One Little Sin by Liz Carlyle

years, you know.”
    “Edward Wheeler, the playwright?” Alasdair looked askance at her. “Do you love him, Julia?”
    She laughed, a light, tinkling sound. “Lud, what a question, coming from you! I respect and adore him.” She set a hand on her abdomen. “And I want this child, Alasdair, if there is any way possible.”
    “Do you mean to marry him, Julia?” He scowled at her. “You should, you know.”
    Again, she laughed. “Oh, Alasdair!” she said. “What kind of rakehell are you? I begin to think you are not quite as advertised!”
    “Don’t tease, Julia. This is serious.”
    Her face fell. “I know,” she said. “And I do not know what I shall do. I’ve told Edward, of course. We are in quite a quandary. It would be terrible at our ages to rush to the altar, when my chances of carrying the child to term are…well, not good.”
    “God, Julia. I wish you all the best, of course.”
    She smiled a little sadly. “Another year or two, and it would have been quite impossible,” she said. “Indeed, I thought it was something else altogether until the morning sickness struck.”
    Alasdair knew what she was getting at. Julia was forty if she was a day, probably more—possibly a lot more. She was a former actress, and knew how to disguise the signs. But with child? He was more than a little worried. “He will do the right thing?” Alasdair demanded. “Wheeler, I mean?”
    “I think so,” she said. “He’s still in a state of shock. But I want the child, regardless.”
    He stood and kissed her hand. “You need a husband, Julia. I mean to insist on it.”
    She looked up at him with damp eyes. “Yes, you are probably right,” she answered. “I will think on it, my dear.”
    “Do you wish me to have a little chat with Wheeler? By God, I will, and gladly.”
    Julia blanched. “Good Lord, no! What I am trying to say, Alasdair, is that we cannot continue to see one another at all.” She dropped her voice to a whisper. “It would feel wrong, somehow, don’t you see? So tonight was—well, just for auld lang syne, as you Scots might say.”
    Alasdair had reached for his shirt, and was pulling it on over his head. “So it’s good-bye, then?” he said teasingly. “After all we have been to one another, I’m to be cast off like an old shoe, without a second thought?”
    Julia’s smile began to return. “Well, that would look a bit odd, wouldn’t it? Since everyone knows we are dear friends.”
    Alasdair kissed her nose. “Dashed odd, old thing.”
    Her eyes sparkled again. “No, no, Alasdair, I could never completely cast you off,” she said. “I just won’t go to bed with you again.”
    “Ah, now that,” he said regretfully, “is a true loss!”
     
    Esmée was standing at the schoolroom window, and staring down into Great Queen Street when she saw Sir Alasdair MacLachlan crawl gingerly out of a hackney cab and make his way up the steps. Though Esmée had taken breakfast some four hours earlier, MacLachlan was still wearing the evening clothes Ettrick had been brushing yesterday. Out all night, then—and God only knew where he’d left his other clothes. Well, she had suspected as much. All day yesterday, she had sensed his absence in the house. The strange feeling had carried into the night.
    “Ma’am?”
    She spun away from the window to see one of the footmen standing behind her.
    “Where do you wish these?” The wooden chairs were so small, he held one in each hand.
    Esmée’s eyes widened. “Are there more?” The footmen had been carrying in furniture for the last hour.
    “Yes, ma’am,” said the footman. “Ten in total.”
    Ten chairs? “But that is wasteful,” said Esmée. “What was Wellings thinking?”
    “I’m sure I couldn’t say, ma’am.”
    Esmée just shook her head. “Put them round the table with the other four,” she said. “Then set the others against the wall, I suppose?”
    And there was another problem. Just as MacLachlan had claimed,