Read Sinful (Hot Regency Romance Novella) for Free Online Page B

needle would
flash through cloth late into the night, while she would be
desperately blinking to keep her eyes open. Hour upon hour. Day
upon day. From behind a mound of fabric and patterns, she had
watched Rose grow into a beautiful, quick-witted girl. She had
carved out a formidable reputation amongst the ton for her
gowns.
    But she had not had a friend.
    “I’ve never forgotten our wedding night,” he
said softly.
    She had guessed that already.
    “For ten years,” he went on, “I’ve considered
myself married to you.”
    That startled her. “But you have the
reputation of a rake.”
    He groaned. Even with the carriage lamps on
inside, shadows still lurked in the corners. Lyan leaned back,
letting the gloom hide his face. “There were times the need got a
bit too much, I’ll admit that. But I never fell in love, Sally. Not
once.”
    “Oh heavens, Lyan. I wish you had.” If he
had, she could have forgiven herself. “How much longer until we
reach the border?”
    “We’ll have to stop for the night. We’ll find
an inn along the road, and leave in the morn, as early as
possible.”
    “An inn.” She took a deep breath. “Separate
rooms, of course.”
    “Of course? We made marriage vows. We had a
wedding night.” He leaned forward. The teasing note in his voice
was not reflected in his eyes, which glinted in the lamplight like
cold glass.
    “Ten years ago,” she said. “And our vows were
not spoken in a church or before a vicar.”
    “The passing time makes no difference. The
intention of marriage vows is for husband and wife to make a
promise to each other. Does it matter if it is in a house of
God?”
    Estelle trembled. He had always been able to
do this to her. Bring out emotions—or desires—she did not want to
face. “ Legally it does. I am not your wife, Lyan. I will
never be. I do not consider our marriage to be valid. I ran away
from you. Isn’t that reason enough for you to think that, too?
Don’t you want to admit our vows meant nothing? For that means you
would be free.”
    “Ah, Sal, but that’s the irony. I’ll never be
free of you.”
     
    * * *

    The Rose and Crown was the third inn at which
they’d stopped. It looked more prosperous than the other two, with
many coaches rumbling in and out of the yard, servants hurrying to
and fro, and well-dressed patrons arriving for the night. Coachmen
drank ale around the water troughs, singing to the tune of a
jauntily played fiddle.
    Estelle had been commanded to stay in the
carriage. But she ignored Lyan, hopped down, and hurried inside
after him. He was leaning on a counter, in deep discussion with the
innkeeper, a thick-set bald man with a large stomach and enormous
arms.
    Lyan turned at the sound of her footstep.
“Ah, my wife.” He did the introductions. One key dangled from his
hand.
    “I said two rooms,” she muttered, softly. The
innkeeper might look lumbering and slow, but she imagined he had
trained his ears to catch murmured conversations.
    Lyan tucked her hand in the crook of his arm
and led her toward the narrow stair for the upper floor. “There is
only one available. You can sleep in the stable if you’d like, but
I prefer a bed.” Then his voice dropped even lower, and against her
ear, he whispered, “They were here two days ago. Peabody and Lady
Maryanne. She wore a heavy veil, but the man matched the
description of her suitor. He took a room for them as husband and
wife, and she was seen fiddling with a wedding ring.”
    Estelle felt such relief that it was like
taking a long breath of air after loosening a corset. It surged in
so quickly it left her light headed. She wanted to believe she had
rescued Maryanne. She wanted to believe she had carved out another
happy ending in a world sadly lacking in them. But relief, like a
breath, whooshed out. “They could have been posing as married but
had not yet—”
    “After heading to Gretna six days ago?” Lyan
asked. “I suspect they would have raced up there,