If He's Sinful by Hannah Howell

pursuing them. He ruined our lives with his follies. You must marry that conniving witch, I have a daughter who is three and twenty and another who is twenty and neither have had even one season, Lucas has had to leave school, and we stand at the doors of debtor’s prison. I gave that man my youth, my loyalty, and six children and he betrayed me at every turn.” She took a deep breath and visibly struggled to beat down her anger.
    “I am sorry, Mother.”
    “You have nothing to be sorry for, Ashton. I should have done something, anything, to ensure that he did not rob my children of their futures. I failed you all. The only courageous step I ever made was when I slammed shut my bedroom door after I discovered I was carrying Pleasance. And in the end it saved my life. I did little to save all of you, though.”
    When he saw the glint of tears in her eyes, Ashton hurried to refill her wineglass. His mother had made only a few angry remarks about his father within Ashton’s hearing, but it was clear that she had a lot of anger and hurt tumbling around inside her. He hated to hear her blame herself for any of the trouble they were in. A few sips of wine began to calm her and the tears in her eyes receded so Ashton retook his seat.
    “You have nothing to be sorry for, either, Mother,” he said quietly. “You had no power to stop him. The law makes certain of that, does it not?”
    Before his mother could utter any response, there was a rap at the door. Ashton frowned when Marston stepped in at his call to enter, walked up to the desk, and handed him a letter. The strong scent of roses told him whom it was from. His sly betrothed wanted something. Ashton sincerely doubted it was a letter of apology or contrition he held in his hand. He found instead a barely disguised command that he accompany Clarissa to a dinner at the Burnages tonight.
    The demand, the whole tone of the short missive, and the fact that Clarissa had given him barely two hours’ notice of the event told Ashton that she knew about Charles’s hold over him. Clarissa felt she had bought herself a husband. The woman obviously wanted a husband who would be hers to command and was not above using his financial troubles as the whip.
    Ashton had every intention of refusing her command with a rudeness even less disguised than hers was, but then he recalled just who the Burnages were. Edward Burnage was a baron, his title only a generation older than the Hutton-Moores’, but it was gained for something far more honorable than finding women to warm a king’s bed. Burnage knew business, he knew trade, and he was a genius in both. It tainted the man in some ways but kept his pockets very full. There could be some benefit to be had in spending an evening with a man like that, and his friends. Even better, he thought and nearly smiled, it would sorely vex Clarissa if he talked trade all night.
    “Is the messenger still here?” he asked Marston as he scribbled a curt reply on the bottom of the letter.
    “Aye, he is, Radmoor,” said a voice too young to be Marston’s.
    Ashton looked at the boy now standing next to a scowling Marston. “Hector?”
    “You know this boy, m’lord?” asked Marston. “Ah, of course. You must have seen him at Lady Hutton-Moore’s. I apologize for his intrusion. I told him to wait in the hall. He has been ill trained, I fear.”
    “Undoubtedly. Come here, Hector.” Ashton bit back a grin at the scowl Hector gave Marston before marching up to Ashton’s desk. “When did you become Lady Clarissa’s page?”
    “Yesterday. Pages are fashionable to have amongst the ladies. We could use the coin, too.” He smiled sweetly.
    “That is not why you are there.” There was a glint of cunning in the young boy’s amber eyes that told Ashton he was not going to get the truth from Hector no matter how many times he demanded it. Not yet.
    “Nay? Why else would I be there, m’lord?” He tugged the letter from Ashton’s hand. “I best get