is the matter, princess?” he taunted. “Does the realization that I could not have committed murder disappoint you?”
“I would have to trust your word,” she countered, trying to scramble from his lap.
He caught her waist, holding her still. “You would also have to admit that your campaign of vengeance was all for naught. That you ruined an innocent man for no reason at all.”
She did not want to think about that. “Release me.”
“Make me,” he challenged.
How could she? He was stronger than she was. She had been fighting him for the past day and losing at every turn. Even now, she was still losing. And she would continue to lose. She was going to have to marry him, this man she loathed.
What if her reason for loathing him was all wrong?
What if she had been all wrong?
“You know I cannot make you,” she admitted at last, defeat tasting bitter on her tongue. “You have won, my lord. I have agreed to marry you for my brother’s sake. What more do you want from me?”
His smile returned. “Your surrender, princess.”
“You cannot have that.”
He lifted her effortlessly to the opposite squab. “We shall see about that, Lady Calliope. We shall see.”
Sin was not about to take any chances that his future wife would attempt to break her promise to marry him, which was why he had accompanied her into the vast mausoleum that was Westmorland House, despite all her protestations to the contrary. The house was every bit as imposing as he recalled, a rambling Mayfair palace and a testament to the vast Manning family wealth.
The butler had been obviously relieved to see Lady Calliope returning safely.
Her aunt had been most distressed with her failure to return the day before, the servant had announced, casting a disapproving glare in Sin’s direction. For Sin’s part, he was not certain he cared for the tender manner in which the domestic had fretted over his future wife.
“Callie darling!” exclaimed the aunt now, sweeping into the lesser salon where the butler had shepherded Sin and Lady Calliope.
Westmorland was, conveniently, on his honeymoon with his new wife. Which meant that the woman with the French accent, dressed in a billowing silk dressing gown, had been tasked with acting the part of duenna.
A task which she had failed at.
The aunt smelled of violet perfume and powder. Her dark hair cascaded down her back, unbound. It was rather familiar and odd. In all his life, the only women who had ever greeted him clad in their dressing gowns had been those he had taken to bed.
“Tante Fanchette!” Lady Calliope threw herself into the elder woman’s arms, quite as if she were being rescued from the gaping maws of a fire-breathing dragon. “You have arrived after all!”
“Ma chère,” crooned the aunt, casting a suspicious glance toward Sin. “Where have you been? According to the servants, your coachman returned with a splitting headache, claiming he had no recollection of what had happened. I am so sorry I did not arrive as planned. When I made it to Westmorland House and you were nowhere to be found, I was about to contact Scotland Yard. What have you been doing? And who is this gentleman?”
Sin took that as his invitation.
He stepped forward, offering his best attempt at a bow. “The Earl of Sinclair, madame. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
It occurred to him that he did not know much about this aunt. He knew the former Duchess of Westmorland had been of French ancestry, but that was about the sum of the information he possessed about the family. That and their hideous wealth.
Oh, and the fact that the last duke had been fucking his faithless wife.
One dare not forget that salient bit of information.
“It is mademoiselle, Lord Sinclair. I am not married.” The aunt frowned at him. “Your name is familiar, but I am afraid I do not recall why.”
He smiled grimly. “I am sure I know the reason, but it hardly matters.”
The aunt withdrew from the embrace with Lady Calliope, taking a step back and examining her. “What is the meaning of this, my beloved niece in such tatters?”
In truth, Lady Calliope did look as if she had just returned from war. Her hair was plaited into a messy braid she had fashioned herself. One of her sleeves was missing. Her elegant gown was wrinkled and torn.
She looked thoroughly compromised.
He cleared his throat and jumped in before Lady Calliope could explain away her disheveled appearance. “I witnessed Lady Calliope’s carriage