A Taste of Sin
Authors: Connie Mason
Other books by Connie Mason:
A B
REATH OF
S
CANDAL
T
O
L
OVE A
S
TRANGER
T
O
T
EMPT A
R
OGUE
A T
OUCH
S
O
W
ICKED
A Taste
of Sin
C
ONNIE
M
ASON
To my brother-in-law John MacDonald,
whose Scottish heritage was
the inspiration for this book
© 2000, 2011 Connie Mason. All rights reserved.
Contents
Scottish Highlands
Glenmoor Castle, 1747
“Y
ou know why you have to do this, don’t you, Sinjun?”
“I know, but I don’t like it, Father,” young St.John Thornton replied.
“We do what the king asks of us,” Roger Thornton, fourth earl of Mansfield, said.
Fourteen-year-old St.John Thornton, marquis of Derby, looked as if he’d rather be anywhere but standing in Glenmoor Castle’s guest chamber dressed in his best velvet breeches and waistcoat.
“Why me, Father? Julian is your heir, let him marry that wild Scottish hoyden.”
“Come now, Sinjun, you know Julian has been betrothed to Lord Sinclair’s daughter since the day she was born. They will wed when she turns eighteen.”
“I am fourteen, Father, and the Macdonald heiress is but seven.”
“Think you I don’t know that?” Roger said with asperity. “We’re not talking about bedding here. You have but to marry the chit and then you may return to England until she comes of age. You can go to the university like you planned and sow your wild oats while Lady Christy is growing up. When the time comes, I trust you to do your duty by her.”
“I can’t bring myself to like her, Father.” He wrinkled his aristocratic nose. “When we arrived, I saw her playing in the courtyard with her kinsmen and mistook her for a dirty beggar child. Her face was smeared with mud and she was barefoot.” He shuddered. “Can’t the king find someone else to marry her? She looks like a witch with her tangled red hair and white skin.”
“‘Tis the king’s plan to demoralize rebellious Highlanders by placing their lands into the hands of loyal Englishmen. After Culloden, every one of Scotland’s orphaned aristocratic daughters were married to men of King George’s choosing. The king trusts none of the surviving Highland lairds. Old Angus Macdonald wields great power over his clan, and his granddaughter will become laird after his death.
“Christy’s father, Gordy, as well as both her brothers, died at Culloden,” Roger continued. “And old Angus, Christy’s grandfather, became her guardian. Angus leaves no male heirs, all were slain at Culloden. Marriage will gain you both Christy and stewardship of Glenmoor into perpetuity. Through your wife you can control the clans who swore fealty to old Angus Macdonald.”
Sinjun tossed his head of dark hair and glared sullenly at his father. “I don’t care about any of that. I like nothing about the Scottish Highlands. Tis a desolate land, fit only for wolves and savages.”
“The king does us great honor, Sinjun,” Roger chided, exasperated at his son’s lack of gratitude. “Thomtons are loyal subjects of the crown. We have been honored by numerous titles and land grants. The Macdonald holdings are vast. Through this marriage you gain the kind of power and wealth that will make the Thornton name one to be reckoned with in England. Tis a great opportunity, Sinjun, not to mention the honor. Taxes and rents from your lands will keep you in luxury the rest of your life. You should appreciate what King George is doing for you and our family.”
Sinjun’s full lips, which ladies one day would describe as sensual, turned downward into a scowl. “I suppose, since you put it that way, Father, I will have to marry the girl. But I will not lie, I do not like Christy Macdonald.”
“I’m not telling you to like her. All you need do is marry her now and return briefly to Glenmoor when she is old enough to consummate the marriage. After that you can do what you like with your life. Keep in mind, however, that when Christy’s grandfather dies and she becomes laird, you will wield great power in the Highlands through your wife.”
“What if I wish to stay in England, as far away from Christy as I can?” Sinjun asked.
“You can hire a bailiff to oversee your Scottish estates, and your wife can remain safely sequestered at Glenmoor. But you have plenty of time to decide what you want to do.”
Lord Mansfield regarded his son with a critical eye. The boy was tall for his age, with shoulders nearly as broad as his own. Sinjun was a handsome young devil, and he knew it, Mansfield thought. Too handsome for his own good, and far too knowledgeable in the ways of the world for his tender age. He pitied the women who would try to capture his son’s heart when he was old enough to catch their attention. And the young devil would attract women by the droves, and probably lead them a merry chase. How could women not fall under the spell of his dark, brooding eyes and dashing smile? The young maidservants at Thornton Hall were beginning to look upon him with favor, and Roger wondered if his son had already sampled what they had to offer.
Sinjun knew exactly what he wanted to do with his life, and it did not include forsaking London and rusticating in the Highlands with a wife obviously as wild as the land she lived in. He would go to the university, of course, and embark upon life’s adventures. Even at the tender age of fourteen he’d learned to appreciate women. Polly, an upstairs maid just a few years older than he, had taken him under her wing and shown him how to enjoy himself in bed with a woman. The lessons had been fascinating, and he couldn’t wait to spread his wings and practice with other women.
When he’d been told he was to marry a young Scotswoman, he’d rebelled, but his protests had been ignored by both his father and the king. Very well, he would marry Christy Macdonald, but he did not have to like her, nor did he have to live with her.
Now Sinjun waited on the steps of the village kirk for his seven-year-old bride to arrive. Hanked on either side by his father and the minister, there was no escape. The Macdonalds and their allies were all present, none of whom appeared pleased with the marriage of one of their own to an Englishman. One Scotsman about his own age was particularly fierce in his disapproval, sending Sinjun menacing looks.
A frown darkened Sinjun’s brow when he saw Christy coming down the hill with her grandfather. It appeared he wasn’t the only one reluctant to marry. Christy was digging her heels in and protesting loudly as her grandfather dragged her to the kirk. She wore the Macdonald plaid though it had been forbidden, and in the background Sinjun heard the slow dirge of bagpipes, also forbidden by order of the king after Culloden. Her flaming hair did nothing to enhance her pale complexion, and it was so wild and disorderly that Sinjun wondered if she had even tried to tame it.
Angus Macdonald finally reached the kirk with his wildly resisting granddaughter and pushed her toward Sinjun. She stomped her little foot and glared up at Sinjun, her chin tilted pugnaciously. Sinjun nearly laughed aloud at her belligerent expression. She didn’t want to marry him any more than he wanted to marry her! Well, too bad, he thought. As far as he was concerned, this marriage was ill-conceived and would never amount to anything.
The minister opened the book, cleared his throat, and began the ceremony. His words flowed over Sinjun like water. He glanced at his older brother, his father’s heir, with envy. Julian still had several years before he had to marry. Julian grinned at him, and Sinjun had the unaccountable urge to stick out his tongue. As the minister droned on, Sinjun’s mind wandered to pretty Polly, wondering if she missed him. He was brought up short when the bride-to-be kicked him hard in the shin.
A gasp of pain escaped from between his teeth. “What did you do that for?” he hissed, pinning her with a hard look.
“Yer an Englishman,” Christy hissed.
“Hush!” Angus warned from somewhere behind them. “Pay attention to the ceremony.”
Sinjun glared daggers at his pasty-faced bride, wondering what in the world he’d ever done to deserve such an unjust punishment. His stomach churned and he wanted to retch when the minister pronounced them husband and wife. He turned to his bride and was stunned by her expression. Her scorching green gaze blazed with hatred as she stuck out her tongue at him. How could his father do this to him? he lamented as he quickly turned away. Wed at fourteen to a redheaded firebrand who obviously possessed a temper to match the ugly color of her hair.
As if to reinforce his unfavorable opinion, Christy kicked him again. He howled in outrage and made a grab for her, but she was too quick for him. She turned on her heel and fled back to Glenmoor as fast as her little legs could carry her.
London, 1762
A
hush fell over the crowd as St.John Thornton, marquis of Derby, entered the ballroom.
“ Tis Lord Sin,” a young man whispered in an aside to his friend. “I wonder what brings him out into such mundane company tonight.”
His companion, Lord Seton, sniffed disdainfully. “I say, Renfrew, he must be slumming. He rarely attends public functions.”
“The moniker Lord Sin fits him so well, you know,” Renfrew returned. “Why, there isn’t a more dissolute rake in all of England.” He sighed enviously. “His escapades with the ladies are legend. Look around you. There isn’t a lady here tonight who wouldn’t fall into his bed if he but asked.”
“He’s married, you know,” Renfrew confided. “Since he was fourteen.”
“So I’ve heard, but one would never know it.”