Sinful (Hot Regency Romance Novella) (5 page)

Estelle gulped. “Oh yes, he could do that,
Lyan. He is more than capable. He is a fiend.” She knew she had to
give him the name, for Maryanne’s safety. “Her beloved was the
owner of a small bookshop in Charing Cross Road. Mr. Samuel
Peabody.”

His dark brow shot up. “He sounds like a
little, fat, middle-aged merchant. Why would you help the girl
elope with a man like that?”

“I did not help her. She simply gave me a
name. As for the others—”

“You’re lying, angel. I could prove you
helped her, if I found the hackney driver who came to the rear of
your shop and who saw you escort a young woman who matched Lady
Maryanne’s description into the cab. A man who saw the young lady
clasp your hands before she left and thank you for everything you
had done.”

Her heart sank.

“You helped her run off with some scoundrel,”
he ground out. “Some man who might have killed—”

“No! I promised to help her. That meant
ensuring she was marrying the right man.” There, she had admitted
her guilt. She knew why she’d done so. Deep down, she still trusted
Lyan. She would always believe in the goodness of this man’s heart.
Carving her way into respectability and security, she had
encountered some of the “gentlemen” of the
ton
. The ones who
pressed their attentions on any women they believed beneath them.
Who were willing to rape because they believed themselves to be
untouchable. She had soon learned that birth meant nothing. Lyan
Foxton had grown up in the stews, but she knew how special, noble,
and wonderful he was.

Yet there were also good gentlemen. Peabody
was one of them. “He is the third son of the Viscount Yarborough,
and he has a love of books. He is tall, thin, but very handsome.
And I realized, when I went to his shop and spoke with him, that he
truly loved Lady Maryanne.”

He frowned. “How could you know that for
certain?”

“I—a woman can tell.” She did not want him to
know how she knew. That she’d compared how Peabody looked when she
spoke of Lady Maryanne to the way Lyan used to look at her.

“Thank you,” Lyan said. “I pray I’m not too
late.”

“What are you going to do?” She knew she had
to be quiet, but her voice rose in fear. “I went out this
afternoon. Peabody’s shop is still closed up. I spoke to his
employee and his neighbors. He hasn’t come back.”

“I think if Cavell arranged for his ward’s
death, it would be known by now that she had been killed. He’d want
it done fast. It would be easy enough to make it look like a
highwayman attacked her on the way to Scotland. I think the fact
that she hasn’t turned up dead means she is still alive. I think he
wants her back to marry her himself, which gives him both the lady
and control of her fortune. Hell, I
have
to believe
that.”

Stark pain showed on Lyan’s face. How harsh
and sharply cut his features were, now that he’d matured from a
youth to a man. “Why would he hire you, if he was the one to
arrange for her to disappear?” she asked.

“To make it look like he’s innocent. Or
because she escaped his trap. He might genuinely have no idea where
she is. I’m going toward Gretna. I hope Lady Maryanne and her
suitor are hiding somewhere along the way there.”

“I would like to come with you. I want to
know Maryanne was safe, and I could help you. For a start, I know
what Peabody looks like. But I have my business…though my other
seamstresses could cope with customers for a day or two. But there
is Rose—I would not want to leave Rose alone.”

“I suspect you could help me,” Lyan said.
“But I agree. I do not like the idea of leaving your daughter
alone. She could come and stay at my home. My sister is there, as
well as many servants. She would be very safe.”

“At your house?” It was a kind offer and so
astonishing when he was still angry with her. “All right.”

“I have one more condition,” he growled. “I
want you to promise you won’t help my sister, Laura, if she asks
you to help her elope.”

“Heavens! What—?” She swallowed hard. Nothing
had escaped him in the past. That hadn’t changed. He must have
sensed his sister was in love. “Of course not. But why do you think
she would run away rather than ask your permission?”

His brow rose sharply. “Because sometimes
women do damned illogical things.”

“All right. I agree. But I have conditions
for you.”

His mouth neared hers, making her go almost
cross-eyed as she watched his beautiful lips approach. Oh, how she
ached for another kiss.

“Indeed?” he asked.

She fought for control. “No more kissing,”
she said tersely. She wanted to throw these rules to the wind, and
she wanted to kiss him and never stop. But she couldn’t. “No more
touches. That’s behind us, Lyan. There can never be anything
between us again.”

* * * * * * * * *

Chapter Four

“Why did you do it, Sally? Why did you run
out on me before I came back for you? I thought—apparently like a
blind fool—you intended to be my wife.”

Estelle jerked her gaze from the carriage
window, where she had kept it fixed for several hours. The carriage
lamps were lit now, so all she could see was a shadowy reflection
of her own face.

Lyan was sprawled over the seat across from
her, his long legs splayed to make room for them in such a way that
his Hessians did not touch her slippers. His arms stretched along
the back of the velvet-covered bench. Ever since they had entered
the carriage together, he had stared fixedly out whatever window
proved opposite to the one she gazed at. Each time she’d stolen a
surreptitious glance, she’d discovered he was not looking at
her.

That was for the best. It would be stupid and
irresponsible to feel anything else, any sort of girlish pang. She
had long stowed away the desires and foolish fantasies that always
began with the question “what if.” From the moment she’d made her
choice to run away, then discovered she was carrying Rose, she had
known exactly what she must do. Survive, build a business, invent a
plausible story about widowhood, and raise her daughter. Rose had
been what she’d lived for.

Her future had been mapped out. Decided. It
was not to be changed. What she could do was shape the futures of
others.

She did owe Lyan some sort of explanation,
but although she’d had ten years to concoct one, she had never come
up with one that satisfied her. Fear had been the reason she had
run—not fear of Lyan, but dark fears that had lived deep inside
her. Yet she hadn’t been as afraid of living alone as she had been
of marriage, and that seemed like madness now.

“I did it so I could have what I have now,”
she said.

“What do you have now?” he asked. “I could
have given you anything you wanted. I would have moved heaven and
earth for you.”

Did Lucifer sound like this—like
smooth-flowing brandy or like chocolate when it bubbled in a
cup—when he promised to fulfill a woman’s dreams in return for her
soul?

There were so many times she had wished for
someone to rely on. The only thing that had stopped her from
surrendering to the pretty dream of letting a man take care of her
was the certain knowledge that no man would. Just as men had
promised her mother protection and had given her nothing but
pain.

Estelle cleared her throat, as if just a
little more time would clear away the heat wrapping tentative
fingers around her heart, the yearning blossoming between her
thighs. “I have my business and enough money to survive. I have my
daughter. I suppose what I have is success and security.”

“But you have no husband. No one to protect
you.”

“I protect myself.” She managed a smile.
“You, of all people, must remember I am capable of that.”

“Aye,” he answered with a breathtaking grin
of his own, one that carved dimples deep enough to make her knees
quiver. “I still bear a few scars to prove it.”

She had forgotten what this was like. For ten
years, she had worked every minute of the day. Her needle would
flash through cloth late into the night, while she would be
desperately blinking to keep her eyes open. Hour upon hour. Day
upon day. From behind a mound of fabric and patterns, she had
watched Rose grow into a beautiful, quick-witted girl. She had
carved out a formidable reputation amongst the
ton
for her
gowns.

But she had not had a friend.

“I’ve never forgotten our wedding night,” he
said softly.

She had guessed that already.

“For ten years,” he went on, “I’ve considered
myself married to you.”

That startled her. “But you have the
reputation of a rake.”

He groaned. Even with the carriage lamps on
inside, shadows still lurked in the corners. Lyan leaned back,
letting the gloom hide his face. “There were times the need got a
bit too much, I’ll admit that. But I never fell in love, Sally. Not
once.”

“Oh heavens, Lyan. I wish you had.” If he
had, she could have forgiven herself. “How much longer until we
reach the border?”

“We’ll have to stop for the night. We’ll find
an inn along the road, and leave in the morn, as early as
possible.”

“An inn.” She took a deep breath. “Separate
rooms, of course.”

“Of course? We made marriage vows. We had a
wedding night.” He leaned forward. The teasing note in his voice
was not reflected in his eyes, which glinted in the lamplight like
cold glass.

“Ten years ago,” she said. “And our vows were
not spoken in a church or before a vicar.”

“The passing time makes no difference. The
intention of marriage vows is for husband and wife to make a
promise to each other. Does it matter if it is in a house of
God?”

Estelle trembled. He had always been able to
do this to her. Bring out emotions—or desires—she did not want to
face. “
Legally
it does. I am not your wife, Lyan. I will
never be. I do not consider our marriage to be valid. I ran away
from you. Isn’t that reason enough for you to think that, too?
Don’t you want to admit our vows meant nothing? For that means you
would be free.”

“Ah, Sal, but that’s the irony. I’ll never be
free of you.”

* * *

The Rose and Crown was the third inn at which
they’d stopped. It looked more prosperous than the other two, with
many coaches rumbling in and out of the yard, servants hurrying to
and fro, and well-dressed patrons arriving for the night. Coachmen
drank ale around the water troughs, singing to the tune of a
jauntily played fiddle.

Estelle had been commanded to stay in the
carriage. But she ignored Lyan, hopped down, and hurried inside
after him. He was leaning on a counter, in deep discussion with the
innkeeper, a thick-set bald man with a large stomach and enormous
arms.

Lyan turned at the sound of her footstep.
“Ah, my wife.” He did the introductions. One key dangled from his
hand.

“I said two rooms,” she muttered, softly. The
innkeeper might look lumbering and slow, but she imagined he had
trained his ears to catch murmured conversations.

Lyan tucked her hand in the crook of his arm
and led her toward the narrow stair for the upper floor. “There is
only one available. You can sleep in the stable if you’d like, but
I prefer a bed.” Then his voice dropped even lower, and against her
ear, he whispered, “They were here two days ago. Peabody and Lady
Maryanne. She wore a heavy veil, but the man matched the
description of her suitor. He took a room for them as husband and
wife, and she was seen fiddling with a wedding ring.”

Estelle felt such relief that it was like
taking a long breath of air after loosening a corset. It surged in
so quickly it left her light headed. She wanted to believe she had
rescued Maryanne. She wanted to believe she had carved out another
happy ending in a world sadly lacking in them. But relief, like a
breath, whooshed out. “They could have been posing as married but
had not yet—”

“After heading to Gretna six days ago?” Lyan
asked. “I suspect they would have raced up there, stopping only
when necessary. They could have reached it in two days. No, I think
they were wed and were returning to London.”

“But why didn’t they get there?” she
whispered. Her body still ached from the tension of sitting in a
carriage, trying to not look at the man who had sat opposite. She
felt even stiffer at the thought they would soon reach their one
room, which would contain one bed.

“That’s the mystery,” he agreed. “But dinner
first, and a night here. You look as though you are ready to fall
to the floor. You, my dear, can have the bed.”

* * *

It was unsettling to have him lying on the
floor. Rather like keeping a sleeping tiger in the bedroom.
Moonlight slanted in through a space between the threadbare drapes.
Estelle hadn’t slept a wink, and she didn’t imagine she would any
time soon. She lay on her back, staring up the silvery light that
flickered over the dark ceiling. She wore a thick, unflattering
flannel nightgown, buttoned to her throat.

“You aren’t sleeping.”

Lyan’s matter-of-fact statement had her
jerking up the worn sheets. He was on his knees beside her bed,
elbows resting on her mattress. Watching her. He had stripped to
his trousers. The last time she’d seen him without a shirt, he had
been a lad of seventeen. Strong and well built, but nothing
like….like this.

“I’m intrigued,” he continued. “Why do you
help young women run away? Is it because it worked so well for
you?”

She flushed. “No. It was because I wanted
them to find the one thing I had turned my back on. Love.”

In the stark bluish light, he looked haggard.
“Before I caught you in your house, I took a peek at your
daughter.”

Indignant, she sat up in the bed, fisting her
hands at her sides. “You had no right—”