Curse her, this obsession he had for his wife was not fading.
It was only growing stronger.
Chapter Nineteen
There is beauty in cruelty, dear reader. There is madness in each of us, waiting for the right moment. Will I kill again? Only time shall tell…
~from Confessions of a Sinful Earl
“Tell me everything,” Jo announced the moment they had settled in for tea.
Callie had been a married woman for almost a month. Finally, she had ventured out for the first time, realizing that she could not forever remain trapped in her new home, alternating her time between mooning over her husband and overseeing the new domestics and redecorating.
So, she had emerged into the world once more, paying her best friend a call. Her marriage had thus far been surprisingly, startlingly happy. She had spent each night in Sin’s bed, learning his body in the same way he did hers. He had even selected a stool to keep at his bedside for her use. Of course, their lovemaking had not been limited to his chamber or the evening. He seemed to be on a mission to make love to her in each room of the townhome, at least once.
Her cheeks went hot. She could not very well tell Jo everything.
“What do you wish to know?” she evaded.
“You are flushing!” Jo observed. “You look ridiculously happy, dearest. The earl is not mistreating you, I take it?”
“Quite the opposite,” she admitted.
“That is wonderful,” her friend exclaimed, grinning.
“Perhaps too wonderful,” Callie said on a rush.
All the emotions that had been building within her over the course of the last month were ready to be set free. All the longing, the fears, the desire, the need, the dread, the caring, heavens help her, the love…
Jo frowned at her. “What is the matter, Callie? I would think the earl treating you well would be a source of relief for you. Not long ago, he was your bitter enemy. Do you trust him now?”
“I do.” Callie sighed, searching for the proper words to convey the confusing mix of feelings inhabiting her. “That is the problem. I trust him implicitly. I have realized I was desperately wrong to ever think him capable of hurting another. I have learned so much about him in the last month. He dotes over his hard-of-hearing, near-sighted butler. His mother’s mind is frail, but instead of sending her away, he has been looking after her, seeing to her care even when he had to sell off nearly all the pictures and household possessions of value to pay his debts. Everything I have seen of him thus far is surprisingly noble and good.”
Jo pressed a hand to her heart. “The butler is hard of hearing? And there is a mad mother-in-law? Please tell me she is not hiding in the attics.”
Callie laughed weakly. Leave it to her friend to find some lightness in the moment. “She is ensconced in a regular chamber, and she is being looked after by a nursemaid. We have hired a replacement because Sin did not trust the previous woman in his employ, but she was all he had been able to afford. When I think of how I set out to ruin him, I feel sick.”
“You were hurting, Callie. Your brother’s death was unusual, and Lady Sinclair passing away on the same night was suspicious. I do not blame you for wondering and for wanting to do everything in your power to find the truth.” Jo’s voice was sympathetic.
Callie did not think she deserved her friend’s sympathy or understanding.
“But was I trying to find the truth, or was I only seeing what I wanted to see and believing what I wanted to believe, regardless of who I hurt in the process?” Sadness cut through her. How wrong she had been.
How selfish.
How careless.
She had ruined a good man. A man who was far better than she had ever imagined. A man whose bed she slept in each night, who touched and kissed her with such tenderness that it made her ache just to think of it now, when he was nowhere in sight.
“You have a good heart, Callie,” Jo said. “It looked damning. There is no denying that. And his reputation was blackened before you even wrote Confessions of a Sinful Earl.”
He had indeed achieved a reputation for running with a fast set. For seducing legions of women. For being wicked. For doing whatever he wished and not giving a damn about the repercussions.