Sinfully Ever After

By Jackie Barbosa

Lady Jane St. Clair should be happy. After all, she's betrothed to the man she adores. But the Earl of Chester is a notorious rake who has dallied with London's loveliest women, and "Plain Jane" can never hope for his fidelity. Unless she can find another way to compete...

Gerard Nash is resigned to a lustless marriage and, for appearances, has given up his mistress. But celibacy is not for him, and in the weeks before his wedding, he frequents London's poshest brothel. There, a masked woman with the body of a goddess brings him exquisite pleasure. There's just one catch.

This harlot must remain a virgin.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bryant Street Publishing
• Release date: Sep 14, 2021
• ISBN: 9781094423449

Book preview

1

London, England—April, 1817

Lady Jane St. Clair had been quietly, desperately in love with Gerard Everett, Earl of Chester, for more than half her life. When she was ten, her dewy-eyed devotion had seemed harmless enough, a childlike, uncomplicated emotion. In the ensuing eleven years, however, her innocent adoration had not dimmed, but instead matured into the full-blooded, full-bodied passion of a grown woman.

All the more reason she must not succumb to temptation and accept his proposal.

A gentle squeeze of her gloved hand brought her back to the present. Gerard—she supposed she ought to think of him as Lord Chester now that he had inherited his uncle’s title, but it was difficult after so many years—sat beside her on the gold-and-mulberry-cushioned settee, his large, thick-lashed brown eyes bearing down on her with all their persuasive weight.

Please, Jane, say you will make me the happiest of men.

What a ridiculously clichéd thing for him to say, Jane scoffed to herself, but her heart danced a jig anyway. He sounded so earnest, as though he really believed the words.

If only he weren’t so handsome. So charming.

So utterly incapable of fidelity.

She tore her gaze away from his face, from the sincerity of his expression. Why?

Why? Even with her eyes averted, she could see his eyebrows draw together and his lips crumple with confusion.

Why would marrying me make you the happiest of men, my lord? Her voice caught a little, strangled by thickness of her throat.

He caught her chin between his fingers and turned her head so that she had to look at him. Blast him, he was as practiced an actor as ever lived! Now he appeared not puzzled, but wounded.

Jane, you are everything a man in my position could possibly want in a wife. It is always a pleasure to be in your company. You are kind, intelligent, well-read, and witty.

But not beautiful. Even when he intended to flatter her, Gerard couldn’t bring himself to tell her she was beautiful.

He massaged her palm with his thumb. In fact, I daresay you are my dearest friend, he continued, heedless of the terrible longing that swelled in her breast and belly at his touch. There is no woman I admire and esteem more than you, Jane St. Clair, and no other woman I would rather have by my side for the rest of my life.

What of passion? she wanted to shout. What of love?

But she knew the answer. Aristocratic marriages were seldom based on passion or love. Those that were, like her brother’s, incited more ridicule than respect. In truth, admiration, esteem, and friendship were a better foundation for a successful union than the financial and dynastic concerns that induced many couples to marry. Most would consider themselves lucky to have that much.

She could not blame Gerard for being a product of his station, any more than she could blame him for not loving her as she loved him. For not desiring her as she desired him. Why should he want plain Jane when he could have his pick of the loveliest wives and widows of the ton, of the most expensive actresses and courtesans? Like colorful flowers, the beautiful ladies beckoned him and he flitted from one to the next, never satisfied to light in one place for long, always in search of a brighter, prettier blossom.

But he did always come back to her. She was his dearest friend.

Every mistress he took, every light-skirt he slept with, was already a knife in her heart. Marrying him could do naught but deepen the wound. But if he married someone else, she would have no part of him at all, and that would cut her heart out altogether.

A tremulous smile formed on her lips and she nodded. Yes, Gerard. Yes, I will marry you.

His beautifully sculpted features lit with pleasure and he pressed his lips, dry and chaste, to her cheek. Thank you, Jane. You won’t regret it.

Too late.

I say, Chester, you look like the cat who drank the cream. The Earl of Holyfield rose from their customary table in the corner of Brooks’ and extended his palm in greeting. Which deserving gentleman have you cuckolded this week?

Gerard clasped his friend’s hand and grinned. None yet, but then, ’tis only Tuesday. He nodded to the footman who stood a discreet distance away. The gray-haired servant responded with a bow before turning on his heels to fetch Gerard his drink.

Hmmm, Holyfield murmured, his hawkish features sharpening with curiosity. I’ve never seen you look pleased with yourself unless you were gloating over a new conquest.

And who is to say I am not? Gerard waggled his eyebrows as he took his seat, unable to stop grinning. He hadn’t expected today’s campaign to resolve quite so easily or satisfactorily as it had.

Holyfield raised his eyebrows skeptically. Oh? And when do you plan to elucidate me as to your new light-o’-love’s identity? He settled into his chair and reached for his glass.

The footman appeared and set a tumbler on the table, then faded into the shadows. Gerard lifted the cut crystal and swirled the amber liquid beneath his nostrils. The rich, biting scent of his favorite French brandy was unmistakable.

He took a sip before giving his friend and cousin a mock frown. Now, really, Holyfield, that’s no way to speak of a man’s future wife.

The earl’s jaw dropped in a most gratifying fashion. Wife? You?

Why not me? Marriage seems to agree with you well enough. That was an understatement. His cousin fairly exuded wedded bliss, as did the Marquess of Grenville, Lady Jane’s elder brother, and really, that had been far from anyone’s expectation given his sordid reputation.

Holyfield harrumphed noisily and then sighed. Yes, why not you? Very well, then. You must tell me all about this paragon who has induced you to abandon your commitment to bachelorhood. It’s far too early in the Season to be one of this year’s crop of debutantes. A lovely, young widow, perchance? Or have you decided to make an honest woman of an opera singer and thereby drive my beloved aunt to an early grave?

Neither, came the gruff response.

Gerard didn’t have to turn his head to know the source of the voice. Grenville. And he sounded none too pleased.

The marquess, a tall, elegant man who would have cut an imposing figure even if he weren’t richer than Croesus and his family nearly as powerful as Prinny himself, ambled round the table and folded himself into the chair across from Gerard. Though his expression was bland and his pose deliberately casual, Grenville exuded a predator’s air of violence. And Gerard had a strong intuition that he was on the menu.

Holyfield looked from one man to the other in obvious confusion. I’m sure one of you will enlighten me in due course.

Grenville folded his arms over his chest, crossed his legs at the ankles, and fixed Gerard with a hard, blue stare. The challenge was both implicit and unequivocal.

With a shrug, Gerard turned toward his cousin. This morning, I asked Lady Jane St. Clair to marry me. He chose to ignore Holyfield’s visible recoil, and pressed cheerfully ahead. And she has graciously agreed to make me the happiest of men.

The earl looked at the marquess, and something Gerard couldn’t read passed between them. The two other men were of an age, had attended Eton and Oxford together, and remained the best of friends despite the fact that Holyfield had eloped with Grenville’s intended bride and Grenville had subsequently married Holyfield’s jilted betrothed.

Holyfield trained his shrewd green gaze on Gerard. Lady Jane will make some lucky man an excellent wife. But you, my friend, will make her a lousy husband.

Gerard bristled at the implication. You don’t belief I love her, do you? He narrowed his focus back to Grenville. You, too, I suppose?

Grenville raised a single eyebrow. She may be my sister, but I am not blind, and neither are you. It will take more than a show of indignation to convince me you’ve fallen head over heels for her now when you’ve known her for years.

Gerard set his empty tumbler back on the table with a thud. You sell your sister short, Grenville. What she lacks for beauty on the outside is more than compensated for by the depth of her mind and the quality of character.

And you are certainly known for your pursuit of women with depth. Grenville snorted. Deep pussies, mayhap, but scarcely deep minds. Can you look me in the eye and tell me you love my sister enough to be faithful to her?

Gerard spun his glass between his fingers. He had to admire the marquess’s candor. At the same time, the notion of fidelity in a ton marriage was ludicrous. No one expected it, and a married man who didn’t keep an occasional mistress was suspected of being either impotent or on the verge of destitution.

Perhaps Grenville, married less than a year and to all appearances wildly smitten with his wife, could be forgiven for clinging to the delusion that he would never stray from her. Or she from him. After all, Society women were just as fickle and faithless as their male counterparts. And thank God for that, for the wives of his peers had provided him with many hours of pleasurable diversion.

But in the end, diversion was all they could provide. Passion was ephemeral. Once a woman’s body had yielded its secrets, revealed where and how to touch for greatest effect, greatest mutual benefit, the thrill soon faded. The affair was best ended before monotony and boredom set in and killed any remaining esteem the partners might yet have for one another.

Gerard had been through it dozens of times. No woman,

Reviews for Sinfully Ever After

[joyce · Rating: 1 out of 5 stars]

prolly the most disappointing book in this series. i just cant believe gerard going to a brothel despite him deciding he wouldnt go through with fcking the girl who approached him is overshadowed by the fact that jane deceived him. really. the fact that he decided to cheat on her should’ve been a great deal too. but jane’s just such a fool she forgave him easily. i loved most of this author’s books but not this one. he was so hellbent on having a mistress even after marriage but wont accept if ever jane had a lover. that guy was such a hypocrite. had eleanor not knocked some sense on that fool, he would only continue blaming jane as if his completely innocent. srsly. jane wasnt even attempting to cheat on him when she went on that brothel but that’s not the case on gerard’s part. he went on the brothel with full intention of fcking someone despite having a fiancee.

“she’d been unfaithful to him with him.” look at this hypocrite. as if he’s not doing the same to her. worse, in his mind, venus was not jane yet he continued to fck her nonetheless. and he freaking get away with that fact bc of jane’s deception.

but rly tho, what’s with the st. clairs deceiving their beloveds??? is it family trait??