Deeper in Sin (12 page)

She hurt all over.

Sophie woke in her narrow, simple, and uncomfortable cot in the tiny room she had rented on a narrow lane off Whitechapel Street. Faint morning light filtered in between a gap in the tattered curtains. With all the fires burning, there was always a gray cloud hanging over the streets.

She ate a meager breakfast of tea and gruel. She rubbed her lower back ruefully. After one night on the duke's wonderful bed, her sagging bed felt horrible.

A letter came for her, shoved through the letter box of her door.

Belle's lovely handwriting! Sophie clutched the letter. She closed her eyes and said, “Please let there not have been a disaster. Please. Please. Please!”

She had less than a week to come up with a solution. The Earl of Devars had given her a week to return before he threatened to tell the magistrate she had stolen a piece of jewelry from him—the bracelet he had given her before trying to rape her.

Quickly, she scanned the letter. Thank heaven, there was nothing amiss. Belle had written a cheerful summary of the last few days, recounting how the children had created their own version of cricket with fallen pinecones and thick twigs. There was no mention of Lord Devars. Did that mean he was waiting and leaving her family alone—or just that Belle hadn't written about it so she wouldn't worry?

And here she was, one more day in London, running out of time, and still without a protector. Dazzled by the Duke of Caradon, she hadn't even found out when the next Cyprian Ball was....

How was she going to do that?

Sophie thought of Cary showing her the brothel and the poor woman on the street, waiting for drunken men to emerge from the pub.

She wouldn't have to do that. And it wouldn't help. She wouldn't make enough money to keep away from Lord Devars. And keep her family safe.

No—if she didn't find a protector before her week was done—in five more days—she was going to have to agree to his terms. She was going to have to let him do anything he wanted to her.

Why couldn't Caradon have let her become his mistress? There was no mistaking the passion between them. And the pleasure he'd made her feel . . . Ooh, even now she felt an ache deep inside just remembering it.

It meant something. He'd almost lost himself in sex with her. But he'd been too stubborn to see the obvious.

They were right for each other.

They belonged together—at least as gentleman and mistress.

Five days left!

So she couldn't waste time trying to make Caradon see sense. She must find a rich protector.

Her heart ached when she thought of being in another man's bed. But her heart could
not
ache. She didn't have time for the hope of love anymore.

Her teakettle boiled, startling her. She had scrounged up wood for the fire, so she had a small one to drive away some of the damp cold and to boil water. She poured tea in a cracked cup—she had only the one cup, almost ready to break, a plate, two dented pots, a highly dented teapot, and some misshapen forks, spoons, and one knife.

She poured a weak cup of tea—her leaves had been used for two days.

Goodness, she had the answer!

And she had tea all over the table. Half her precious tea had missed the cup when, in her excitement, she'd jerked the metal pot.

But she didn't care. She had a
solution
.

At the Cyprian ball, Angelique had complained about the courtesan who took bribes. All Sophie had to do was find the woman, bribe her with the money she had left, and get into the next Cyprian ball—hopefully it would be
soon
—then find a protector.

She might be able to save them all—and save herself from the horrible Devars.

All she had to do was forget the glorious, handsome Duke of Caradon.

 

“Hades, how long does this business take?”

The question came from Sin, who paced by the windows at the west end of the south wall. Cary was wearing a hole through the rug at the east end, walking up and down. A grandfather clock out in the hall began to strike—it was eight o'clock, and the sky was dark.

The business of birthing had gone on through the afternoon and into the night.

Sax stood at the mantel, finishing his third brandy. He had one arm braced on the marble as if he were entrusted with the duty of holding up the wall. His silver hair stuck out at strange angles from his raking fingers. He looked up with worried eyes. “I've heard it can take days,” he said. “A friend of my sister's was three days in her labors before the baby came.”

“Three days? How in God's name do women endure this?” Sin asked.

“They are incredibly strong,” Cary answered softly.

He realized how strong Sophie was. She was taking the responsibility for her family after being tragically widowed. She had faced a murder victim with astounding courage and composure.

She had tried to come to his rescue, insisting on his innocence.

Cary realized one thing—it should be his duty to look after her. She needed help. Maybe he couldn't have sex or marry, but he could do decent things.

He could do good.

He could prove he wasn't a monster.

Except he'd lost Sophie now. She'd run off, and he had no idea where she lived. When he'd talked to the other courtesans to ask what they knew about Sally Black, he had also asked about Sophie. He had tried to find out where Sophie lived, but the other courtesans had no idea. He believed that—he didn't think they were lying out of jealousy. They honestly knew nothing about Sophie.

He was always suspicious now. Yet instinct told him Sophie was innocent.

But there were two times in his life when his instincts had been wrong. Once, when he was a five-year-old captive and believed a girl a little older than he was would help him. He never dreamed she would be as evil as the man who held him.

The second time was in battle, when he hadn't believed a British soldier would try to kill him in revenge.

“Behold—I've got a son.”

The almost reverential tone came from the doorway. Pulled out of his thoughts, Cary looked to the entrance to the room and saw his friend Grey. Grey's cravat was undone, and his hair was a tangled mess, but he looked like he was going to burst with joy. White lacy blankets spilled over his arms. Where was the child in all that?

Sax and Sin walked over first. Grey drew back some of the swaddling on the bundle.

Sin had scars from fencing duels, Sax from schoolboy brawls. Both had fought hard in their lives and had broken most of Society's rules. But both tall, broad-shouldered men suddenly said, “Awww,” and went soft as melted butter as they looked down on the baby boy.

Moving slowly to the group of men, Cary saw a tiny hand emerge. Grey let his bare finger touch the palm of his son's hand—a perfect hand in miniature with fingers spread wide as if feeling the air.

As Grey's finger touched the baby's hand, the tiny fingers wrapped around Grey's index finger, clutching tight.

It was amazing.

Enough to choke a man up.

So much innocence. So brand-new and untroubled with no idea there was evil in the world.

“Can I hold him?” Sax asked.

Grey carefully transferred the bundle, which squirmed as Sax's hands curved to cradle the tiny body.

“Hold him carefully,” Grey admonished. “Cradle him in your arms.”

A grin spread across Sax's face. “He's so tiny. I've never seen one who is brand-new before.”

Cary stood apart from his three friends and watched as three grown dukes made ridiculous faces at the baby.

“Jacinta says they don't smile for a few weeks, but look at him—he's smiling at us.”

A ripe smell filled the air.

“I think that is gas,” Cary observed.

The pain around his heart was like nothing he'd never known. It was as brutal as the pain he'd felt when the monster who had taken him when he was five told him his parents weren't going to come for him. That they didn't love him or care about him.

That had been a lie, but he'd been terrified, and the pain had been worse than a blade or an arrow in his body—he knew because he'd suffered both.

“He's a bonny boy, Grey,” Sax said. “Congratulations. Look at his legs kick in my arms. He's already strong.”

“A beautiful boy. He looks like Helena—fortunate lad.”

“Other than the little bit of blond hair, he looks like Grey,” Sax argued. “He's got dark eyelashes. And look at the color of his eyes. Like Grey's. What do you think, Cary?”

Cary couldn't speak, for the tightness in his throat. He gave a gruff sound of agreement.

Sax looked at him, surprised.

It was a moment of joy, one both Sax and Sin could anticipate. All they had to do was decide to settle down and take wives. Cary knew he would never have this—

“Why don't you hold the lad?” Sax suggested to Sin. He had gathered up the boy, the blankets loosely bundled around him.

“Keep your hand behind his head to support him,” Grey instructed.

Sin did, cradling the tiny head with his black-gloved hand. He cooed like a lovesick dove, then walked over to Cary. “You take the little one now, Cary. Have a turn.”

Sin held the baby out to him. He took the child, hoping instinct would kick in.

It didn't.

He had no idea what to do.

He felt a rumbling sound. The baby made a small pained noise. His tummy vibrated against Cary's chest—

A squirting sound filled the room. So did another intense smell. This one was worse than the gas smell.

“I think he has pooped,” Sin observed.

Cary glared at Sin. “You knew he was going to do that.”

“I felt his stomach rumble, but I had no idea it would lead to that.”

“Yes, you did. That's why you gave him to me as fast as you could.” He couldn't hold the baby out from his body, since he had to keep the bottom and head cradled. The odor made his eyes water.

But he held his arms toward Grey. “He's your son. You take him.”

“I'll have many days of this. One of you should hold him. Feel the stirrings of fatherhood,” Grey suggested.

“What on earth are the four of you doing?” Jacinta demanded as she sashayed into the drawing room. “This is a precious baby, not a game of hot potato. You cannot pass him off from one to another of you. Let me take him.”

She held out her arms and, sheepishly, Cary surrendered the infant. “Dukes, indeed. You are all felled by a tiny baby.” Then she smiled. “Though I suppose all of us are, at first.”

“You weren't,” Cary said. He had once loved Jacinta and had let her go to a better man, a man without a shadowed past. But as he looked at her, he thought of Sophie—she reminded him of Jacinta. Strong. Sophie felt the same love and concern for others.

“I was,” Jacinta said.

“I thought females had innate knowledge about this,” Sax said, puzzled.

“No. We have maternal love, but very little clue of what to do. Especially when things go wrong. That is why we turn to other females for help.”

“What have you named the boy?” Cary asked.

“I don't have a name yet,” Grey said. “I don't want to use family names. Helena and I will have to decide.”

Jacinta took the baby away. Grey poured them all a celebratory drink. Then said solemnly, “Is it true a murdered woman was found behind your home, Cary?”

“Yes. But this isn't the time to discuss murder and mayhem. This should be a happy moment,” Cary said.

“True. But that woman was cheated of happy moments. And that should concern us,” Grey said.

“It does.” Cary outlined what they had found—the woman's name and a pocket watch. He could tell Grey was fighting to focus, obviously thinking of his son.

As Sin and Sax traded theories, Grey came to him. “This is what your mother wants for you,” Grey pointed out gently. “The happiness of marriage and children.”

But Cary knew the truth now. “This is not going to be my future.”

“If you want it enough, I don't see why you can't make it your future. Marry a lovely girl, have babies.”

“It's not that easy. I can't force memories away.”

“I don't believe that,” Sax put in. He and Sin were listening to the conversation.

Grey looked up. “It is true. I know it's true. You can't forget. It's impossible. But what happens is that the memories lose their power to hurt you. That's how you get healed.”

“That will never happen,” Cary said.

Grey opened his mouth, likely to argue, but was interrupted when Jacinta returned, carrying the baby. She handed the baby to her brother, effectively silencing him.

“I should go back to Helena,” he said.

“Let her rest for a while,” Jacinta said quietly. “Heavens knows she will have little rest for the next few weeks, since she wants to feed the baby herself.”

Cary saw Grey's gaze fix on him. Damn, he hadn't forgotten their conversation. He was going to be pushing Cary to try to accept happiness.

He couldn't do it. He'd been wounded forever when he was five. If all this time hadn't healed him, nothing would.

Then the baby, with perfect timing, made an
eep, eep
sound, and Grey, Sax, and Sin riveted their attention on Grey's tiny son. Cary joined them to admire the tiny miracle. He felt joy for his friend—and it was the closest he would come to his own joy.