The Sinner by Madeline Hunter

in the normal sense. I would only make you unhappy eventually.”
    Maybe so, but she would have traded that risk for the chance to learn where this friendship might have led.
    He walked to the door. It went without saying that they would not share a bed tonight. Or ever again.
    He began to leave, but paused. “It would be best to return to London soon. I would like to leave in the morning.”
    “Of course, Dante.”
    The door closed behind him. The cursed, triumphant fear released its hold, leaving her empty and spent.
    She sank to her knees beside the window and cried out her disappointment in herself.

chapter
7

    G regory Farthingstone walked through the streets of a city just wakening to a day without sun. Barely able to see in the fog, he aimed toward his destination with long strides.
    He hated rising before the dawn for these appointments, not to mention having to walk so no one would know where he went.
    Actually, he hated this whole business. Hated the worry and the subterfuge. He detested the vague foreboding and the sense that he inched along a precipice. Mostly, however, he resented playing a game in which someone else held all the best cards.
    He turned down a little lane, then hurried along the alley between two rows of handsome houses. Entering the garden of one, he strode to the stairs leading down to the back kitchen door.
    Like a damn servant. That was how he visited this house.
    There was no choice. He hardly wanted to be seen. All the same, it raised his irritation. He did not need it to be so obviously demeaning.
    The cook was up as she always was when he came. She paid him no mind as he hurried through her fief. A scullery maid sat by the hearth, building up the fire. Presumably they had been ordered to ignore him, but anyone with a few shillings could probably loosen their tongues.
    Up above, the butler waited for him. As he followed the butler up the stairs, he noted once again the very fine appointments in the home. Its owner had a taste for luxury that far surpassed Farthingstone’s own. He preferred a more sober environment himself, as befitted a bank trustee and man of serious disposition. He would not choose to live among all this color and texture even if he could afford them.
    A hot resentment beat in his head all the same. He knew very well how these carpets and chairs and paintings were purchased. He knew all about the legacy that had paid for them.
    He found his host in his bedchamber, sipping coffee while perusing a newspaper. The man still wore his robe and had not even bothered to don a morning coat yet. Farthingstone did not miss the reminder of who held the good cards.
    The valet poured another cup from the silver server, offered it to Farthingstone, then left.
    “Well, this is one hell of a mess, Farthingstone,” Hugh Siddel said, smacking the newspaper down on the table that held the coffee service.
    Farthingstone did not need to examine the paper to understand the reference. He recognized the notice of Fleur’s marriage to Dante Duclairc from ten feet away.
    “You said it was dealt with,” Siddel added.
    “It
was
. Brougham clearly instructed them to wait. I never thought they would be so bold—”
    “If you had not hesitated that night, not allowed sentiment to interfere—”
    “What you proposed was
illegal
.”
    “And what you intended was not? At least with my plan she would have been permanently controlled.”
    Farthingstone paced away. His heart fluttered uncomfortably. The last few months had taken a toll he did not care to assess. An agitation of the spirit caused palpitations in his body that were not healthy.
    He forced some calm on both and faced Siddel. “Brougham will be angry that they took this step. He will now be amenable to expediting my petition. Once the court declares her unfit, the Church will put the marriage aside.”
    Siddel snorted in derision. “Duclairc is certain to fight you. By the time it is all settled, he will have let her sell all the