The Greatest of Sins Read online

  Or the rapid beat might be the sign she had hoped for. She put her hand on the bare skin of his chest to steady the tube and felt his breathing stop all together, even though his heart was racing.

  It was her. He might pretend otherwise, but to have her near affected him in ways he could not control.

  To test the theory, she moved her hand again and felt his heart jump. Then she looked up at him with a long slow smile.

  He looked back with an expression she might have described as shattered.

  ‘Why, Dr Hastings …’ she removed the tube, but left her hand flat against the warm bare skin of his chest ‘… you are most excitable today.’

  ‘Evie.’ It was the warning tone of someone afraid of getting caught in an indiscretion.

  She ignored it. ‘Samuel?’ She scratched her nails lightly against the skin of his chest, amazed at her own boldness, and waited for his reserve to crack.

  Instead, he gripped her hand and removed it from his person, arranging his clothes to hide the place she had touched. ‘Do not behave nonsensically. If someone were to discover you touching a man that way, it would do no good to claim it began as an interest in medicine. You would be quite ruined.’

  ‘I am not touching any man,’ she explained patiently, kneeling at his feet. ‘It is just you.’

  ‘Just me.’ He let out a resigned sigh. ‘You must remember we are grown now, Evelyn. The games that might have seemed quite natural twenty years ago are no longer proper.’

  ‘Are there other games that might be more appropriate?’ It was a daring question and she wondered how he might answer it.

  ‘No.’ He wet his lips and swallowed, as though it was an effort to talk to her.

  ‘Just what is it that makes you so afraid of me, Sam?’

  ‘Afraid?’ He was parroting back her words, stalling for time, but it was clear from his expression that she had been right. He was terrified.

  She leaned closer and put her hands on his knees, to look up into his face. If it was rejection he feared, he would not receive it. ‘Have I changed so much, Sam? Because I never used to frighten you. You even kissed me once,’ she reminded him.

  ‘Did I?’ He looked away from her, at the sea chest on the floor. ‘I hardly remember it.’

  ‘I remember it all too well. It was a week before you went away. We were in the garden. It was a morning, in summer. We were playing at games. I hid. When you caught me, you held me by the waist. Your eyes went very serious for a moment, then you pulled me close and kissed me on the mouth.’

  ‘Ah, yes.’ If possible he looked even more uncomfortable.

  ‘And shortly after that, you left me to go to school.’

  ‘It was but a bit of foolishness on my part. We were both very young, were we not?’

  ‘I was fifteen,’ she reminded him. ‘Some girls are already married by then.’

  ‘And now you are twenty-one. And likely to make a much better marriage than you might have, had you rushed into it at such a young age.’ He said it as though he was trying to convince himself.

  ‘I might be married to a physician now, had he asked me.’

  ‘Evie.’ Was that all he could manage to say to her? This time her name sounded just as sad, but full of longing as well.

  ‘Since you will not speak plainly, I must,’ she said, ‘so that you cannot pretend to misunderstand me. If you offer, I will accept. If you wish it, I will go with you to Gretna tonight.’

  ‘St Aldric …’ he said, almost choking on the name.

  ‘Is nothing to me,’ she said, laying a hand against his cheek. ‘Not compared to you.’

  Finally his strength failed. He laid his own hand over hers, pressing her palm to his mouth. His lips were hot against her skin. Even hotter as they met hers when he released her hand and pulled her forwards to take her lips.

  And if she had thought this kiss would be like the one that they had already shared, she was proved wrong. He opened her mouth with a steady pressure and his tongue touched hers, advancing and retreating. At first it was a gentle tide, but it grew to a storm and she gave herself to it, trembling. She clung to his body and he held her there, between his legs so that she could feel his manhood growing against her belly. The thought of it pressing into her made her moan into his mouth.

  He was aroused. She had but to give in to him and soon he would be beyond control. There would be no hesitation on her part. When the moment came, she would succumb. Once they had lain together, he would never leave her again.

  She pressed his hand against her breast, urging him to stroke it through her gown. At the merest touch, he grew harder. He raised his other hand, kneading both, as if to prove that every inch of her body belonged to him. His kisses took on a desperate quality, as though he was trying to reach into her soul with each thrust of his tongue so that he might claim that as well.

  She had imagined giving herself in passive submission, but suddenly she needed more than that. She wanted his hands on her bare skin and his body filling the wet empty place between her legs. As she knelt before him, he trapped her body between his thighs. So she ran her hands over them, back and forth, each time growing closer to their apex.

  Her palms itched to caress him. It would not take much more than a touch, she was sure, and he would be irrevocably hers. Her fingertips grazed him, once, twice, three times through the cloth, and then they settled on the buttons of his breeches.

  He pushed her away suddenly, scrambling back on the bed as though he could not put enough distance between them. His expression was wild, eyes fixed and staring, lips drawn back, as his head shook once in an emphatic ‘no’. Then he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. It was as gesture of revulsion.

  He pointed towards the door.

  ‘I don’t understand,’ she whispered. She was near tears again. She swallowed hard to stop them. Crying was the lowest type of female trick. She would not give in to it with Sam, no matter how much she hurt. ‘If you love me …’

  ‘It is not love,’ he said with finality, cold and professional again. ‘I doubt I am even capable of the feeling. But if you value me, as you say you do, get up off your knees and get out of this room.’

  ‘Leave you?’ Now that she had finally found him, he wanted her to go?

  ‘Marry St Aldric. Be safe and happy. But for God’s sake, woman, go away and leave me in peace.’ He stood and grabbed her again, but it was not for another kiss. Instead, he hauled her up off the floor and spun her away from him. Then he opened the door and pushed her through it and out in the hall.

  The oak panel slammed behind her, cutting off her words of apology.

  You must understand, my boy, it is quite impossible …

  Sam looked wildly around the room, searching for the bottle that he had already packed. Rum. Stinging, harsh and nothing like her kiss. He pulled the cork and took a mouthful, swished it and spit it into the basin, expelling the memory of her taste.

  Nothing he had seen in his studies at land or at sea could explain the feelings coursing through him now. He understood the pumping of the blood, the mechanical and chemical processes and increases in humour that led to arousal and release.

  But none of it explained the demon that possessed him, the maggot in his brain that made him want the one woman he could not have.

  It is my fault really. I should not have raised you together, as I did. At the very least, I should have made clear the relationship between you, to prevent this misunderstanding …

  Lord Thorne’s words were as fresh in his mind now as they had been on the day he had heard them. And they offered no more comfort now than they had then.

  Your birth was the mistake of a youthful man. My wife was understanding, of course. She agreed that we should take you in. A natural son might ease her loneliness. We had no child of our own. And when, finally, we were blessed, she did not survive long enough to know our Evelyn.

  Why could they not have left him where he was? If duty needed to be done, it could hav
e been done at a distance, with a series of discreet and anonymous payments to guardians and schools.

  And then he might never have met Evelyn Thorne. A life with no Evie in it was his greatest desire, and his worst nightmare, hopelessly mixed.

  I could have acknowledged you. Perhaps I should have …

  Before puberty, perhaps. Sam laughed bitterly at the thought, and took another swig of the rum to wash the bitterness away. If he had understood what Evie was to him, then he would never have fallen in love with her.

  And as he had done so many nights before, he went to the desk and took up his beads and a Bible so worn from use that it fell open automatically to Leviticus.

  The nakedness of thy sister, the daughter of thy father, or the daughter of thy mother, whether born at home, or born abroad even their nakedness thou shalt not uncover.

  He prayed, as he always did, for strength and for forgiveness.

  Chapter Six

  ‘Evelyn! Stop tormenting that poor kitten and see to your hem. I swear, girl, you cannot keep the stitches straight if you allow a beast to swipe at the edge of the linen.’

  ‘I am sorry, Aunt Jordan.’ Evie glanced at the work in her lap and tried to raise any interest in it. These sessions of needlework were another concession to her father’s wish that she behave like a young lady. On the few evenings when she had no other engagement, she was forced to endure them, along with critiques of her deportment. As usual, they were a trial both to her and the poor aunt charged with teaching her.

  She set the shirt aside and lifted the kitten into her lap, offering it the end of the string to chase. ‘It is hardly fair to blame Diana for my indifferent needlework. I was equally bad at it before she arrived.’

  ‘Your manners have improved much in the last years,’ her aunt reminded her. ‘And you are on the cusp of success with St Aldric. Snaring a peer is much more challenging than plain sewing. Your stitching would improve as well, if you would but make an effort at it.’

  If it was put to some other purpose than making shirts, then perhaps she would try harder. She remembered the pages in Sam’s text books that explained suturing and wondered if large wounds were more difficult than the cuts she had closed. The stitches would need to be bigger, of course, and more numerous. As she poked at the linen, she imagined the resistance of skin, and the difficulties created when the subject flinched …

  ‘Evelyn!’

  The needle slipped and she pricked her finger instead of the cloth. She waved her hand in the air for a moment, trying to shake the pain away, then held it high to keep the drop of blood that formed from falling on the work. This sent her mind to the various methods to staunch bleeding, and the efficacy of causing it when one had an excess of certain humours.

  Not that she would need any of this information as the wife to a duke. But that had never been her plan, not even from the first. She had studied and prepared so that, on the day that Sam finally realised his mistake and came home to her, she might prove herself a useful helpmeet to him. If she understood his work, then they would always have something to talk about.

  But he had barely given her time to display any of her hardwon knowledge to him. While in his rooms, she had allowed the physical side of the conversation to come to the fore, proving to him in a most unladylike way that she understood biology.

  Perhaps she would have fared better if she had put the stethoscope back into the chest and turned the conversation to the use of leeches and cupping as the old Evie would have. Or behaved as the charming and witty young lady Aunt Jordan had taught her to be. Instead, she had tried to combine the two and it had been a disaster.

  She had offered herself to the man she loved—and he had rejected her. Though she might deny it to herself, it was what she had feared might happen. Sometimes, six years of silence meant exactly what they appeared to. Girlish sureties might owe more to fairy tales and fantasy than they did to truth. There had always been a chance that the kiss she remembered as loving and passionate was nothing more than a peck on the cheek. She had been prepared for that.

  But not for what had occurred. If anything, she had remembered the past too innocently. Or had his passion grown to conflagration during their separation?

  And yet he denied it. He did not seem to know love from lust. She was sure, after all they had been through together, that she did. Why else had she waited so many years for him to come back to her? She was still a maid, in heart and mind. While she was sure that physical attraction played a part in her feelings for Sam, it was not the only reason she wanted him.

  She thought of the kiss.

  She must admit that, after the recent interlude in his arms, lust played a stronger role than it had a few days ago. So that was what poets wrote about, and why men had fought for Helen at Troy. It was a quite different feeling than she’d had last week. Much more urgent. The feelings were as clear in her mind now as when he had been kissing her. She had but to think for a moment about them to feel the desire renew itself.

  It made her feelings for St Aldric all the more unworthy. She had hoped that it would be easier to make the decision between them, once she had talked to Sam. And it certainly was. There would never be anyone in her heart of hearts but Sam Hastings. What she felt for Michael was but a pale imitation.

  Why could Sam not understand that?

  Aunt Jordan gave up a small yawn and Eve encouraged it with a yawn of her own and a stretch of her arms. She held out the poorly finished shirt for approval. The older woman inspected it and sighed, still disappointed in the work. ‘We will try again, next week,’ she said. ‘And I will be attending the ball at the Merridews tomorrow, as your chaperon.’

  ‘Yes, Aunt Jordan.’

  ‘The duke will be there as well.’ Her aunt gave her a significant look. ‘It will give you another chance to demonstrate graces that do not come so difficult to you.’

  It meant that the time for indecision was nearing an end. He might offer again. If he did, what reason did she have to refuse him? After this afternoon, it was likely that Sam would leave her again before he could learn the truth of his birth. She owed him that, at least.

  When her aunt was safely stowed in a carriage and on her way back to her own town house, Eve turned from the door to search out her father. He might have claimed to be intractable this afternoon. But in her experience, even those edicts set in stone could be worn down by begging, pleading and promises to be the best possible daughter, and to never bother him again.

  She found him in the study and, as he always did, he looked up from the book he had been reading and smiled as though her interruption was welcome.

  ‘Father?’ She smiled to show that the conversation would be a pleasant one and no real disruption. She bent to kiss him on the cheek.

  ‘My dear.’ He gave a curious cock of his head, as though already suspecting her intentions. ‘Did you have a pleasant evening with your aunt?’

  ‘Of course, Father. She is just gone home,’ she said.

  ‘But no visit from the duke this evening,’ her father said with a slight frown.

  ‘He was here earlier,’ she said, with a little sigh of impatience. She did not wish to discuss Michael. Those conversations always ended with her father hopeful and her searching for a way to postpone capitulation. ‘I will see him tomorrow at the Merridews. He cannot spend all his time with me, you know.’

  ‘As long as he was not put off by the presence of another man in the garden with you this morning,’ her father said.

  ‘You are speaking of Sam?’ She managed an incredulous smile. But she could not very well argue that he was not ‘a man’. He had removed any doubts on the subject as he kissed her. ‘He is family, Father. And surely it was good to see him after all this time.’

  To this, her father responded with a blank look, as though the matter was practically forgotten. ‘He has not performed as well as I had hoped. Despite what he says, he hardly needed a university education in the navy.’

  ‘Perhaps
he felt the navy needed him,’ she suggested. ‘He was always an altruist at heart. And I am sure it is better, in the aftermath of a battle, to have a skilled man dealing with the injuries.’

  ‘If that is what makes him happy, then I wish him well.’ Her father gave a tired sigh, as though he hoped this concession was sufficient to end the discussion.

  ‘Happy?’ she responded with a worried frown. ‘Content, perhaps. But to me, he seemed rather unsettled.’

  ‘Because he is no longer comfortable in this house,’ her father said. ‘He had planned to leave immediately after speaking to me.’ He frowned back at her. ‘I was surprised to find him still with us when the duke arrived.’

  ‘Because I would not let him go,’ Eve said. ‘It is ridiculous for him to stay at an inn when his old room is here and prepared for his return.’ She was very close to pouting, which always felt silly, but it had been effective in the past.

  ‘If he showed discontent, perhaps it was your fault for keeping him here.’ Her father gave her a candid look. ‘There comes a time when one must recognise one’s place in society and know when one is intruding.’

  ‘But he was not an intrusion. He belongs here.’ Perfectly true, but too insistent. She moderated her tone and held out a supplicating hand. ‘He was like a son to you.’

  ‘Like a son is quite different from being a son,’ her father reminded her. ‘He was my ward. But Sam Hastings is no one’s child.’

  ‘Of course he is,’ she said. ‘Unless you would have me believe that he was hatched from an egg, or some other such fantasy. He came into the world in the usual way, from a union between man and woman.’

  ‘Evelyn! Do not speak of such things. They are unseemly topics for a young lady.’

  ‘I would not have to, if you would be forthcoming with what you know.’ She was giving him a full-on pout now, she was sure. She would follow it with tears, if she had to. It was the height of foolishness. But if topics were continually being put off limits to her because of her gender, a reasonable argument would not be possible. And she must have her way.