One Wicked Sin (22 page)

He had known it for the truth it was. He was not worthy of the child. He had pretended it was best for the boy to let his mother take him away. He had soothed his conscience by thinking that he was a bad example, a man with nothing to offer, the wild, bastard son of a whore-mongering father. He had told himself that Louise and her family could offer Arland the home and the steady life that he never could. But it had all been lies to cover his weakness. The truth was that he had failed. He had failed as a father. He had failed his son.

“What did she say?” Lottie asked.

Ethan gave a faint smile. “She told me that I had left it too late. She had never told Arland his father’s name and that as far as her family was concerned, I was dead to them all.”

Lottie winced. “Like as not she did not really mean it,” she said. “We all say harsh things in the heat of the moment.”

Ethan shrugged. “Louise had justification,” he said. “God knows, I deserved nothing from her. I had never sent them a scrap of money or anything else to help them, even though I knew that the Emperor’s taxes were punitive and the harvests had been poor.” He ran a hand over his hair. “I wrote to Arland.” He had written, time and again, as reckless to regain his son as he had been to repudiate him. He had snatched moments in between campaigns, with the heat and the stench and the filth and the despair of battle all around. He had not known what to say to the son he had never met, and yet he had tried because it had been the only thing he could do.

“His mother only gave him the letters when she died,” he said. “And then Arland came looking for me.”

“He wanted a father,” Lottie said softly. “I understand that.”

Ethan’s stomach lurched. “He lied about his age to join the Emperor’s army,” he said. “It was the only way that he could get to me.”

“He sounds just like you,” Lottie said. “I expect you did that twenty years ago.”

“I did,” Ethan admitted. “But that does not mean I wanted my son to do the same.

“I wanted to send him back to Angeville,” he added, “but it was too late and Arland refused to go. The cavalry was already at Fuentes de Onoro. I tried to protect him, to keep him close. But I failed in that, too. We were captured. Then I tried to keep him out of the hands of the British. I offered a ransom, I offered myself…” He stopped. The despair had left him feeling hollow and drained. “You see how it is, Lottie,” he said. “I have failed Arland every step of the way.”

Lottie came across to him and put her arms about him. “All I see,” she said, “is a man who has had to overcome so much, who has made mistakes and has tried to put them right.”

Ethan tried to pull away from her. He did not want her sympathy because he did not deserve it. Nor did he want anyone to draw close to him. But Lottie would not be rejected now. She rested her cheek against his chest and kept her arms about him and he felt the resistance in him shiver and start to dissolve, like a veil parting, falling away as he reached out hungrily to her for comfort.

“I know what it is like to want a father to admire and respect,” Lottie said. She gave him a fierce little shake. “There is much to admire in you, Ethan Ryder, and Arland recognizes that. You are all he has left. Do not deny him the right to love you if he chooses. Live up to his regard.”

The crack in Ethan’s heart gaped wider. There was a moment when he resisted, teetering on the edge, and then he pulled Lottie to him fiercely, holding her close, as though he would never let her go again. He spoke urgently, heedless of her loyalties now, heedless of what he might be giving away.

“I would have got him out of there, Lottie,” he said. “I had a plan to help him. Twice I had tried to free him, only to be thwarted, but I would have tried again and again….”

Lottie hushed him like a child. “Shh, I know. I know you would.” She rubbed her cheek against his chest. “I understand.”

He wanted to sink into the feeling then, to grasp the comfort she offered and hold it tightly, never letting it go. Once, in London, he had felt this impossible grief for Arland, and he had taken Lottie and used her physically as a means to forget, as an escape, for a few desperate moments, from the torture. Now, though, the solace he wanted went deeper. He did not want to lose himself in her body only for the pain to reassert itself as soon as his pleasure was spent. He wanted her always to be there so that they could shield each other, giving and taking, so that he could protect her as well as draw strength from her.

It seemed impossible when there was so much to divide them.

He drew away from her a little and looked down into her face.

“Lottie…” he began, although he was not sure what he was trying to say.

“Hush.” She pressed her fingers to his lips. She was smiling a little but her eyes swam with tears. “Don’t say anything. Just hold me.”

He did. They stood locked together for a very long time and he felt at peace and he knew that somehow this time he had crossed a line and there would be no going back.

I
T WAS A SULTRY
late-August night, heavy and dark with the oppressive heat that precedes a thunderstorm. Lottie could not sleep. Her mind ran like a rat in a trap, scampering from thoughts of Ethan locked in his airless little room under the eaves at The Bear Hotel to his son, alone and friendless, being hunted through the length of the kingdom. She rolled over, thumped the pillow, then threw herself down again with a sigh. It was too hot to sleep anyway but her thoughts gave her no rest. Ethan’s powerful frustration had communicated itself to her along with a desperate desire to do something, anything, to help.

She had spent the afternoon in the markets and shops, drifting from one place to another, listening to gossip, trying to pick up the slightest hint that anyone knew of the whereabouts of Arland Ryder. She had sent Margery out to make discreet enquiries amongst the servants and mill workers, dropping the delicate hint of a reward for information. She had heard nothing. Most of the gossip had been about her; everyone, it seemed, had heard of her jaunt to London and now the
on dit
was that she had shot her former husband with an antique pistol before riding off bareback on one of Ethan’s carriage horses. Encouragingly, most people seemed to applaud this imaginary action. Gregory Cummings was
a banker, and many people mistrusted the grotesquely rich in these times of war, food shortages and hardship for so many.

The bedroom curtains billowed in a sudden draft at the open window. There was a scrambling sound and then a man tumbled into the room and lay winded on the floor. Lottie grabbed the chamber pot and brandished it threateningly. He might be a very incompetent burglar but she was taking no chances.

“Don’t scream!” The figure scrambled to his feet and raised a pleading hand. He staggered toward Lottie and grabbed her arm. He was panting hard, a long tear down his prison uniform sleeve and a slash to his face that oozed blood.

Lottie stared and dropped the pot with a loud clatter.

“Arland,” she said.

The Marquess of Northesk had borne a similarity to Ethan in his features and bearing, but the likeness had been elusive and the coloring of the two men completely different. Arland, though, was the image of his father. There was no mistaking it. It was just as Ethan had said. Looking at Arland was like looking at a mirror image of Ethan. Except, on second glance, it was not. There was something so young and untried in the boy’s face compared to the strength and watchfulness in the man. Arland was already tall and broad, but he still had the slight clumsiness of youth, a gangling quality as though he had not yet grown into his own body. And he looked emaciated, ill and exhausted beneath the disfiguring bruises and cuts of his face.

Lottie felt her heart jerk and start to beat harder.

“They said to come here,” Arland gasped. His English was good but he had a strong French accent, almost exotic. He caught Lottie’s arm, panting for breath. “Can you hide me?” he said. “Please?”

“Who—” Lottie began, but Arland shook his head.

“There’s no time to explain! Please, they’re close behind me—”

As though to underline his words there was a pounding of steps outside, wild shouts and a volley of knocks on the front door.

“They will find you if they search the house,” Lottie said. Her mind was spinning, running from one plan to another, searching for an idea. It was impossible to give him up to the authorities. In the past she might have been prepared to betray Ethan but this was different. Ethan could take care of himself. Arland was a boy, too young to have been made a pawn in such a dirty game of war. He had already seen too much and suffered too much. Besides, Lottie knew that she could never betray Ethan again now, least of all through his son. Something had happened between them that afternoon when he had finally confided in her, something fundamental and profound, something that tied her to him more tightly than self-interest or greed or security ever could. She was not sure she cared for it. Selfless love was scarcely her specialty. But she did not seem able to escape it now.

“Take your clothes off,” she said abruptly.

Arland recoiled violently from her. “I beg your pardon,
madame?
”

“Take your clothes off, hide them and get into my bed.” The hammering at the door grew louder. Lottie
could hear Margery’s voice and the drawing back of the bolts.

“Do as I say,” Lottie added sharply. “Hurry!”

She saw the understanding dawn in Arland’s eyes and pushed him toward the bed. Grabbing her swansdown negligee, she ran to the armoire, pulled out some clothes of Ethan’s and scattered them on the floor, entangling them with her own garments as though both sets had been discarded in a frenzy of passion. She hurried to the door. No need to disorder her hair; she had been roused from her bed by Arland’s arrival and a quick glance in the pier glass told her she looked tumbled and rumpled, hopefully sufficient to distract the soldiers from their duty. She glanced again at the negligee and the transparent nightgown beneath. Oh yes, there was plenty there to distract the search party.

The hall was already seething with soldiers. Margery stood with a candle in her hand, looking small and frightened.

Lottie stopped at the top of the stairs.

“What is going on here?” She spoke with all the imperious authority of the Dukes of Palliser and saw the group of men freeze and turn to gaze up at her. She was incensed to see that they had already started to rifle carelessly through her possessions. The small table with its pretty flower arrangement had been overturned and one of the hangings pulled from the wall. She could hear raised voices in the parlor and the tramp of footsteps.

“Soldiers, madam!” Margery was trembling. “They say that the escaped prisoner is here.” She cast Lottie a
pitiful glance. “Are we all to be murdered in our beds, ma’am?”

“Of course not!” Lottie spoke bracingly as she came down the stairs. “I never heard such nonsense.” She turned to the soldiers who were looking variously bashful, lascivious or nervous according to their dispositions. “Or do you mean we will be trampled to death by this mob of ruffians? Very likely!” Her eye fell on the officer who appeared to be in charge, a fair, tall young man who looked barely out of the nursery.

“Lieutenant, what is the meaning of this intrusion?”

The lieutenant blushed. “My apologies for disturbing you, ma’am. Your maid is correct in that a dangerous prisoner has been seen near here. It is my task to recapture him.”

“How desperately dramatic,” Lottie murmured. “And there was I thinking that nothing exciting ever happened in Wantage. I fear you will not find your fugitive behind my tapestries, however. Kindly ask your men to show more respect for my possessions.”

“Yes, ma’am.” The lieutenant blushed more deeply. “Careful there,” he barked, as one of his men fell over his own feet and almost knocked over the bookshelf in the process. He turned back to Lottie.

“Permission to search upstairs, ma’am?”

“If you must.” Lottie feigned boredom. “However, I have a small request, Lieutenant. Could you perhaps not search my room? I would be most grateful. I can assure you that no one has entered there without my permission.”

The lieutenant looked grave. “Madam, I have orders
to search all of the house, without exception. Anyone could have climbed through a window and concealed himself whilst you slept. It is for your own safety—”

Lottie placed a soft hand on his arm and the lieutenant fell obediently silent.

“I have not been…sleeping, Lieutenant,” she said truthfully. “Need I say more?”

For a moment it looked as though the lieutenant had not made the leap of imagination that she wanted him to and Lottie wondered if he really was fresh from the schoolroom. Then enlightenment dawned and he turned so fiery a red she was afraid that he might expire.

“Oh!” he said. He glanced down at her translucent nightgown, appeared to lose his nerve and fixed his gaze sternly on the picture on the far side of the hall. “I understood,” he said, “that Lord St. Severin is with the other parole prisoners at The Bear, ma’am.”

“Oh, he is,” Lottie said. She held his gaze guilelessly. “I have quite a different guest tonight.” She fluttered her hands. “I was lonely, you understand, and you know what they say, Lieutenant… A man who neglects his mistress creates a vacancy….”

“Madam!” The lieutenant’s eyes were big as saucers. Lottie was not sure what appeared to be shocking him more; the fact that he believed that she was dallying with a man other than her protector or the terrifying thought of what a man like Ethan Ryder, as renowned with pistols as he was with a sword, might do if he thought that he had a rival.

“Then who…” he spluttered.

Lottie pressed a finger to his lips. “No questions, Lieutenant.” She beckoned to him. “By all means come
up with me and search the room, but pray do not disturb my…friend. He is—” she hesitated “—a young man from a good family in the neighborhood, and it would be the most
appalling
scandal were his identity to leak out. I am persuaded that you would not wish to be the one to blame.”

“No indeed,” the lieutenant said fervently. Lottie could see that he was running through a mental list of all the gentlemen in the neighborhood, trying frantically to imagine whom her visitor could be.

Lottie set off back up the stairs, beckoning him to follow her. After a moment he set his foot on the first tread with the air of a man undertaking a desperate mission.

Lottie knocked very softly on the bedroom door. “Are you awake, my dear?” she whispered, whilst the lieutenant blushed and shuffled at her side. There was no reply.

“I fear he is quite exhausted,” she said truthfully. The lieutenant looked as though he was about to faint at the pictures his imagination was conjuring for him.

Lottie pushed open the bedroom door and, heart in mouth, led the lieutenant inside.

Arland had done well and she felt an enormous rush of relief. He had hidden his prison uniform and was sprawled in the big bed. The tumbled covers revealed only one shoulder, surprisingly broad, a part of an arm and a manly foot sticking out from beneath the sheets. He was lying on his stomach, face turned away, and he was snoring softly. As Lottie and the lieutenant looked on, he gave what sounded to be a heartfelt sigh in his sleep.

“Poor boy,” Lottie said, smiling at the lieutenant. “He is very tired.” She raised the candle to shine it around the room. “As you can see, there is no one else here, sir.”

“The window is open,” the lieutenant said, dragging his gaze from the man in the bed. “It is possible that the prisoner may have shinned up the ivy and climbed inside—”

“I opened the window myself a while ago,” Lottie said, still smiling. “It is a hot night.”

“I imagine it must have been,” the lieutenant muttered. He gulped, his Adam’s apple bobbing. He made a hasty check of the armoire and cupboard. It was clear that no one was concealed behind the curtains. “Do you wish to search under the bed?” Lottie asked helpfully.

The lieutenant shook his head. “That will be quite unnecessary, madam,” he said.

“Then I hope that your curiosity is satisfied, Lieutenant,” Lottie said sweetly.

“Indeed it is. I thank you, ma’am,” the lieutenant stammered, backing toward the door like a man who had recalled a very urgent appointment on the other side of the town. “Most obliging of you.”

He marshaled his men and Lottie saw them off from the front door.

“They’ve gone,” she said to Margery, who was huddled beside her, a blanket clutched about her, shaking with nerves and reaction. “Get you to bed. You are safe now.”

She gave the maidservant a brief, hard hug and sent her scuttling away up the stairs, then turned to bolt the
door, almost leaping from her skin as Ethan stepped out from the shadows behind it.

“I thought that you were locked up,” she said. “How did you get out?”

Ethan laughed. “I climbed over the roof.” He caught her arm, urgency in his touch. “He is here?”

“Upstairs,” Lottie said.

Ethan drew her into the house, bolting the door behind them. Then he turned to her, pulled her into his arms and kissed her. She could feel the relief in him, and the gratitude, and such sweet tenderness that she almost melted. Ethan had never before kissed her other than as a prelude to making love, and now Lottie almost smiled to see the comical look of confusion on his face as he let her go. This, she thought, was different for him, too, and her heart sang.

“Were you outside all the time?” she asked.

“Only for long enough to hear you shamelessly deceive a member of the British Army,” Ethan said. “I hope you are aware that that is treason?”

Their eyes met and held.

“I knew what I was doing,” Lottie said.

She saw a smile come through Ethan’s eyes then like sunlight on water. “Thank you,” he said. He did not ask her if he could trust her. He did not ask if she would betray Arland. He simply stood looking at her and Lottie felt as though her heart was being squeezed tight in a giant fist. There were tears in her throat, blocking her words.

You trust me….

Ethan gave her a dazzling smile. “Where is he?” he said.

“In my bed,” Lottie said. “Where else would I hide a man?”

“That’s my son you’re talking about,” Ethan said, laughing. He took the stairs two at a time. Lottie could feel the excitement in him, the blaze of happiness lighting him from within.

“Try not to wake Margery,” she besought. “The poor child has been frightened half to death tonight.”

Arland was awake, sitting on the side of the bed. He had managed to put most of his clothes back on and Lottie thought he looked younger than ever, the candlelight emphasizing the pallor of his face and the dark bruises on his skin. As the door opened he looked up sharply, saw Ethan and for a moment looked absolutely terrified. Lottie saw him swallow hard and open his mouth, but no words came.

There was a moment of utter silence as father and son looked at one another.

“You weren’t supposed to do it all on your own,” Ethan said. His voice sounded rusty with emotion.