Tangled in Sin Read online

  Sin stirred in his arms, burrowing into him like a sleepy kitten.

  Bloody hell, Pete was here. And from the sound of things, he was not alone. There was definitely more than one horse moving about in the yard.

  Sliding away from Sin, he stood. Unfortunately the blanket, caught beneath her hip, did not come with him.

  Bloody, bloody hell.

  He stumbled across to his breeches and, damp though they were, pulled them on. His boots came next. There wasn’t really time, but he refused to step into the freezing mud again.

  Hurrying to the door, he slipped out, closing it behind him. Pete sat astride, two other grooms behind him and a couple of extra horses milling about.

  “There you are, Jamie. You had me worried. When your horse came back without you I was worried you’d taken a header into the creek. It was only when I saw your missing saddlebags that I figured you’d sent him home for some reason—or else you’d been shot and robbed.”

  Now, that was Pete, always such an optimist.

  “No, the bridge was half out and I didn’t dare cross it astride.”

  Pete grunted. “It’s completely gone now, other than the stone supports, but the creek is falling fast. It was hardly a problem at all crossing and I reckon that by the time we get back, even your sister should be able to manage it.”

  It was true that Jasmine had never been much of a horsewoman, but that wouldn’t be a problem with Sin. She might very well be more capable than half the men here, and they worked with horses daily. Of course, he was remembering her talent at the age of fourteen or some-such. Who knew how she rode now.

  “I am glad to hear it,” he replied, although in truth he wasn’t at all. He’d been counting on having another day to persuade Sin to marriage.

  Sin. The woman had no clothing. The shirt had been fine when he was the only one about, but he certainly didn’t want Pete seeing her in such a fashion. “Why don’t you leave the horses and I’ll head back a little later, give the creek more time to settle before…”

  “Before you try to make Jasmine cross it? I think your sister would protest if there was more than an inch of water in it—and she does know how to scream. She must have yelled for a good hour after I tossed her in the carriage. And who the blast is that?”

  James turned, already knowing what he’d see. Sin stood in the doorway, her shapely legs peeking out beneath the long tails of his shirt. Her eyes blinked, as they grew accustomed to the bright light, her face still befuddled with sleep. He saw the moment she realized that Pete was staring at her legs, that she was standing there surrounded by men—men she didn’t know. She darted back inside, slamming the door behind her.

  “That was not your sister,” Pete said.

  James let out a long breath. “No, it was not.”

  Pete stared at him, but asked no questions.

  “So, you will just leave the horses?” James said it as a question, but both men knew it for the order that it was.

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “I’ll explain everything later.”

  “I am sure you will.”

  The door opened again and Sin appeared, the shirt still on and buttoned to the neck but with the addition of a blanket wrapped about her waist like a skirt. “Are we leaving?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Why?”

  Pete looked away.

  James replied, “I thought we’d wait for the creek to come down some more.”

  “Why?” she asked again.

  Pete looked up. This was clearly a question he thought he could answer. “It will be easier to cross when the water’s down, my lady.”

  “But you crossed it, didn’t you?” Sin looked directly at Pete.

  “Yes, but—”

  She cut him off. “If you can cross it, I certainly can. We should go. My father will be worried.”

  That was a thought she hadn’t expressed before. “I am sure a few more hours won’t matter.”

  Sin glanced at the men, clearly trying to understand the situation more fully. “These are your men, your servants?” she asked.

  “Yes.” He wished he’d spent more time deciding what he was going to say to her when this matter arose—although he had to admit he’d been a trifle distracted by other things.

  “And how did they know to find you here?”

  “I told them before I left to get Jasmine.” He shot a look to Pete, telling him to say nothing contradictory.

  “And why didn’t you bring them with you? Surely if you thought the villains would still be here when you—”

  “I wanted to get here quickly.”

  Her tongue roamed back and forth behind her lower lip. He could see her thinking. He knew his story would hold only so much water. “And you never did tell me how you knew Jasmine was here. Or for that matter, where here is.”

  The last he would have to answer. She would realize as soon as they began to head home. “We’re at the edge of my father’s estate. You visited when you were younger.”

  She looked about, trying to find something familiar.

  “I doubt you would have been to this cottage. It was used by a farmer and his wife before I took over management of the estate. Once we start to ride back to the main house, you will recognize where we are. We are not far from the trout stream where I taught you to fish. In fact, I believe it feeds into the creek.”

  “My abductors planned to take Jasmine to an estate that your father owns and you manage?”

  “It would seem so.”

  “Why would they do that?” Her eyes narrowed.

  “Perhaps they intended to ask for ransom and wanted to leave her someplace it would be easy to find her. It might explain why they abandoned you.”

  “I believe that had more to do with one of them wanting to get home to his wife and dinner.” Her eyes were small slits now. “Which means they must live around here, that they most likely work for you.”

  He didn’t answer.

  “And if they work for you, then…How did you know that Jasmine was being taken here?”

  “I told you before; somebody told me.”

  “And who is the person who told you?”

  He’d done his best to avoid actually lying to her, but perhaps it was time to change that policy. “One of my men, perhaps he heard it from one of the abductors. It would make sense if, as you say, they live around here. And I don’t know everybody who works for me.”

  Chapter 13

  He was lying to her, but why? James was looking over his shoulder as he spoke, refusing to meet her gaze. Was somebody he knew responsible for the abduction? She should have considered that before, but she’d been too relieved to be rescued and then too distracted by everything happening between them.

  Now her mind began to puzzle through it. Had the duke ordered it? That might make sense. If the duke wanted Jasmine removed from Madame Blanche’s, Cynthia was quite sure that James would feel compelled to remain silent—and he very well might have decided to try and save his sister. And it would have made sense that they would bring her to one of the duke’s estates.

  It would also explain why the poor groom looked so uncomfortable. There would be no way he could say something bad about his employer. The duke was not known for being forgiving.

  So did she press the point? It would be despicable to have Jasmine abducted, no matter what the reason, but it would also be understandable. No father would want to see his daughter in a brothel.

  But Jasmine had not been concerned. She’d been convinced that her father would do nothing that would risk further scandal, that as long as he ignored her he could just pretend none of it was happening—and society might just go along with that pretense.

  Had Jasmine been wrong?

  Something still did not feel right. Why had James come alone? Why had he risked going up against armed men by himself? Even if he was in a hurry, he seemed far too sensible for that.

  James turned back to Pete. “Leave the horses. We’ll return to
the main house later in the day.”

  “Why…?” she began, convinced he was attempting to change the subject.

  “Do you want to ride in just my shirt?” he asked.

  He did have a point. A few more hours of drying and her dress might be wearable. “Fine.” She nodded to the men and turned back to the cottage, still feeling unsettled.

  James and the men continued their discussion, but she paid little attention, knowing he would not say anything further within her earshot. If only she’d been paying attention before she’d first come out, but her brain had been too sleep addled.

  There was still a little bread and meat left from the supplies that James had brought. There was also a full bottle of wine, but that held little appeal with her mind already confused. Breaking off a piece of dry bread, she chewed with care, trying to find her sense of equilibrium.

  She’d awoken that morning almost prepared to tell James that she would marry him—now, however, doubt returned.

  His boots clicked on the floor as he entered. He stopped just inside the doorway, considering the mud on his boots.

  “Do you want something to eat?” she asked.

  James nodded.

  She broke off more bread and sliced a bit of the sausage. “Will this do?”

  Another nod.

  “Are we not going to talk anymore?”

  “Talk about what?”

  The man was not stupid. “About how you found Jasmine—or rather, me.”

  His brows drew together. “What more is there to say?” He took a large bite of bread, crumbs scattering.

  He knew exactly what she wanted to hear. She bit down on her tongue. Nothing she could say was going to make him admit to knowing more. Striding over to her gown she held out the skirts. “Is there anywhere I can hang this outside? It will dry faster in the sun.”

  “I’ll take care of it. Give it to me. And you might as well wring out your chemise and my shirt and we can add them to the pile. I checked my coat earlier and it finished drying overnight. I am lucky it didn’t end up in the mud bath yesterday.”

  “Fine.” She did as he requested, swearing silently at his stubbornness.

  —

  It was late afternoon before they left. James had hinted that they could delay overnight, but in her current state of confusion she was not spending any longer alone with the man than she had to. And she hadn’t been joking about her father worrying. It might have taken him a day to notice she was gone, but at some point he would realize that she was not about and then worry would set in quickly. Her story of visiting Jasmine in the country would not withstand much scrutiny. It would be far better to head off questions before they could be asked. She would send a message to her father as soon as they arrived at the duke’s house.

  “You sit a horse as well as I remember,” James remarked as they rode out of the creek, distracting her from her thoughts.

  She turned to glance at him. “I don’t know how you can judge. I doubt the water was deeper than my ankles at any spot.”

  He smiled at her, his eye admiring. “It is amazing how quickly it can fall, is it not?”

  Why did she feel that discussing the water was the same as discussing the weather? “I’ve never seen a creek during a real storm, but I will take your word for it. I did not get a chance to see it when it was up. The bridge is certainly gone, and I can see the marks high on the bank where the water has receded.”

  “And it can go up just as quickly on these smaller bodies of water.”

  Yes, it was exactly like discussing the weather, a safe way to keep speaking without saying anything at all. “I would be interested in seeing that someday.”

  “Perhaps I’ll take you out sometime in the midst of a downpour.”

  Now that was a little riskier, implying as it did that they had a future in which he could make such decisions. “Unless I am caught out suddenly I can’t imagine choosing to head out in a heavy rain.”

  “Truly. I would have thought you’d love to risk all dashing into the storm, or are you afraid if you went out in the rain you would catch a chill and die?”

  Now, that was unfair, deliberately so, she thought. He knew what a ragamuffin she’d been as a child, not afraid of anything, particularly the rain. Was he trying to start an argument? Yes, she rather thought he was—choosing to argue about something unimportant rather than the real issues that lay before them.

  “We are heading to the main house?” she asked, ignoring his jibe and asking the obvious.

  “Yes.”

  “And then? I must let my father know why I have been away.”

  “I thought we could send a note, imply that you are here with Jasmine because you found her so ill. That was your original plan, was it not?”

  “Yes, I was going to pretend that my original message had gone astray, imply that I had sent word before I left London.”

  James pulled his horse to a stop and turned in the saddle to look back at her. “And is there a reason to change that plan now? I am sure your father would expect you to stay with your friend in her hour of need.”

  Was there a need to change plans? It hadn’t been a wonderful plan to begin with, but was it any worse now? No, the real problem was that she wasn’t sure she wished to be alone with James any longer, not until she knew what she wanted to do. “But what of the servants? I can’t risk anyone mentioning that I am here alone with you. It is unlikely anyone would specifically mention Jasmine not being here, but the two of us alone would be the subject of much gossip.”

  “My aunt Prudence is also in residence.”

  “Aunt Prudence? Isn’t she actually your father’s aunt? And at least a hundred and five?”

  “She’s only ninety-five. She was the youngest of the siblings and still remarkably spry.”

  “I believe she still thinks George II is king and believes that any woman who doesn’t wear a stiff, high-necked mantua must be of loose morals. And she once gave me a lecture on how unsanitary it was not to wear a wig.”

  “Your point?”

  “I hardly believe she’d be considered the best chaperone.”

  “She actually has the strictest of principles.”

  “Until she falls asleep. Even when I was a girl she would doze off in the middle of conversation and not rouse for hours. Do you really believe that makes for an appropriate chaperone? Would you trust her when you have a daughter?”

  His eyes dropped to her waist. Blast, she should not have said that last.

  He looked back up. “I will leave that discussion for another day and I am not discussing an actual chaperone, just one who will pass muster.”

  “And you think that she will?”

  “I think that the combination of her and Jasmine would. It would not be irregular for Aunt Prudence to be watching over Jasmine during her illness and then it would not be strange for you to visit your friend. We will be fine.”

  Cynthia wasn’t as sure, but also didn’t believe that anyone would actually remark on it—and if it were ever discovered that Jasmine was not at home…Well, she wouldn’t worry about that until it happened. She was not going to court trouble. “What about your father? When he hears he will know the truth.”

  “And do what?” James nudged his horse back to a walk and started forward again. “I will probably get a good tongue-lashing, but he’ll be glad for more confirmation that Jasmine is here. It will help kill the rumors as to where she really is. As long as we can keep up the pretense, society will go along.”

  But for how long could they keep up such a pretense? One of the upper servants was bound to talk at some point. “And what of Aunt Prudence? What if she slips and says something?”

  “As you said, she still thinks that George II is alive. Nobody will take notice of who she says was or was not in the house.”

  Cynthia dug in her heels, spurring her own horse forward. The landscape was becoming familiar and she was tempted to race ahead to the house, to show James just what a horsewoman she wa
s now—and to escape this conversation. At least he hadn’t mentioned marriage during the ride. She was still unsure how she felt on that subject.

  A deep silence descended, broken only by the sound of hooves.

  —

  Less than an hour later they arrived at the stately home and Cynthia found her suspicions arising anew. Why would anyone have planned on bringing Jasmine so close to one of her homes? If Jasmine had been left alone she would surely have known where she was and…No, she was not going to spend time thinking about it, she was simply going to demand James answer, as soon as she had the chance.

  Unfortunately Aunt Prudence was standing at the door waiting for them, her tiny spine straighter than an iron rod, a good white wig upon her head.

  “You’re awfully late, my boy. I was expecting you hours ago,” she said as James dismounted, handed the reins to a waiting boy, and hurried up the steps.

  “I don’t believe I said when I’d be home, Aunt Prudence.”

  “I am sure you did when you left this morning. I was sure you’d be home by lunch.”

  James look startled a moment, but then answered, “Perhaps you are right, but look who I found along the way.” He gestured at Cynthia.

  “You mean this gypsy creature. I can’t believe you mean to bring her into the house.” Her eyes scanned Cynthia’s ruined, still slightly damp gown and tangled hair.

  Cynthia waited for the boy to come assist her down from her horse. She could have managed easily on her own, but sensed this was not the moment to prove it.

  “This is Lady Cynthia Westhope,” James said. “You must remember her past visits. I am afraid that her travel was upset by the storm and all her luggage lost.”

  “Storm?” Aunt Prudence’s eyes clouded and then cleared. “I do remember a storm, a fierce snowstorm.” She looked about, as if expecting snowdrifts, but then shrugged. “It must have melted. I do hate travel when the weather is unpleasant. Why ever did you do such a thing?” She stared straight at Cynthia.

  “I was traveling to see a friend who has become quite ill. I did not wish to be delayed.” Perhaps Aunt Prudence would remember just enough of that to add some credibility to their story.