Earl of Every Sin

Life is night and day. It is summer and winter, warmth and ice, blossoming flowers and frozen ground. Life is spring and fall, new beginnings, and withered deaths. It is pain and pleasure. But you are wrong to think it ugly, Alessandro. The disparities of life are where its beauty hides.

The butler cleared his throat, casting his gaze to the floor. “Rather, I think you are good for his lordship, and I am pleased to see it. We are, all of us belowstairs, well pleased to see it. I am happy to serve you, my lady.

My heart is dead,” he denied, “and the sooner you realize that, the better off you shall be. Ours is a marriage of convenience and nothing more.” And having her examine him was decidedly inconvenient.

Hearts do not die,” Catriona insisted. “We are all capable of healing and loving again. Will you not try, at least for this time we have together, if not for your own sake, then for mine?

Rayne observed, his gaze scouring hers. “I cannot believe the duel and this foolhardy race are the extent of his indiscretions.” She thought about it. There was the time he had brought an actress to live at Hamilton House until Mama had nearly boxed his ears and chased Mrs. Wilton from the duchess’s apartments. There had also been the evening he had gotten so inebriated, he had been attempting to hold a conversation with a potted palm at Lord and Lady Oxley’s ball. Later, he claimed he had mistaken the palm for a spinster. He had fallen down the staircase once and tripped into the statuary in the entry hall, shattering a marble bust of the first Duke of Montrose. She still recalled Monty kicking the poor duke’s nose across the polished floor and declaring the bust had been his least favorite anyhow. Catriona frowned. And then, there had been the time he had fallen into the lap of one of Mama’s friends at a dinner party. The time he had engaged in a heated shouting match with their father’s portrait. He had also once decided, in the midst of the night, to paint the second-floor hall. The time she had found him lying prone on the Aubusson in the library in a drying puddle of his own vomit… “Your face is expressive, my lady,” Rayne said grimly. “You need not speak a word, for I already have my answer.

The madness of the last few weeks was finally settling in. “Forgive me, Rayne. It is merely the door being left open, as if I have a shred of reputation left to fret over.” He frowned. “I take your reputation seriously, Lady Catriona. You have never been ruined in my eyes.

Thoughts of a violet-eyed minx who made him feel too much. The woman who would become his wife in less than twelve hours.

Only think of this,” Hattie said, “you have a far better chance of taming Rayne than anyone has of bringing your disreputable brother to heel.

Love can change a man,” the Marchioness of Searle said, her bright gaze pinned upon Catriona. “Marriage to the right woman can exert all manner of transformation.

We are not the sums of our pasts, Alessandro.” Still gently caressing his face as if he were beloved to her, her gaze burned into his. Searing in its violet intensity. “We are our futures. We cannot change what has happened, cannot undo what has been done. All we can do is live for tomorrow rather than for yesterday.” She was right.