night. If you are here at the Black Souls, especially after receiving such happy news, I can only assume you have come to your senses and you are once more ready to throw yourself into my den of iniquity.”
“No petticoats,” Sin grumbled, for the notion did nothing for him. Not even a twitch of his cock. Rather, it made his stomach churn and bile rise in his throat. “And do not speak of my wife, lest I be forced to plant you a facer.”
There was only one woman for him now.
What if she no longer wants you?
He told the insidious voice to go to the devil and banished it.
“I ought to call for the books and memorialize this occasion, the Earl of Sinclair turning down a tumble,” Decker said, grinning.
“Go to the devil,” he returned. But, if he were honest, he would admit the nettling brought to life his old demons, mingling with the new.
Even in his inebriated state, Sin knew his friend’s mockery was well-intentioned. It was a joke, a lark, not at all biting. Not meant to cut him to the marrow. And yet, it did. He had read every word of Confessions of a Sinful Earl. And each one of them returned to him now. All the ugly accusations, the hideous representation of himself. What if that was what his wife still believed of him? His reputation had been wicked before she had started her serials, and there was no denying it. Not without reason.
An endless onslaught of questions rained down upon him.
What if, now that she was possibly carrying his heir, she intended to put up a wall between them? What if tonight was just the beginning? What if their child was stillborn? What if Callie died in childbirth?
The thought of a life without his fiery, beautiful, dark-haired wife with the honey-and-chocolate eyes was impossible. Unacceptable. He could not bear to lose her, now that he had her. Over the course of the last month, everything he had never believed possible of changing…had.
And so had Sin, along with it.
“Why are you here, old chap?” Decker asked, his tone softening, marked with concern.
Decker rarely showed emotion. But he was the closest Sin had to a brother. Their friendship was old and deep. It spanned years. They were both pariahs in their own way. Always had been. Perhaps, even, always would be.
Sin sighed and blurted the words that had been doing their damnedest to escape him all night. The whisky he had consumed finally made it easier. “I think I am in love with her.”
Decker whistled. “Good God, I was right. You have read the serials, have you not?”
He rubbed his jaw. “Of course I have.”
“And you do know she is a wrongheaded, vindictive bitch? One who believed you capable of committing murder and made certain the rest of the world did as well?”
Sin winced. “She was wrong about me, but I cannot entirely blame her. I hardly have the reputation of an angel. Be fair warned, however. If you ever dare to refer to her thus again, I will beat you to a fucking pulp, Decker.”
“Not in your current state,” his friend pointed out.
True.
Sin was not entirely certain he could stand. But he could still throw a punch. Could he not? Yes, he decided, he damn well could.
“Shall we test it?” he asked, raising a brow.
“I would prefer not to have an altercation with my oldest, best friend.” Decker’s voice was stinging. “Especially not over a woman who did her utmost to destroy you.”
“She is not what you think,” Sin found himself defending Callie as his whisky glass was miraculously refilled. “She loved her brother. Her devotion to him is…”
Something he envied.
As was her devotion to her dead former betrothed.
Because Sin wanted it for himself, curse her.
“Her devotion to him is enough to make her mad?” Decker guessed. “Because from where I stand, madness is the only excuse for what she did to you, Sin. She almost decimated you. How can you love such a treacherous—”
“Enough,” Sin bit out, scowling at his friend, who was becoming more blurry by the moment. It was a distinct possibility there were two Deckers. At least, according to his eyesight. “I will not hear another ill word about her, and that is final.”
“Fair enough.” Decker inclined his head, his gaze searching. “But answer me this, Sin. If she is such a bloody angel, why are you here tonight? Why are you not at home, reveling in the marriage bed, reciting poetry