One Wicked Sin (9 page)

She sat puzzling over what he had said. In the growing light she could see the fat bags of guineas sitting
on the table. Greed and excitement possessed her. How much money was there? What could she do with it? Where could she go? She glanced out of the window again. Perhaps it was a trick. Perhaps Ethan was waiting for her to play him false.

“I could fleece you, run away, cheat you like I tried to do before.”

“But you won’t. Not this time.”

Damn him! How could he know? How could he be so sure of her? What had happened to her in the past two days that meant that Ethan was right? Trust and loyalty had scarcely been her watchwords up until now. In fact they had barely been in her vocabulary, and then only so that she could behave in an opposite manner.

Her feet were cold. She slipped back into the warm folds of the bed. It felt empty. She knew that she had to get up, get dressed and go shopping in order to distract herself. She could not dwell on Ethan’s absence and the peculiar space it appeared to leave in the vicinity of her heart. It could not be love; she had told herself from the start that she must root that out before it started to grow. So it was boredom. She had to be entertained.

She hated her own company. That was why she was missing Ethan already—because she had no resources for solitude.

“It’s only business, Lottie,”
he had said. Well, absolutely. If he could be so detached then so could she. It was only what she had resolved the previous night. Ethan was right. It made sound sense for her to throw in her lot with him until a more advantageous offer came along.
No one knew that better than she, opportunistic Lottie Palliser, without a trustworthy bone in her body.

I
T WAS ALREADY HOT
out in the street. The bright disc of the sun was rising with a hazy coppery light that promised an airless summer day in the city of London. Ethan shouldered his kit bag and strode away, resisting an almost overpowering urge to glance back to see if Lottie was watching. He concentrated instead on the road ahead: the street vendors already setting up their stalls, a closed carriage rattling across the cobbles, a drunken lord propping himself up against a wall as he tried to make his unsteady way home.

Strange that it seemed so hard to leave Lottie behind. His mind was full of images of her: Lottie wrapped in his arms sleeping after they had made love, of her reaching out to him to try and comfort him over Arland’s incarceration, of her face tight with misery when she had seen James Devlin at the theater. She had rebuffed his attempts to reach her then, just as he had rejected her comfort earlier and perhaps she had been wise. Theirs was a commercial transaction, physically pleasing but not requiring emotion.

Ethan squared his shoulders. Cold, ruthless calculation had brought him this far in his plan and he reminded himself that Lottie was a pawn, a piece in the jigsaw, no more than a bit player in the grand scheme. Once his strategy was complete he would leave without a backward glance. He would pay Lottie off as agreed—he was a man of his word no matter how twisted and treacherous had become the world he lived in—but then he would never see her again. There was nothing
profound in their relationship. Nor would Lottie herself wish there to be. Her sole concern was for money, and when they met again it would be on the cold, mercenary terms of a man and his paid mistress.

He turned into the courtyard of The Swan with Two Necks Inn. They were harnessing the horses. The clock on the stable chimed the quarter hour. There were fifteen minutes before the coach departed and his fellow passengers were assembling. A pretty young wife on the arm of a self-important husband cast him a look from the corner of her eye and gave him a covert smile. He bowed to her politely but with no acknowledgment of the implied invitation. There were two clerks in sober black; an older woman in shabby gray and a frumpy bonnet, who was probably a housekeeper or companion; and a man he guessed was a merchant or shopkeeper, sleek and prosperous-looking in a new jacket and embroidered waistcoat. Of the man who had been shadowing him from the moment he had set off to London a week before, spying on him, there was no sign. Perhaps he, too, had been enjoying the decadent pleasures of the city the night before and had overslept. One thing was for certain—the spy would have nothing to report other than that Ethan had spent his time in profligate debauchery. He would know nothing of the letters that had been exchanged, the messages passed. He would have seen nothing, for Ethan was a past master at covering his tracks.

Ethan smiled to himself. The British authorities did not trust him. Of course they did not. They were wise not to do so. But they would never uncover his plans.
His skill lay in hiding everything he did in plain sight right under the noses of his gaolers. Not only
his
own future and freedom depended upon his talent for deception, but that of his son did, too. Every move, every plan he made, had the ultimate aim of freeing Arland from the hell of prison and his fellow captives along with him. Once it would have been enough to win Arland’s freedom and for the two of them to escape, but Ethan had seen enough of the prison hulks and the harsh gaol regime to know that he could not allow any of his comrades to suffer and perish under such vile conditions. Men were starving, frozen half to death, living in filthy cells, beaten until they gave up the unequal struggle for life. He, with his passion for justice, could not let that pass unchallenged. There were nigh on sixty thousand prisoners of war in Britain. When they all rose up in revolt at one and the same time and seized their captors’ weapons, they would make one hell of an invading army. The time was not yet ripe but it would come. He was working to make sure of it.

Ethan’s grim smile faded as he thought again of Arland, incarcerated at Whitemoor prison, high on the Lambourn Downs above Wantage. He knew that was why the authorities had sent him on parole to that town. They wanted to remind him of Arland’s suffering each and every day. They wanted to punish him; to make him suffer, too. And they had succeeded. He thought of Arland in the dark of the night when he could not sleep, tormented by the vision of his son in captivity. He thought of Arland whenever he saw the outline of Whitemoor’s towers against the horizon.

Ethan had offered himself in return for Arland’s freedom, offered his very life in return for that of his son, and the authorities had laughed in his face because they held all the cards. They held him and they held Arland and they allowed him his liberty as a form of torture whilst his son was locked up. It was their revenge for the way in which he had embarrassed his noble father and the British establishment.

Ethan knew that Northesk had gone to the Duke of Farne and had tried to persuade him to use his influence for Arland’s release. His half brother was a good man, the only good man in a family of self-serving hypocrites, but he had failed. Nothing could obtain Arland’s liberty. So now Ethan plotted and planned, slowly, carefully, as the months of his captivity passed, and inside he chafed against the fear of what was happening to his son. He should have known he would never be able to protect the boy, he thought bitterly, as he threw his kit bag up onto the roof and took his seat inside the coach. He should have known that in the end he would prove to be just like his father.

Ethan swore softly, under his breath. Soon, he promised silently. Soon we will both be free. Nothing and no one could come between him and his plan.

S
HOPPING FOR HER ROLE
as Ethan’s mistress was a delicate affair, Lottie thought. She had no illusions as to how she would be received in Wantage society. Her position as a member of the demimonde and her style, her taste and her extravagance would be equally and roundly deplored. She would not be able to patronize a provincial dressmaker even if she wished, for doubtless they would refuse to serve her in case her lack of morals was contagious. So she needed to do all her shopping now, in advance. On the other hand, she simply could not visit the shops and emporia that had welcomed her when she was Mrs. Cummings, one of the leaders of society. They, too, would shut their doors in her face now that she was disgraced, which would be utterly mortifying. But that was the beauty of London. Whereas once she had shopped at the most fashionable addresses in order to see and be seen, now she could slip unnoticed into the warehouses and wholesalers at the less modish end of town, in Shoreditch and Cheap-side and Newgate Street.

So it proved. She haggled over the price of silk stockings, found a very fetching straw bonnet at half the cost she would have paid in Oxford Street and tried not to exceed her budget. Eventually she had worn through her purse and realized that she would have to carry all
her purchases back to Limmer’s because she had failed to leave sufficient cash to pay for a hackney carriage. Such a plight had not befallen her before. Even when Gregory was in the process of divorcing her, he had been meticulous in paying her an allowance, employing a maid for her and permitting her the use of a small mews house in Mount Street. It was only when the papers were signed and sealed that he had withdrawn all support, making it clear that he had done his duty by her to the letter and that she was on her own.

Her purchases were heavy and the day was hot, and she paused on the corner of Arundel Street and the Strand to rest and draw breath. As she waited, a carriage turned down toward the river, driven at a spanking pace. Lottie stood and watched. Once, she thought, that would have been her in the carriage, cutting a dash through the streets of London, setting the fashion, spreading the
on dit,
at the center of the dizzy, glittering whirl of
Ton
society. With a wrench of memory that felt almost like a physical pain, she recalled the deep luxury of the green velvet seats in her landau, how soft and smooth the material had been beneath her palms, how the carriage was designed to be open and show the occupants to advantage, how people had flocked to greet her when she rode in Hyde Park. Crowds had stared, in much the same way that she was staring now. They had not gaped as though at a freak show, which was what had happened when she had driven out with Ethan yesterday. They had watched in envy.

“Make way there!” The coachman was shouting, and the horses, maddened by his use of the whip and skittish in the crowded, narrow street, were starting to
prance and shy between the shafts. The noise was deafening; the rancid smells of the street engulfed Lottie: stale food, manure from the dray horses, rotting fruit, mingled with the scent of unwashed bodies with an edge of fear now as the coach forced its way through the crowd.

The whip caught someone in the throng and there was a roar of anger as the crowd surged forward. Someone jostled Lottie and she dropped one of the hatboxes. It rolled into the street like a hoop, straight under one of the coach’s wheels. The carriage drove over it, squashing it flat. Lottie gave a little cry of despair and darted forward to try and retrieve it, but it was too late.

She was so close to the carriage now that she could reach out and touch its shining side. She felt like a little street urchin faced with unimaginable riches, opulence that was forever beyond her grasp. She looked up and for one impossible moment her eyes met those of Lady O’Hara, a woman she had once counted as her friend. Then that matron raised her nose to the perfect angle to look down and cut her dead, turning away to speak to the gentleman at her side. The footmen riding on the back raised their sticks threateningly to disperse the crowd, the carriage surged forward, and then it was gone.

The street was empty and quiet, the crowd melting away. Someone made a disparaging remark about the Quality and their careless, dangerous ways. Lottie scrabbled for the flattened hatbox. Even as she did so, she knew that her purchase was damaged beyond saving and this time she did not have Gregory’s bottomless wealth to draw on for a replacement. She blinked back
the tears of anger and frustration at the sheer unfairness of it all.

“Lottie!” She heard the cry from behind her. For a moment her heart lurched to think that one of her old acquaintances might have recognized her there on her knees in the gutter. But the tall gentleman in scarlet regimentals who was striding toward her was no mere acquaintance. He caught her and pulled her to her feet, scooping her up in his arms.

“Theo!”

She felt quite giddy with shock, relief and joy as her brother spun her around. It was what she had been praying for daily since word of Gregory’s plan to divorce her had shattered her world. There were only two people she believed in enough to think they might save her. Joanna Grant was one, despite the shabby way in which Lottie had treated her. The other was her brother, and here he was, at last, come to help her and take her away. He would aid her in putting her life back together the way it was meant to be. Once again, she felt a huge surge of relief. She raised one hand to Theo’s lean, bronzed cheek, trying to hug him and hold on to all her parcels at the same time.

“You could have written!” she scolded. “I thought you were dead. Oh, Theo, I am so happy to see you!”

Even as she held her brother close, Ethan Ryder’s image appeared in her mind. She felt a little odd, weak with gratitude that her life would change now that Theo had returned, yet touched by a strange disappointment that she would not see Ethan again. She would not join him in Wantage now and continue to carve out her role as the most notorious mistress in the kingdom.

She hugged Theo harder, closing her eyes to blot out the guilty picture of all her purchases. She wondered if Theo could afford to repay all the guineas she had spent. The alternative was simply to disappear. Yesterday she would not have thought twice. Today she felt a stubborn need to prove to Ethan that she was a little bit trustworthy by returning his money. How odd. How inexplicable.

“Same old Lottie!” Theo was holding her at arm’s length now and eyeing the bandboxes and brown paper parcels with fond exasperation, which for some reason irritated her. Perhaps it had been the sight of Lady O’Hara that had disturbed her, for clearly she was not the same Lottie
at all.
There was no town house in Grosvenor Square anymore, no landau, no bottomless bank account, no bosom bows in the
Ton
deferring to her fashion sense.

But Theo was still speaking and her irritation melted away under the warmth of her pleasure in seeing him again.

“I went to the house in Mount Street that you said you had moved into…” he was saying.

“So you
did
get my letters!” Lottie exclaimed.

“Not for a long time.” Theo’s expression sobered. “The postal service is poor and I have been on the move regularly.” He glanced at her, a slight frown now between his brows. “I heard about your divorce, though, Lottie. Even in Spain it was the
on dit
from home.”

Lottie pulled a face. “One would hope that there were more important things to talk about during a war.”

“It’s the gossip from home that keeps one going,”
Theo muttered. “Unless it’s about your own sister, and then it is mortifying.” He ran a hand over his hair. “Look, Lottie, do you want me to call Gregory out?”

Lottie thought about it. It was extraordinarily tempting. “No,” she said reluctantly, after a moment. “I don’t think that there is much point in that.”

Theo visibly relaxed. “Well, thank goodness for that,” he said. “Because I would do it, of course, but really—” he shook his head “—I expect he was justified, if your previous indiscretions were anything to go by.”

“Let us not discuss that in the street,” Lottie said hurriedly. She felt stung by Theo’s criticism but she did not want to quarrel with him within seconds of seeing him again. “Is there somewhere we can go to talk?”

“How about Gunter’s?” Theo said. “We could sit inside, away from the crowds.”

Once again, Lottie prickled at the implication that he wished to hide her away. Theo had always been conventional, of course, far more conventional than she, and, if she were honest, a tiny bit of a stick-in-the-mud and more than a little bit of a social snob. So perhaps it was no wonder that he disapproved of her now. Still, he had taken her arm—and some of her parcels—and was setting off at a military stride, and she had to hurry to keep up. Soon they had turned into Berkeley Square and Theo had ushered her through the doorway and to a small table right at the back where he placed her in a dark corner and sat between her and the room. Lottie imagined that if he could have made her invisible he would have done so, the notorious sister, the embarrassment on the family escutcheon.

He ordered a pot of tea, most conventionally. She, rather defiantly, ordered a frozen fruit punch.

“Are you back in England for good?” she asked as the waiter sped away to fulfill their orders. “If so, perhaps we could set up house together—” She stopped, seeing his face fall. It was foolish of her, she thought, to imagine that Theo would want her to live with him. The truth was that if he were home he would wish to wed an heiress and for that he would need to be untainted by her scandal. He had little in the way of fortune and although he had had a successful army career—very successful judging by the colonel’s crowns and stars on his uniform—she understood that he needed to consolidate that, which meant that he could hardly consort with the divorced sister who had brought disgrace on the family. She told herself it was only practical, but the realization hurt. Still, if he could not acknowledge her openly he could at least help her find somewhere to live—and pay her bills. Her heart eased again and she leaned over to touch the back of his hand.

“Thank you,” she said softly. “I am so happy you have come back to help me.”

“Like a knight in shining armor,” Theo agreed, his discomfort of a moment ago slipping away. He squeezed her hand. “You know I love you, Lottie, and I will always do my best to help you.”

Lottie felt the happiness blossom inside her. “Of course I do,” she said. “And perhaps it would not serve for us to take a house together, but at the least you could help me to find a small place away from London where I might live quietly—” Once again she fell silent, this
time warned by the stiffness in his body and the shame in his eyes.

Theo fidgeted with his teacup, swirling the spoon around in the dish. He evaded her eyes. “I would like that above all things,” he said, “and I swear I will help you just as soon as I can, Lottie, but first…” He stopped and swallowed hard. “The thing is, we need you to do something for us. King and country and all that.” He looked up, his brown eyes pleading for her understanding. “It’s monstrous important.”

“What is it?” Lottie said. She knew it was bad. She could feel it.

“It’s to do with Ryder,” Theo said.

Lottie’s heart jumped. She felt a little sick. “You know about Ethan?” Her eyes widened. “You know everything, don’t you? You know about Mrs. Tong and the Temple of Venus—”

Theo made a slight, dismissive gesture. “It doesn’t matter,” he said.

“Yes it does!” Lottie was furious. She felt shamed and dismayed. “Why did you not say?”

“Because I thought it would embarrass you,” Theo said, “to talk to your brother about your time in a brothel.” He looked up and Lottie’s heart did another unpleasantly giddy skip to see the anger in his eyes.

“You always were the architect of your own downfall, Lottie,” Theo said. “If you had not played Gregory false—”

“You know
nothing
about that,” Lottie snapped. “Nothing!”

“All right.” Theo raised his hands in a pacifying gesture. “But you let it get out of hand, Lottie. You
took it too far. What else could he do when you had cuckolded him and made him look such a complaisant fool? And then to be so deep in debt that you had none of your settlement left, and had to earn a living on your back—”

“That’s enough,” Lottie said. There were tears of anger and betrayal in her throat. She gulped them back. “I don’t need you to rehearse all my faults to me,” she said. “And if you require some sort of favor from me it might do your cause more good to
try
to be nice.”

“Of course,” Theo said. He ran an agitated hand through his hair. “I’m sorry. You know it is only because I care for you, Lottie, and do not like to see you in these straits.”

“You do not like to see me in them, but you are prepared to take advantage of them,” Lottie said. “Try not to be such a hypocrite, Theo, and tell me what it is that you want.”

Theo nodded. It gave Lottie some small satisfaction to see that he now looked more uncomfortable than she felt. She was too bruised and bitter to be embarrassed anymore. She had thought that Theo’s return meant that there was someone to whom she could turn for help. Instead he wanted to use her.

“Well?” she said sharply, when it seemed that her brother was at a loss for words.

“Ryder is of interest to the government,” Theo said, glancing over his shoulder in what seemed to Lottie to be a ridiculously conspiratorial manner. “I assume that you know his history?”

“He is a French prisoner of war,” Lottie said.

“He’s a renegade,” Theo said viciously, “a traitor to the British.”

“He’s Irish,” Lottie corrected, surprised by the surge of anger she felt to hear her brother’s words. “His father may be a member of the establishment but Farne is still an Irish peer. And Ethan’s mother was an Irish girl, so I understand.” She glared at Theo. “Perhaps he did not think that he owed loyalty to the British. Perhaps he thought that loyalty and respect have to be earned.”

“Farne did his best for him,” Theo said. “He had him educated with his legitimate sons, would have bought him a commission in the British Army had he wished it. Did he not tell you?”