Miss Grantham's One True Sin (The Regency Matchmaker Series Book 2) (22 page)

"For as long as anyone can remember, the men of my family have been known as The Sins," he began. "They ruined serving maids and laughed at the poor. They gambled away vast sums while their tenants went without fuel and food. A few, like my brother, spent money they did not have. Every one of them dallied with any cooperative woman who happened along, as well as some who were not cooperative—married or not. Outside of their own social circles, their recklessness and cruelty knew know boundaries. They were even cruel to their animals. Journey's hoof was caught when my brother, to satisfy a wager, blinded both himself and his mount and rode the beast through the brook at speed."

"Oh, no . . ."

"That is only one small incident. There were hundreds of others ... " He raked his fingers through his hair. "Suffice it to say that The Sins indulged in every vice, and I followed their example."

He stared off into the distance and went on with his story, explaining to Marianna that he had become a sensuous rake, a breakneck rider, a daring gambler. But as the youngest Sin matured, he had discovered one significant difference between himself and the rest of the Sins: a conscience. "I learned to despise The Sins' behavior and the society that fostered it."

"The society? You must mean the
ton
. Surely you do not blame the
ton
for The Sins' transgressions!"

"Mary, the
ton
celebrates
such behavior. Celebrates it, fosters it, even demands it." He shook his head and sneered. "Why else would I have spent thirteen years proving to the
ton
that I am not one of them. Look at me," he said. "Do I dress like any gentleman you have ever seen?"

She shook her head. "No."

He sighed. "I wear my hair long and dress more like one of my sailors than a lord. I've escorted ladies no better than they ought to be to the most exclusive balls. I publicly disdain everything the
ton
admires: Almack's, Brummell, Bath, and the Prince—nothing is sacred—and still I am invited to every blasted ball, musicale, rout, supper party, and picnic. In distancing myself so infamously, I have succeeded only in fixing the
ton
's hypocritical fascination. They all want to be seen with me, talking or dancing, but behind my back they still revile me."

Ophelia's words came back to Marianna: “His infamous outrageous behavior has transfixed the
ton
. Where another man may have been scorned and outcast, he has garnered their admiration. ... Everyone will wish to be seen with True Sin's betrothed.”

And then Marianna remembered the conversation she'd overheard between Lord and Lady Wilkinton, who had been disdainful of Truesdale even as they expressed their delight at being invited to Trowbridge Manor.

"The more outrageous my behavior," Truesdale said, "the more invitations I receive. The
ton
hangs upon my every move. I grow tired of it. Were it not for the ABC's, I would let the vultures descend upon the estate to carry away all they are owed and settle my brother's debts that way. I would leave the empty hulk of Trowbridge Manor to rot or give it over to the servants to do as they wished with it. The title and land would revert to the Crown. Nothing would please me more. But I cannot let it happen. I cannot allow the ABC's to be sundered from the only home they've ever known. They have already lost too much."

He fell silent for a time.

She shook her head. "I thought you needed money because you had spent extravagantly or gambled too deeply. I am ... I am sorry. I should not have assumed the worst of you."

"Why not?" he asked wryly. "Everyone else does."

"I will not. Not anymore. You may be quite a wicked sinner, but where it comes to those three little girls, Trues-dale, you are a saint."

He flashed her a grateful smile.

"If you could leave Trowbridge Manor," she asked, "where would you go? What would you do? Would you settle somewhere and marry?"

"I would go back to the sea."

"You are a navy man?" she asked, surprised.

He laughed softly. "I can see I was somewhat neglectful of your education. No, I am not a navy man. I own ships."

"Ships?"

He nodded. "The one achievement I am proud of, the one thing the
ton
cannot forgive me for. Seven ships. Six now. One sank with my brother and his wife aboard."

"Dear God."

Truesdale shrugged. "We were not close, as I have said. He was much older than I. Close on twenty years older. I must have been quite a surprise to my parents."

"Indeed."

He kicked a stone, sending it skipping across the lane. "When I first broke away from my family, my father pulled all support. I spent time working on a cargo ship. Then my mother died, leaving me a small sum, and I bought my first ship. I worked alongside my men for a couple of years."

He smiled. "That's when I got my first taste of shocking the
ton
. I found it satisfying."

The navy would have been
the thing
for a second son, but Truesdale hadn't been interested in doing what was acceptable. He strove for the unacceptable. Dabbling in commerce was distasteful in the eyes of the
ton
, and the more successful he became, the better, to his way of thinking. He'd been shockingly successful, increasing his fleet to seven ships in only a few years. And, while it started off as little more than a way to feed himself while displeasing the
ton
, the business soon became something he was proud of.

"It is something I have done all on my own," he said, "and it keeps many families clothed and fed."

"My father is proud of what he has accomplished as well. It is a shame that it is not quite respectable, is it not?"

"The
beau monde
rewards artifice, sloth, and bigotry rather than honesty, hard work, and cooperation. Is that respectable?"

"Are you saying you would turn your back on all good society?"

"Blast, Mary, do you hear yourself?” He shook his head and gave her a quizzical look. “Do you still believe that the only society worth aspiring to is the
ton
? How can you have spent the day in the company of these good country folk, how can you have worked and eaten and laughed beside them all day and still believe that the only people worthy of your admiration is the upper ten thousand?"

She shook her head. That wasn't what she meant.

Was it?

"Before I came to London, before I'd worked at Lady Marchman's School or come to Trowbridge or met any of the common folk in Town or here in the country, I did believe . . ." Her voice trailed off as she realized how shallow it sounded. "I did believe the
ton
were inherently superior to everyone else. But no longer."

She paused, carefully constructing her next sentence. "I know my parents are too interested in wealth and position, as you say, but you are wrong about their motive. Their hearts are pure." She held up her palm before he could say anything. "My happiness is paramount to them. They truly do believe the
ton
is superior to everyone else, and they only want the best for me. I will not disappoint them."

"Which means you are still determined to marry a title?" His mouth hardened into a grim line.

"Yes. I seek a titled husband." And then, remembering her refusal of his proposal, she added, "A tonnish husband."

They walked the rest of the way home in silence. Her last words had opened a rift between them, and she wished she knew how to repair it. She wished the ABC's were not fast asleep in the cart; their chatter would have been a welcome diversion from the ominous silence that enveloped and separated her and Truesdale.

As they neared the house, True tugged the pony's ribbons from her hand. "I will take the trap to the stables and ask John to help me carry the girls to their beds."

"Yes. Well ... I had best go wash and then see my parents. I made the decision to go to the Smiths' place without telling them. They may be worried at my absence."

"They will not be worried, they will be annoyed."

She scowled at him. “You do not know them.”

"I know enough. Your parents control you, Mary. You dare no spontaneity. You are a timid flower in a field of thorns, afraid to raise your head lest you be noticed, afraid to assert your own desires. You deny your true nature, your capacity for spontaneity so vehemently that you couldn’t enjoy a genuine moment of true spontaneity even if you were by yourself with no one to witness it."

"Rubbish!"

Suddenly, he pulled her into his arms, and she found herself being kissed—not by the Viscount Trowbridge, nor even by Truesdale Sinclair, but by True Sin. The kiss was unmistakably sensuous and impossibly demanding.

When she did not respond, he broke the kiss.

"See?" he said. "You have proved my point."

Chapter Sixteen

M
ARIANNA

was unsure if it was hunger or uneasy dreams that drove her out of bed before dawn the next day. She'd been angry all night, lying awake and thinking of what Trowbridge had said, or falling asleep and hearing his words in her dreams, mixed with her parents chanting the words "duty," and "disloyalty" and "disappointment" over and over and over again.

Just as the first rays of the sun glowed on the horizon, she quit her bed, dressed in haste, and, after a breakfast of hard rolls, cheese, and fresh milk pilfered from the kitchen, she escaped the house where True Sin slept. He not been in her bed, her chamber, nor even in her wing of the house, but he still seemed too near.

The grounds and gardens were no better. They were
his
grounds,
his
gardens.

She thought about taking Dover in order to put more distance between herself and Trowbridge, but she decided against it. Dover belonged to him, too. Instead, her feet led her farther and farther away from the manor. She wandered over fields and through several pleasant copses, following the gentle slope of the valley so as not to get lost. The sun rose higher, and the shadows told her it was well-nigh ten in the morning when she came to the brook at the bottom of a wooded dell. It was already a warm day, and she was perspiring. She was thirsty too, and, thinking to take a drink before she started back, she took off her shoes and stockings and waded a few steps into the brook. The cool water was soothing against her tired feet. With the trees crowding the banks, and arching overhead to lace their branches together over the water, the brook was a shady tunnel, wonderfully cool and humid. She bent to take a drink and then straightened, pulling uncomfortably at her damp clothing, which stuck to her skin.

All at once, she thought how lovely it would be to submerge herself in the water, but she discarded the notion immediately. Her clothes would become sodden, and she could not return to Trowbridge Manor in such a state.

The obvious solution came to mind unbidden. She could disrobe. She hadn't seen a soul since she'd come away from the estate, she was a long way from Trowbridge manor—much farther than any of the guests would venture, she was certain, and there was no dwelling nearby. No one would see.

Ah, but she couldn't. She shook her head. She just
couldn't
.

She stepped back up onto the bank and struggled to pull her stockings back on over her wet feet. They itched her immediately.

Unbidden, Trowbridge's words flashed into her mind. He'd said she worried so much about what people thought of her that she denied her own desires even when no one was there to witness it. He said she wasn't honest with herself. That she was timid. That she was afraid.

His words still stung. He'd said them with such conviction. He actually believed the things he was saying.

But he was wrong.

In a moment, Marianna's clothes were draped over the branches near the bank, and she was paddling in the water dressed only in her chemise. But the material chafed at her skin, and she thought of discarding it. Truesdale already had the guests certain she made a regular practice of swimming sans clothing. And they weren't there to see her anyway. Not that I care, she thought defiantly as she undid the buttons of the chemise and yanked the white material from her body. She tossed the garment over another branch and dove self-consciously into the cover of the deep water. She was completely naked now. The water flowed sinuously over her body as she glided through the clear brook—a delicious sensation! Still, when she surfaced, she looked around her nervously.

Nothing moved.

She chided herself. There was no one around. She was completely alone.

She relaxed and struck out up the brook against the gentle current. The exertion felt good, and she swam for quite a distance before she subsided and let the current float her back to her starting place. If only True Sin could see her now! He would take back every word he'd said about her. She had half a mind to tell him about her adventure in the brook, not that he would believe her. He thought she was some timid flower with no personality, no will of her own.

Why was she even thinking of him? She should be enjoying herself, and here she was, thinking of True Sin. She pushed him from her mind. She wouldn't let him spoil her adventure.
No
. She wouldn't think of him at all. She would have an adventure and it wouldn't involve him.

She grasped an overhanging branch and floated, letting the cool water flow past her, feeling her long hair fan over her back like a mermaid's. She blinked at the sky over the brook, where the sun sparkled through the thick canopy of tree branches overhead, and her eyes followed the sweep of one of them, which leaned so close to the water that she could sit on it if she wanted to.

On impulse, Marianna pulled herself up onto it and walked it, arcing high over the water. She knew what she was going to do before she got to the top. She was going to jump. She was going to stand naked in the top of a tree and then plunge into the water with a glorious splash.

"Who has a lack of a personality now, Trowbridge?” she called out. “Who has no sense of adventure?" She was poised to jump into the clear, deep water below, when she heard a high-pitched yip, and a small fox leapt into the air from high up on the far bank. She watched, amazed, as the animal landed and scrambled down the grassy bank and into the shade of the trees at the bottom of the hollow before crossing the brook almost directly beneath her. It must have sensed her presence, because, wet and dripping, it didn't even bother to shake its fur dry before it disappeared up the near bank. She was still staring after it when she heard another sound and froze.

Dogs.

And hoofbeats.

And suddenly a hunting party thundered over the brink of the hollow!

Down the grassy bank they came, down to the water's edge, where the dogs cast back and forth along the bank for the scent of the fox, and the group of mounted riders all gaped at the sight of Marianna's clothing—wet chemise and all—draped over the bushes.