The Sinner (3 page)

"He seemed to take an interest in you." Slade sounded surprised, or perhaps just disbelieving. He frowned down at Oxley, now in conversation with the gentlemen and ladies crowding around him. "Come on." He grabbed Cat's elbow.

"Where are we going?" she asked, struggling to walk casually alongside him and not draw attention to the fact he was gripping her much too hard.

"To strike while the iron is hot and before the dozens of other desperate wenches get in before you."

"My lord?"

They passed the girls who were now openly watching Cat with sneers on their painted mouths. "We're going to meet the earl of Oxley, and you are going to charm him."

Cat felt sick.

CHAPTER 2

Lord Oxley wasn't an easy man to pin down. Whenever Cat, dragged along by Slade, got close, he would spy another friend and move off in that direction. It was almost as if he were avoiding them. Of course, that couldn't be true. He didn't even know them.

They finally intercepted him in the shadowy perimeter of the Presence Chamber as he made his way toward the exit. If he were aiming to be stealthy, he failed. Bright yellow silk breeches and a hat of impressive proportions were not the most ideal disguise for blending in. Besides which, the man was tall. There were few taller than he in the audience and none whose shoulders were so broad. Surely his doublet must be bombasted to create the effect.

"Let me go, my lord," Cat said to Slade as his bony fingers dug into the flesh at her elbow. "You're hurting me."

"It's for your own good. Ah, excuse me, my lord!" he called out to their quarry ahead of them. "My Lord Oxley!" he said again when Oxley didn't stop. "I have a matter of great importance I need to discuss with you."

"That's overstating it a little," Cat muttered.

But it did the trick. Oxley stopped. He didn't turn immediately, however. There was a brief pause in which those manly shoulders hunched a little and his head lowered, as if he were resigning himself to enduring an arduous task. Perhaps he knew Slade by reputation if not in person. Cat certainly found her brother-in-law a test of endurance most of the time.

Finally Oxley turned to face them, his eyes flat, bored, and his mouth stretched into an unconvincing smile. "Who are you?" he drawled. "And what is it you want with me?"

Oh dear. They'd managed to annoy the nobleman already. Slade's plan was in danger of failing and he hadn't even presented Cat yet.

Slade bowed low. "Good evening, Lord Oxley. Forgive the intrusion, but I wanted to introduce myself. I am Lord Slade of Slade Hall, Sussex. I have been admiring your…hat, sir." He glanced up at the extraordinary piece. "It's very…tall."

Oxley seemed to change then. The boredom vanished from his eyes and the smile became genuine. He whipped off the hat and presented it to Slade with an elaborate bow. "Then you may have it, my good man."

"But my lord, it's your hat! I couldn't possibly—"

"Take it. I have another just like it at home. Indeed, I have several and I see that you're in need of good headwear." He drew Slade's brown fur hat off his head between thumb and forefinger as if he'd picked up a rat by its tail. "I can give you the name of my milliner if you like."

Slade cleared his throat and watched desperately as his hat was flung into the corner. "I am humbly grateful for your generosity, my lord."

Oxley leaned closer, conspiratorial. "A hint, Slade, if you will permit me to aid you. Her Majesty likes to see her gentlemen wearing a little color. Dung is not her favorite shade, even when dressed up with shiny buttons." He flicked the top button of Slade's doublet. As Slade looked down, Oxley tapped him on the chin and laughed. It was a child's diversionary trick, but Oxley made it seem fresh and amusing. Or perhaps that was more because Slade was trying very hard to hide his indignity at being the butt of such a simple joke.

Cat pressed her lips together to suppress her smile. She wasn't yet sure what to make of Oxley, and she planned on remaining quiet to observe him for as long as possible.

Unfortunately, Oxley had a different plan. He thrust out his hip and placed his hands at his waist, studying her. "And who is this jewel? What lovely skin! And those eyes! I am in the presence of a goddess."

Slade snorted, but quickly covered it with a cough. "This is my sister-in-law, Catherine, Lady Slade. She's in mourning for my brother, hence the drab attire."

"Drab? Not at all! Not on such a slender, leonine figure." Oxley bowed, sweeping his arm across the front of his body in an arc. "I am your servant, my lady."

Cat rolled her eyes before he straightened, and managed to give him a return smile as she curtseyed. "My lord is too generous with his praise."

"Indeed not," Oxley said. He waggled his fingers at her face. "Your eyes are quite the most interesting shade of blue."

Her eyes were a dull slate blue-gray. She had no illusions that this man saw her as anything other than a plain, smallish woman. Oxley's eyes, however, were something to behold. She'd been right. They were blue, but not the striking deep color of the sky. They were pale, almost colorless. More like a lake in winter, covered in a thin layer of ice. Lakes in wintertime could be dangerous, unpredictable places, but there was nothing dangerous about this man. He seemed as predictable and harmless as a peacock. Cat matched his smile with one of her own.

"You are quite the flatterer, my lord," Slade said. "But there's no need. Cat is not used to it and doesn't expect it. Her tastes are simple. Her thoughts even simpler."

Cat bristled. It was one thing to have Slade belittle her when it was just the two of them, but quite another in front of others. Particularly when Lord Oxley could help her get away from Slade Hall. He may be too far above her to be a candidate for husband number two, but he seemed extremely well connected. A recommendation from him could serve her well. Time to curb the damage before Slade caused more.

"What my brother-in-law is trying to say is that our conversations rarely cover topics of interest to us both. Lord Slade prefers to read his ledgers while I prefer the wonders of Homer. Slade thinks the theater not fit for a lady, but I am of the opinion that all ladies should experience it. With an appropriate escort, of course."

She hoped she'd judged Oxley correctly. He seemed like the sort of man who enjoyed wit and cultural amusements over talk of wool bales and crop yields. The plethora of ladies who had vied for his attention ever since his arrival wouldn't be so eager if he were as boorish as Slade.

Oxley's eyes sparkled and he seemed to appraise her anew. "You've been to the theater, Lady Slade? You enjoy such pastimes?"

"I've only seen the traveling troupes in summertime near Slade Hall. I do long to visit one of the magnificent theaters in Bankside, though. I hear the new Globe is quite a sight to behold."

"It is," he said with warm enthusiasm. "If one doesn't mind the occasional drunkard lolling on the doorstep. And you must be sure not to leave your pouch in clear sight. The cutpurses at Bankside take that as an invitation."

"As they should," she said with mock seriousness. "If a person is foolish enough to flash their coin about, they ought to be relieved of it. Clearly they have too much."

He grinned. "You seem like a worldly sort of lady, unlike many here." Did she catch the hint of a sigh? The sense of
ennui
in his drollness?

She must be mistaken. He'd not seemed at all bored with the ladies as they'd crowded around him earlier. Indeed, he seemed to enjoy their attentions very much.

"It's true that I spend far too much time in the village near Slade Hall," she said.

Slade nodded soberly. "Far too much time."

She rolled her eyes and Oxley grinned. "Although I wouldn't call myself worldly," she went on. "The village is a great leveler, however, if one ventures beyond the main road. We too have drunkards lolling in doorways, and more besides."

Oxley gave her a look of horror and pressed his hand to his breast. A large oval-cut sapphire ring winked in the candlelight. "It doesn't sound like the sort of place such a poised lady as yourself should endure. Where was Lord Slade? Protecting you, I hope."

She laughed. "My late husband was too busy hunting. The current Lord Slade was too occupied."

"With his ledgers?" Oxley winked. "I'm glad to see you've survived unscathed, dear lady."

She leaned closer and whispered loudly. "Or have I?"

She wasn't sure what she was saying, or why she was saying it in that breathy voice. Something about this man with his cool eyes that weren't icy after all, and his easy humor made her feel light headed and quite brazen. When he laughed or smiled, as he seemed to do often, warmth spread through her body to her extremities. It set her alight in places she'd thought dormant. Feminine places.

"You could take her, my lord!" Slade cried.

"What?" Cat blurted out. She blinked at him, not sure whether to be horrified, ashamed or amused.

"Er, I mean, you could take Cat to the theater." Slade had a silly look of contrition on his face. It was quite out of place. How had Cat not seen him as the fool he was before? He'd always seemed so stern to her, so composed and in control, but Oxley reduced him to a bumbling idiot by his mere presence.

Unfortunately that made her a fool by association. She wanted to dig a hole and bury herself. She didn't dare look at Lord Oxley. To make it worse, her face grew so hot he must have noticed.

"I'm not available tomorrow," Oxley said smoothly. "Or I would be delighted."

"The next day then," Slade persisted. "We can stay in London a little longer."

"I'm not free, alas. Indeed, I'll be leaving the city very soon."

The silence thinned. Cat wished she could run and hide. She had not felt quite so humiliated since, well, ever. She kept her head bowed so that she didn't have to see Oxley's handsome face screwed up in distaste at the thought of taking her to the theater, thereby announcing some sort of connection between them.

"You can see all the theaters of note from this side of the river," he was saying with rather more enthusiasm than necessary. "There's no need for Lady Slade to venture over to Bankside."

"An excellent suggestion," she cut in before Slade could open his mouth and put the other foot in. "I'll do that. Thank you, my lord. It's been our great and humble pleasure to meet you, but we mustn't keep you any longer."

His eyes briefly flashed, adding warmth to their depths. But it passed so quickly that she began to wonder if she saw it at all.

He bowed to her. "It has been
my
pleasure, Lady Slade. Enjoy your stay in London. I hope your brother-in-law will find the time to take you to the theaters himself."

He gave Slade a shallower bow. "Take care of my hat, sir."

Slade said nothing as he watched Oxley retreat to the door, only to be held up before making his exit by a dark-haired lady whose tight dress barely contained her cleavage. She leaned against Oxley's arm, pressing her virtues into him where he couldn't fail to miss them. She giggled behind her fan then he said something and she tapped him lightly with it. He seemed absorbed by her attentions. Widow Slade was already forgotten.

Cat turned away, and tried to ignore the sinking sensation in her chest. She had enjoyed her conversation with Oxley. She'd wanted it to continue, but of course it could not. He was a busy noblemen with high friends. She was the widow of a poor baron and the sister-in-law of a tedious man.

That tedious man reeled on her. "You let him go! Stupid girl. You almost had him."

"Don't be ridiculous," she said, curt. "He was simply being polite." And if anyone was responsible for Oxley's leaving, it was Slade.

"He liked you. I could tell. Not sure why, but I suppose you're witty when you want to be, and a dandy like Oxley likes wit." It was quite the compliment coming from Slade and took her by surprise.

"It's no matter. He was never going to consider me as a wife. He could have any lady in this room." Wit wouldn't be enough for a handsome, dashing earl. It was something she had accepted long ago.

Slade heaved a sigh and glanced around at the glittering women, from the giggling girls to the more mature and elegant ladies. "True. I briefly hoped he might take you on as a mistress, but I see now that it's hopeless."

"Mistress!" He would dare suggest such a crude thing to his own sister-in-law?

"As you say, you're not a contender for a wife, but I do know that Oxley has a mistress. Several, in fact, although not all at the same time." He directed a nod at the buxom woman smothering Oxley with her charms. "Of course, if
that
lady is the sort he prefers, then I'm afraid you'll never be a contender. Pity. I hear he's very generous to his mistresses. You could have had a comfortable life, even after he grew tired of you."

He walked off and Cat watched him go, not bothering to follow. She couldn't believe what she was hearing. Her, a mistress to an earl! Or to anyone, for that matter. It was such an absurd notion. She was hardly the right sort, as he pointed out. Mistresses were flirty and buxom. Cat was a mere mouse by comparison. The best hope she had was to wed a dull, moderately wealthy baron of no particular importance. It had been adequate enough when she married the first time and would be adequate for her second marriage. There was no point in aiming for something more, someone higher.

She swallowed past the lump that had risen to her throat and glanced around the room at the courtiers, with their jewels and expensive clothes, laughing and getting drunker with each cup of wine. None would take any notice of her. She could never hope to make an impression on the gentlemen when there were so many ladies to choose from. Just like she'd made no impression on Lord Oxley. He'd not even glanced back at her as he walked off.

It was silly to be disappointed by his disinterest, and no one had ever accused her of being silly before. Yet the lump in her throat remained.

***

Hughe's mind was still on his conversation with the Slades as he made his way to the exit. That was his only excuse for not seeing Lady Crewe until her breasts squashed up against his arm.