdens that came with his new station.
“With any luck, Emily,” Lady Bencott went on, “a new bonnet will catch his attention and secure you a fine match.”
“Would that I should be so fortunate.” Em removed yet another unflattering hat from atop her lovely raven curls. “I have admired him for some time.”
Hester felt a sharp pang in her chest at her friend’s dreamy tone. She told herself it was a symptom of increasing, not something far more complicated and impossible … like jealousy.
 
“You wished to see me?”
Michael looked up from his desk as his mother entered his study. Despite the not-inconsiderable size of the room, the Countess of Pennington’s slender frame seemed to dominate the space. It was the force of Elspeth Sinclair’s will and the command of her bearing that made her so formidable. Her strength of character was complemented by her physical beauty and elegance.
“Yes.” He set his quill aside and stood. Rounding the mahogany desk, he gestured to one of the settees and waited for her to be seated. Then he settled across from her with a slight smile. “I have a favor to ask of you.”
His mother studied him with a keen gaze. The recent loss of a beloved son was reflected in the depths of her dark eyes, and sadness clung to her like a shroud. “You know you have only to ask. If it is within my power to see it done, it will be.”
“Thank you.” He collected his thoughts, pondering the best way to phrase his request.
“How are you?” Elspeth linked her fingers in her lap and lifted her chin. Strands of silver hair lined her temples, but her face showed few signs of aging. She remained beautiful and faultlessly composed. “I have tried to give you as much privacy as I am able, but I confess, I worry over you. You have not been yourself since Benedict passed on.”
“None of us have been.” He deflated into the seatback with a harsh exhalation.
This conversation had been a long time coming. His mother had shown remarkable restraint in waiting so long, considering her usual need to be kept apprised of every minute detail affecting the members of her immediate family. While Pennington grieved in the country, Elspeth had arrived weeks ago, hovering on the fringes of Michael’s new life in the most unobtrusive way possible. She appeared to occupy herself with friends and social activities, but he knew the true reason why she had come—to be there as support for her remaining son as he tried, and failed, to fill the void left by his brother’s death.
“In the most well-meaning and innocent of ways,” Michael said wearily, “we took Benedict for granted. It never occurred to any of us that he might one day leave us floundering without him.”
“You are not floundering,” Elspeth argued. “You are more than capable of carrying your new responsibilities in your own fashion. It isn’t required that you should proceed in the same manner Benedict did. You can forge your own path.”
“I’m trying.”
“You’re expending great effort to squeeze yourself into the mold shaped by your brother. I pray you do not believe your father and I want you to do so.”
Michael’s mouth twisted. “There is no finer man to emulate.”
Her hand lifted and gestured at him, flowing gracefully and encompassing his form from his boots to his cravat. “I hardly recognized you when I first arrived. The somber hues of your new wardrobe and the sparseness of embellishment … It isn’t you.”
“I am not simply a Sinclair any longer,” he retorted, somewhat defensively. “I am Tarley and one day—God willing, a faraway day—I will be Pennington. A certain restraint and decorum is required.”
“Stuff and nonsense. What is required is your sanity and happiness. Your unique abilities and viewpoints are more valuable to the title than slavish adoption of your brother’s sensibilities.”
“Sanity is a luxury I must earn. Presently, I am barely keeping pace. I have no notion how Benedict met all his obligations, but by God, the amount of work to be done seems overwhelming at times.”
“You should rely on the estate stewards more. You don’t have to do everything yourself.”
“Yes, I do, until I know enough to allow someone else to manage. I cannot place the responsibility for our family’s financial stability in the hands of hired employees simply because it simplifies my life and saves me the trouble of rectifying my ignorance.” Michael looked around the room, feeling like a fraud in the space that was imbued with the very essence of his brother. The somber reds and browns were not what he would have chosen for himself, but he’d changed nothing since taking over the space. He felt as if he lacked the right to do so, as well as the will. “And unlike Benedict, I don’t even have Calypso to worry over, yet I still feel as if I am hanging on by the tips of my fingers.”
Elspeth shook her head. “I remain ambivalent about your brother’s bequeathment of such a large obligation to Jessica.”
“She will want for nothing for the rest of her life.”
“Her per annum stipend alone is sufficient to make her a very wealthy widow. That plantation was the bulk of your brother’s personal income for good reason—it consumed a great deal of his time and attention. The burden of maintaining the property will likely be too great for her to bear. The mere thought of facing such a challenge is daunting to me.”
“He discussed it with me prior to finalizing his will, and I understood his mind.”
“Then explain it to me.”
“He loved her,” he said simply. “He claimed there was something about the island that affected her; an alteration to her countenance and personality he wished to foster. He wanted her to feel the power of self-sufficient affluence, if she should ever have to go on without him. Something about her being restrained and needing absolute freedom, or some such.”
“He meant well, I suppose, but she should be here with us. It pains me to think of her alone.”
Michael seized the opportunity to segue into the reason he’d summoned her. “Her sister, Lady Regmont, feels similarly. And speaking of Hester, I am led to the point where I ask a favor of you.”
“Yes?”
“I should like you to deepen your association with her. Draw her into your social circle. Spend more time with her, if you would.”
Elspeth’s brows rose. “She is charming, of course, but there are a notable number of years between us. I am not certain our interests are aligned.”
“Try.”
“Why?”
Leaning forward, he set his forearms on his knees. “I fear something is not right with her. I need your opinion. If I am correct, you would note it straightaway.”
“I meant, why the interest in Lady Regmont in particular? Because of Jessica?”
“Certainly easing Jessica’s mind would please me,” he prevaricated. “The sisters care a great deal about one another.”
“Which is expected and laudable. Yet I still fail to see why the welfare of Regmont’s wife is your concern.” Her tone was more warily curious than argumentative. “If there is anything requiring attention, Regmont will see to it. You, on the other hand, need a spouse of your own to occupy you.”
Groaning, Michael’s head fell back and his eyes closed. “Is marrying me off all anyone can think about these days? The gossip rags are rife with speculation over my intentions, and now I cannot even enjoy a respite in my own home!”
“Isn’t there any woman who appeals to you?”
Absolutely. As you’ve so astutely surmised, I am mad for another man’s wife.
He straightened. “Enough of this. I am well. Our affairs are well. There is no need for concern in any respect. I am tired and feeling ill equipped, but I’m learning quickly, and soon all will be as second nature to me. Settle your mind, if you would, please.”
His mother stood and moved over to the bell pull, her peach-hued satin skirts rustling as she moved. “I feel the need for a strong cup of tea.”
BOOK: Seven Years to Sin
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