A Taste of Sin (27 page)

His loving was as fierce as a summer storm, battering her senses, leaving her feeling bruised and breathless as her body convulsed. She whispered his name and shattered, surrendering to ecstasy. Moments later she heard Sinjun’s exultant shout and felt his seed bathe her womb.

When her wits reconnected with reality, Christy realized this wanton coupling could result in another child. That staggering thought cooled her passion as nothing else could. With a cry of dismay, she shoved him away.

Unprepared for her assault, he fell back, staring at her, his expression a mixture of shock, confusion … and sudden knowledge. “Christy … my God, it’s you!”

Stunned that he had recognized her despite her disguise, Christy leaped to her feet, holding her ruined bodice together at the neckline. She had to flee before Sinjun regained his senses.

He must have surmised her intention, for he suddenly came alive. “Christy, wait! Don’t go!”

Her throat clogged with terror, Christy backed away, still shaking from the aftermath of their loving. “I’m not. I’m not who you think,” she cried as she turned and raced toward the house. She glanced over her shoulder once and saw Sinjun sitting on the ground, his forehead resting on his knees. When she realized he wasn’t going to give chase, she rested a moment against a tree to catch her breath and to think.

Glancing down at her ruined dress, she realized she couldn’t go back inside the house without causing a scandal. Tears of anguish slid down her cheeks. How in the world was she going to get back home?

“Flora, is that you?”

Christy spun around, ready to flee again. Then she recognized Rudy coming down the path toward her, and relief shuddered through her. She choked out his name. Then she was in his arms, shaking like a leaf in the wind on an autumn day.

He held her at arm’s length and stared at her, his brow furrowed in concern. “My God, what happened to you?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Christy said on a shaky sigh. ‘Take me home.”

Rudy’s expression hardened. “Damn Sinjun to hell! He did this to you, didn’t he? Look at you, you’re a mess. I’ll kill him.”

“Rudy, no! Just take me home. I’m as much to blame as Sinjun.”

“No woman should be treated like he treated you,” Rudy railed. “I’ll call him out, I swear it.”

She pulled on his arm. “I want to leave, Rudy. Please.”

“Your wrap.”

“Forget it.”

“I’ll settle you in my coach, then go back for your wrap and make our excuses to my grandmother.” He placed an arm around her shoulders and led her off, carefully skirting the puddle of light spilling from the ballroom.

Christy cast a furtive glance over her shoulder, relieved that Sinjun wasn’t following. She was in no condition for lengthy explanations, which she was sure Sinjun would demand. She didn’t breathe easily again until Rudy returned and the coach pulled away from the townhouse.

She had to have been out of her mind to come here tonight, she scolded herself. But the last thing she’d expected was for Sinjun to recognize her so easily. How had he known?

“Do you want to tell me what happened?” Rudy asked when silence stretched out between them.

Christy dropped her gaze and pulled her wrap closer around her. “I can’t.”

Gently, he removed her mask. “Did he hurt you?”

She shook her head. “I’m fine, really.”

A muscle twitched in his jaw. “You don’t look fine.”

Her relationship with Sinjun was too complicated to explain. And Rudy wouldn’t understand. No one would understand why she had lied to Sinjun about their bairn.

“I’ll call on you tomorrow,” Rudy said as the coach pulled up before her front door.

“I wish you wouldn’t,” Christy demurred.

“Soon then. Rest assured I’ll bring Sinjun to task for what he’s done to you.”

Panic rose inside her. “Remember your promise, my lord. You said you wouldn’t tell Sinjun where to find me. No matter what, I pray you will not betray my trust.”

Rudy grasped her small, cold hand and kissed her knuckles. “I’d never betray so lovely a lady.”

Christy.
Still sitting on the ground, Sinjun was too stunned to mink beyond the fact that he had just made love to his wife. He’d taken her on the ground like an animal, using her like he would a dockside whore. He was suddenly stone cold sober. As sober as he’d ever been in his life.

Christy.
Her name tasted like fine wine on his tongue. He should have known her immediately. Damn his fuzzy head and damn his inability to see beyond her mask and wig. But it hadn’t taken him long to recognize her once he’d started making love to her. No other woman in the world made love like the Macdonald chieftain. Her sweet taste, the subtle scent of her flesh, the sweet curve of her lips, the intense green of her eyes. He couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment he’d recognized her; perhaps he’d known her all along and had refused to believe what his mind told him.

His eyes darkened with anger when he recalled the cold words of her letter, and how little she’d told him of their child’s death. So many questions and so few answers.

Why was she with Rudy? What had happened to Calum Cameron? What in God’s name was she doing in London?

Needing answers, he straightened his clothing and stumbled back to the house. The moment he blundered into the ballroom through the French doors he realized he’d made a mistake. Christy wouldn’t have returned to the party. Not in her state of dishevelment.

He strode through the crowd of amused faces, aware that he’d become the center of attention. He groaned inwardly and glanced down at himself. His clothing was grass-stained and covered with loose twigs. His neckcloth was awry, his hair messed and his coat unbuttoned. Thank God he’d had the sense to fasten his breeches.

Odd bits of conversation followed him out the door. “A wastrel. Out of control. Shouldn’t be allowed in polite society. Debaucher of young women. Blackguard. Scoundrel.”

Sinjun paid them little heed as he made his excuses to his scandalized hostess and took his leave. It was imperative that he find Christy.

Sinjun rose early the following morning. His head felt swollen to twice its size and his tongue felt furry, but his mind had never been clearer. He rang for Pemburton, and when the butler appeared with a bottle and glass on a tray, Sinjun waved them away.

“I won’t need that this morning, Pemburton. See to my bath. I have urgent business to conduct.”

Though Pemburton’s long face remained stoic, the twitching muscle in his chin revealed his shock. “’Tis early, my lord. ‘Tis not like you to arise before the sun. Is something amiss?”

“Everything is amiss, Pemburton,” Sinjun said shortly. “But it won’t be once I speak to Lord Blakely.”

“Shall I bring your breakfast, my lord?”

Sinjun’s stomach gave a rumble of protest. Yesterday’s excesses still plagued him.

“No breakfast, Pemburton. I’ll stop at one of my clubs should I require food later. Have the grays hitched to the carriage and brought around.”

An hour later, bathed, shaved, and dressed, Sinjun left the house. The carriage was waiting just as he had ordered, and he waved the driver off as he climbed onto the seat, adjusted the ribbons in his fingers, and drove off down the street with reckless haste.

The carriage had scarcely rolled to a stop before the Blakely townhouse when Sinjun leaped to the ground and sprinted up the stairs to the front door. Several minutes passed before his insistent knocking brought an answer.

“Ah, Carstairs, good morning,” Sinjun said, pushing past the startled butler. “Please inform Viscount Blakely that I am here and wish to see him.”

Carstairs’s eyebrows lifted nearly to his hairline. “Lord Blakely won’t be up for hours yet.”

“Wake him,” Sinjun said as he strode into the study. “I’ll wait for him here.”

“But … but, my lord,” Carstairs sputtered, following close on his heels, “the master never arises before noon.”

Sinjun rounded on him. “The devil take you, Carstairs, just do as I say.”

Shaking his head and muttering something about the impetuousness of youth beneath his breath, Carstairs took himself off to awaken his master.

Sinjun paced impatiently while he waited for Rudy; his friend had much to explain. Sinjun’s patience was all but shot when Rudy, his hair tousled and his eyes heavy-lidded with sleep, walked into me room.

“What in bloody hell are you doing here at this ungodly time of day? You have a lot of nerve, Sinjun. What you did to Lady Flora last night was unforgivable. Name the weapons. I intend to defend my lady’s honor.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Sinjun retorted. “Defend her honor my arse. What were you doing with Christy last night?”

“You’re still foxed, Sinjun. Go home and sleep it off. I don’t know any Christy.”

“The devil you say! You escorted her to your grandmother’s ball last night.”

Rudy’s hands balled into fists. “The lady I escorted to Grandmother’s ball was
not
named Christy. Foxed or sober, your behavior last night was reprehensible.”

“I may have been foxed but I know exactly what I did and to whom I was doing it. Are you going to tell me where to find Christy, or do I have to beat it out of you?”

“I told you, I don’t know any Christy.”

“Perhaps I should have said Lady Flora Randall,” Sinjun bit out. “I may have been foxed last night but my brain was still working. Did you think I wouldn’t recognize my own wife?”

Rudy merely stared at Sinjun, his mouth open in silent exclamation, apparently too stunned to answer.

“That’s right, Rudy,
my wife.
Flora Randall and Christy Macdonald happen to share the same husband. Me. In case you haven’t already guessed, they are the same woman.”

“Devil you say!” Rudy said, sinking into the nearest chair. “Why should I believe you?”

“Because I speak the truth. Where did you think I went when I left London? I’d gone to Scotland to confront my wife. Julian heard that Christy was expecting a child, and I went to Glenmoor to get her signature on the annulment document Julian helped me to obtain. I wasn’t going to acknowledge another man’s bastard. You can imagine my shock when I arrived at Glenmoor and learned that my former mistress, Flora, and my wife, Christy, were the same woman, and that it was my own child Christy carried.”

“I don’t understand,” Rudy said, shaking his head at the unbelievable tale Sinjun had just spun. “I knew you had left England rather abruptly, but then you never were predictable. Tell me about your child? Lady Flora … er … Christy never mentioned a child.”

“The story is long and complicated,” Sinjun replied. “Someday I’ll regale you with the details. Right now, there is only one thing I want from you.”

“Which is?…”

“Tell me where to find Christy.”

“Go to hell! I made a solemn vow, and I intend to keep it. You’ll learn nothing from me.”

“A vow?” Sinjun didn’t like the sound of that.

“Aye. Christy, if that is indeed her name, made me promise to tell no one where to find her. She specifically mentioned you. She said you parted on less than friendly terms.”

“You’re damn right we did. I’ve been lied to, tricked into fathering a child, and tossed aside for a Scotsman. Christy has much to account for.”

Rudy uncoiled himself from the chair, his expression pugnacious. “Perhaps that’s why she didn’t want you to find her. Did you hurt her last night, Sinjun? If you did, I swear our friendship is over.”

Sinjun had the decency to flush. He’d been rough, but he didn’t believe he’d hurt her. Their passion had exploded into a battle of sensual aggressiveness, and he’d been only too happy to assuage her hunger along with his.

“Christy is my wife, I’d never hurt her physically, though she deserves a good thrashing.” His expression hardened, his eyes narrowed into slits. “Have you bedded my wife?”

Rudy swung, hitting Sinjun squarely on the jaw. Sinjun staggered backward against the desk. “You deserve that,” Rudy said, rubbing his knuckles. “Christy deserves better than you.”

Sinjun rubbed his jaw, stunned by his friend’s defense of Christy. “Christy left me for another man, for God’s sake! What am I to think when I find her with my best friend?” He glared at Rudy for one charged moment, ready to retaliate until he remembered that Rudy was his best friend, maybe his only friend.

“You’re making me damn angry, Rudy. Are you going to tell me where to find Christy?”

“Christy doesn’t want to see you,” Rudy argued. “I promised she wouldn’t have to see you if she didn’t want to and a promise is a promise, Sinjun. Are you so without honor that you’d have me break my solemn word? Besides, you’re angry and might hurt her no matter what you say.”

It was all Sinjun could do to keep from hurling himself at his best friend, for all the good it would do him. Fisticuffs never solved anything. Cunning worked better. Sooner or later Rudy was going to call on Christy, and when he did, Sinjun wouldn’t be far behind.

Christy wallowed in indecision. Sinjun knew she was in London and she had no idea what to do about it. She could stay where she was and pray that Sinjun wouldn’t find her, or she could search for new lodgings. She must have been crazy to think Sinjun wouldn’t recognize her.