Page 1 of Obsession: The Unspoken Sin
Chapter 1
Laurence Casterleigh, the Earl of Denbigh, lived a predictable life.
It’d come as something of a surprise to Polite Society, considering he’d been sired by a libertine who treated women of all stations as sport. Though, Denbigh himself briefly entertained a roguish lifestyle, he’d quickly shut the door on such an existence.
Back then, it’d nearly cost Denbigh his friendship with the Marquess of Exmoor who was Denbigh’s brother in everything but blood.
Exmoor followed a strict moral code, and Denbigh had briefly deviated from that path himself. From then on, he’d vowed to live honorably in all regards.
Exmoor was as predictable as Denbigh.
Part of their usual and normal routine included a ride at dawn through Hyde Park.
Today proved no different.
They rode vigorously, shouting to each other sporadically in between. They exchanged pleasantries, caught up on one another’s families, and then rode back to their respectable Mayfair townhouses, with the intention of repeating it all again the next day.
That was, today proved no different, until instead of guiding his chestnut mount back around, Exmoor stopped at the east end of the park.
He doffed his hat and beat it against his leg.
Denbigh took in that movement and frowned. It was the other man’s tell. It indicated this wasn’t a usual morning ride.
This time, Exmoor had brought Denbigh here to discuss something, and whatever that unknownsomethingwas had theman troubled. Denbigh’s stallion, Fidelis, sensing the tension within his master, danced nervously back and forth.
Denbigh preferred the predictable. A tumultuous upbringing had that effect on a man, but neither was he one to shy away from those who were distraught or in need. Certainly not Exmoor. He’d give his life for the man.
Something bothered the marquess. Denbigh didn’t need to ask what. He knew Exmoor well enough. He’d share in due time. Exmoor confided everything in Denbigh. They confided in one another.
They—
“Alice isn’t in Scotland,” Exmoor blurted.
Denbigh cocked his head. It was a singularly odd announcement, considering they had just spoken about Alice and the entire family making preparations for the debut of Exmoor’s youngest sister, Elspeth.
“Yes, I believe you said she was returning.” He’d be tortured again with her company. “I take it she has.” Denbigh dreaded the idea, and yet his heart pounded at the thought of seeing her.
Exmoor doffed his hat. “Alice hasn’t been in Scotland for some time now.” This time, the gentleman beat the tan top-hat with such vigor, it was a wonder he didn’t snap the brim. “Alice does not want to return for Elspeth’s debut.”
Denbigh frowned. He’d known Alice Masterson since she’d been a babe. She possessed an obstinacy of spirit to rival a thousand mules. She’d been like a younger sister to him. They’d sparred on every occasion. She possessed a keen wit and a sharper tongue.
Yes, she’d been like a sister to him…until shehadn’t. Selfishly, even though he’d enjoyed her company—too much—it had been somewhat of a relief when he’d learned the lady had decided to quit London altogether. She’d retired to Scotland, their family’s favorite country seat, so she could paint and sketchand ride and live freely. Denbigh had secretly envied her. He’d missed her, but he’d also been ever grateful that she’d gone.
“I need her to come home.”
Exmoor’s pleading voice infringed on those bad best friend thoughts. The tumult in Exmoor’s eyes bespoke a tortured man, and the glint there set off a frantic sensation in Denbigh’s own gut. He loved this family. He loved Exmoor. He loved the gentleman’s mother, who’d been like a second mother to him. He loved his sisters.
“I need you to help me bring her home,” Exmoor said, his voice sounded somewhat steadier, though his eyes were still troubled.
Denbigh treaded carefully.
“You know the lady can’t be brought around once she’s made up her mind. So, she quit Scotland and doesn’t want to return to London. You have plenty of other seats. Allow the lady the space she desires.”And as I require.
Denbigh wasn’t a good man. He realized his protestations came from a place of self-preservation. He silently flagellated himself for that betrayal.
“There is more,” Exmoor said tightly. “This isn’t just about obedience. This isn’t just about enjoying her own time in her own space. This is about—”
Denbigh’s ears latched on to the unspoken remainder of his friend’s sentence. He waited in vain for the other man to clarify or explain.
