Seven Years to Sin(77)

“Yet here you stand, alone.”

Her chin lifted. “My choice. My consequence.”

Abandoning the fireplace, he approached her. The ceiling hung thirty feet above them; the nearest wall was a score of feet away. Every Masterson holding boasted similar cavernous spaces containing furnishings and artwork accumulated over centuries.

The distant walls closed in, squeezing Alistair’s chest like a vise.

He’d never felt connected to any of it, had never felt a sense of familial pride or a sense of belonging. Bearing the title would be akin to wearing a mask. He’d donned a role once before to survive, but now he was comfortable with who he was. Comfortable being the man Jessica loved unconditionally.

“Your choice,” he said softly, feeling very much like the impostor he was being told to be. “But I must pay the price.”





Staying as a guest in Regmont’s house, Jess slept not a wink all night. Her thoughts sped too swiftly through her mind, her heart breaking at every turn.

Alistair was now the Marquess of Baybury. Someday in the future, he would become the Duke of Masterson. Immense power and prestige came with those stations, but so, too, did grave responsibilities.

He could not take a barren woman to wife.

On both the Acheron and the island, they’d slept until noon. On their second morning in London, however, Alistair came calling at the ungodly hour of eight o’clock. She was dressed and ready for him, knowing he would come to her as soon as it was acceptable to do so. Knowing she had to be strong enough for both of them.

She descended the stairs with as much decorum as she could manage while feeling as if she was headed toward the gallows. When she rounded the bend in the stairs leading to the foyer, she found Alistair waiting with one hand atop the newel post and one foot propped on the bottom stair. He retained his hat and wore black from head to toe. His features appeared as stark as she felt.

He opened his arms to her, and she raced to fill them, dashing down the remaining stairs and launching herself against him. He caught her easily, squeezing tight.

“I am so sorry for your loss,” she breathed, her fingers kneading restlessly into his tense nape.

“I am sorry for my gain.” His voice was flat and cold, but his embrace was not. He pressed his temple to hers and held her as if he would never let go.

After a long moment, he allowed her to lead him into the parlor. They both remained standing, facing each other. He looked tired and older than his years.

Running a hand through his hair, he groaned his frustration. “It seems we are to be trapped.”

She nodded, then stumbled toward the nearest chair. Her heartbeat was too quick and erratic, making her dizzy. We, he said, as she had known he would. She sank into a yellow damask-covered wingback and sucked in a deep breath. “You’ll be busy.”

“Yes, damn it all. It has already started. The moment Masterson learned I’d returned, he began filling a schedule for me. I haven’t a free quarter hour to myself over the next three days. God knows if I’ll even be allowed to relieve myself.”

Her heart ached for him. He resented the road set before him, but he was more than competent. He had a brilliant head for business matters and an air of command that earned the respect of great men. “In no time at all, you will have everything running so smoothly others will stand back in awe.”

“I don’t give a damn what he thinks.”

“I wasn’t referring to Masterson, but regardless, you care what your mother thinks and she cares about what he thinks. She loves you and fought for you—”

“Not enough.”

“What is enough?”

The look he shot her was combative. She held his gaze.

He growled. “God, I miss you. I detest this game of waiting for certain hours to see you and lying in bed at night without you beside me. I miss having your ear and being the grateful recipient of your counsel.”

Jess’s eyes stung. He looked so hard faced, discouraged, and alone. He’d retained his hat, and he worried the brim with restless hands, twisting the chapeau around and around. “I will always be available to you.”

“I know what you wanted,” he said gruffly, “but I can’t wait for it. It may take months to work through the morass my life has become, and I cannot focus on that while starving for you. I’ve come to ask you to elope with me.”

Her hands linked in her lap. The pain in her chest was agonizing, nearly debilitating. “That wouldn’t be wise.”

He stilled, his fevered gaze narrowing. “Don’t do this to me.”

“You knew I would. That is why you’re so agitated and why you came to me with the sun barely in the sky.” She blew out a deep breath. “You need me to do this so you can move forward.”

“Do what, Jess?” he asked with dangerous softness. “Say it.”

“Afford you the time and space to become accustomed to who you will have to be from this point in your life onward.”

“I know what I want.”

“You know what you wanted,” she corrected, “but now you have so much more to consider. Where do all the pieces fit? Do some overlap? Are others obsolete? You won’t know until you immerse yourself in this role you’ve assumed.”

“Don’t,” he snapped, his voice vibrating with fury. “Don’t you dare sit there so primly and speak about the dissolution of our relationship in that toneless voice as if you are asking me if I want more tea instead of ripping out my heart!”