“Sinclair?”
“Hm? Sorry. I’m just—”
“Attempting to figure out why I’m so upset,” she finished, thankfully not looking angry. “I don’t know. I just didn’t expect it, I suppose. I’ve never even spoken to him before today.” To his surprise, she leaned her cheek against his shoulder. “Heaven knows men have assumed I was stupid before,” Victoria sighed. “I do have something of a reputation.”
A peculiar sensation ran through Sinclair’s chest; strange and familiar all at the same time. He held his breath, trying to memorize it before it was gone. It didn’t seem to go anywhere, though, but settled, warm and close, somewhere in the vicinity of his heart.
“Victoria,” he said softly, reluctant to disturb the peace between them, “having acquired a reputation myself, I know what I’m talking about when I say that no one has the right to assume anyone else’s capacity for understanding, or for injury.”
She was silent for a full minute. “You know, Sinclair,” she finally said, a quaver in her otherwise calm voice, “for a hardheaded scoundrel, you can occasionally be very nice.”
“Thank you. Are you certain you don’t want to return to Grafton House?”
He felt her soft chuckle against his shoulder. “Not after you told your grandmother we’d be attending. And even if you won’t let me help, I won’t be the reason you miss an opportunity to go out and spy.”
His outspoken wife sounded entirely too docile, but he wasn’t about to start an argument in his present addled and ridiculously contented state.
Fortunately the coach stopped before he could begin reciting poetry, since the only ditties he remembered were extremely vulgar and mostly in French. The theater’s lobby was so densely packed with glittering nobility that for a moment Sin had the sensation he’d been locked in someone’s jewelry box. Despite the fact that no one could even move in a straight line, Victoria’s friends and admirers immediately managed to surround them.
“Lionel said it would be a sad crush,” Lucy Havers exclaimed. “Sophie L’Anjou is making her London debut tonight. She’s supposed to be fabulous.”
Sinclair stifled a curse. With all the damned places he could have visited with his wife, it would have to be the same blasted building where Sophie L’Anjou had set up residence.
“Did you see Mademoiselle L’Anjou when she performed in Paris?” Victoria asked, with her usual guileless insight. “She’s reputed to be quite popular there.”
“Yes,” he answered offhandedly. “I saw her on several occasions. She has a lovely voice.” And several other lovely parts that he’d become rather familiar with during the course of his duties for the War Office.
“Althorpe!”
Still unused to hearing that name directed at him, Sinclair turned as Kit and Grandmama Augusta reached them. Kit was grinning like a lunatic, and had the Earl of Kingsfeld in tow.
“Look who I found.”
His first instinct was to set his supposed friend on his backside for behaving like a patronizing buffoon to his wife. Before he could begin punching anyone, though, Victoria’s hand crept down to entwine with his. He forced himself to relax the tensed muscles across his back. If Victoria wanted to hold his hand, berating Kingsfeld could damned well wait for somewhere more private.
“Thank you so much for allowing us to attend tonight,” Victoria said to his grandmother, kissing her on the cheek.
“It’s my pleasure, believe me,” Augusta replied, giving Sin a meaningful look he pretended to be unable to read. He certainly hadn’t done anything to earn her forgiveness; he hadn’t explained himself, and for damned certain he hadn’t found Thomas’s killer. He almost felt easier around her when she was annoyed at him.
“Hello,” Kit said to Lucy, taking her hand and bowing over it. “I’m Althorpe’s fascinatingly witty brother, Kit Grafton.”
Laughing, Victoria made introductions all around, not even hesitating when she came to Kingsfeld. It was for his sake, Sinclair knew, and he wanted to kiss her a thousand times for being more warm and compassionate than he could ever possibly deserve.
“Where are you sitting this evening?” he asked Astin, not feeling nearly as charitable as Vixen.
“Nowhere. I actually came by to talk to you for a moment, if I may.”
Ah. Perhaps the berating could begin sooner than he had thought. “Will you excuse me a minute, Victoria, Grandmama?”
Victoria smiled. “Of course. Don’t be long.”
She hadn’t told him to behave, at least not aloud, but he’d gotten her meaning clearly enough. Together, he and Kingsfeld muscled their way to a fairly secluded corner. “What did you want?”
“After our chat this afternoon, I went through some of my papers. I didn’t find anything that struck me as odd, until I saw this.” The earl pulled a paper from his pocket and unfolded it.
Something had so badly stained and blurred the single page that Sinclair couldn’t begin to decipher what it might say. “All right, what is it?”
“It’s part of a paper your brother and I were working on, part of a presentation before the House. This”—he gestured at the substantial stain—“is what resulted when Lord Marley stopped by our table at White’s to disagree with certain issues Thomas supported. I had completely forgotten about it, but now that I recall, Marley was quite angry.”
“What did your presentation concern?”
“The same topics everything concerned two years ago: Bonaparte and France.”
Marley again, and France again. And though Thomas would have opposed Bonaparte anyway, he had become much more militant about it once Sin had joined the War Office. “My thanks, Astin,” he said. “Please keep this between us for now.”
“Of course.”
Kingsfeld nodded but made no move to depart. He’d given what might turn out to be valuable information, so Sinclair stifled his impatience and waited.
Finally the earl cleared his throat. “I fear I owe you an apology, Sin,” he said in a low voice.
“For what?”
“This afternoon, I may have been…overly enthusiastic in commenting on your wife’s lovely appearance.”
Sin blinked. “You were?”
“I am deeply sorry if I offended you, and I hope it doesn’t damage our friendship. Your brother was a good friend.”
“I don’t think it’s me you need to apologize to, Astin. It wasn’t me that you offended.”
The earl frowned. “It wasn’t?”
“Victoria is quite a bit more than a pretty little bird. You’ll come to see that, though, when you become better acquainted.”
“Very good.” Kingsfeld looked equal parts intrigued and relieved. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Good idea. I’ll speak with you later.”
“Of course. Good evening.”
The news wasn’t anything astonishing, but Kingsfeld had only been looking for one afternoon. And Sinclair could put the reported incident at White’s down as one more black mark against Marley. Compared with the rest of the field, Marley was pulling ahead by a neck—which was now nearly stuck out far enough for a noose to fit around.
When he returned to his party, they had begun moving for the stairs, heading for the balcony and Augusta’s private box. One person, though, was conspicuously absent. “Where’s Victoria?” Sin asked, scanning the crowded lobby for her petite, mauve-garbed form.
“She went off with that big fellow over there,” his brother said, gesturing. “She said she’d only be a moment.”
“Kilcairn,” Sinclair growled, his hackles immediately rising. But just then, Victoria nodded and returned to his side. “What did he want?” he asked in as calm a voice as he could manage.
“I wanted to inquire whether Alexandra would be attending Susan Maugrie’s recital tomorrow. What did Lord Kingsfeld want?”
Sinclair continued glaring over her head at Kilcairn, who lifted an eyebrow at him and turned to follow his wife up the stairs. “Nothing much,” he said auto
matically, then caught her slight frown. “He did want to apologize,” he added, reminding himself that he didn’t have to be as close-mouthed as he used to be.
Her expression became skeptical. “Oh, really?”
He took her arm, moving closer to her and lowering his voice. “Apparently he thought he was handing you too many compliments, as if that were possible, and that I might have been offended.”
“Your friend is an oaf,” she replied, obviously not impressed.
“I know. I wasn’t particularly moved myself. But he’s never been one before, which is why I’m inclined to give him the benefit of the doubt.”
“And he gave you some news about Thomas at the same time he was apologizing, didn’t he?”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“Everything.”
Sin wasn’t quite certain what she meant by that, but odds were it wasn’t a compliment. Arguing wouldn’t serve much purpose when they both agreed that she was right, though. He’d had an opportunity to inform Kingsfeld that his wife neither appreciated nor deserved inane, patronizing, clichéd compliments, and he hadn’t taken it.
On the other hand, he hadn’t forgotten she’d been chatting with Kilcairn, and that she’d managed to turn the conversation conveniently away from that little fact. “Whose recital was that tomorrow?”
Victoria was silent for a heartbeat. “Susan Maugrie’s.”
“And will Alexandra Balfour be attending?”
“Yes.”
“Perhaps I’ll join you, as well.”
“And perhaps one day you’ll trust me a little. Not everyone has a hidden reason for everything they do and every conversation they have.”
He sighed. “I wish I could believe that.”
“I hope someday you’ll be able to,” she returned in the same tone. “Out of everyone in London, only one person shot your brother.”
“That only makes the rest of them not guilty of that particular crime. It doesn’t make them innocent.”
“What are you two gabbing about?” Kit asked, moving ahead to their box as they reached the top of the stairs, and pulling the curtain aside for Augusta. “You look serious as sinners on Sunday.”
“Just a difference of opinion,” Sinclair said, maneuvering so he could take a seat at the back of the box, in the shadows.
Augusta stopped beside the same chair he meant to claim for himself. “Nonsense, Sinclair. Sit beside your wife.”
“You and Victoria are far more fond of the opera than Kit and I. If I sat in front, I would have to stay awake.”
“Then I’ll sit in the back, as well,” Victoria stated. “Everyone stares at me when I sit in the front anyway, and it’s terribly distracting.”
“We can’t all lurk in the shadows,” Kit grumbled. “We’ll look like fugitives.”
“Quite right,” Augusta agreed. “Christopher, sit here beside your grandmother.” She plunked herself down in the rear chair.
Sin stifled an oath. Victoria was beginning to look at him suspiciously, so he held one of the front seats for her while she gracefully seated herself. Sending up a fervent prayer that Sophie L’Anjou wouldn’t cast her eyes in his direction, he took the chair beside her.
A footman provided them with glasses of port, and Sin resisted the urge to down his at once. Getting drunk and falling over the balcony railing would not be the ideal way to avoid Sophie’s notice.
The curtain rose, and he sank a little lower in his chair. The theater was full to the rafters, with even Prinny and his entourage occupying the royal’s box on the opposite side of the stage. Prince George, though, seemed more interested in viewing the crowd than the opera. Female patrons, in particular, received an intense scrutiny through his jeweled opera glasses.
The crowd applauded as Sophie L’Anjou glided onto the stage and made a deep curtsy that showed off most of her spectacular bosom to any interested parties in the audience. Slouching still further, Sinclair returned his attention to the Regent.
The jeweled glasses had become fixed on Sophie’s bosom as she began her first aria of the evening, and Sinclair stifled a smile. With royalty in the audience, Sophie wasn’t likely to waste her time seeking out anyone else. Below the prince on the orchestra level, though, half a dozen young men had their attention aimed in another direction entirely.
Locating the object of their interest was easy, since he was seated beside her. Victoria kept her gaze on the stage, her slender body slightly forward in her chair as she watched and listened. Sinclair felt so drawn to her that his fingers twitched with the desire to pull the clips from her long black hair and let it cascade over his hands. Her lips, painted the same color as her dress for the evening, beckoned him with their soft, supple warmth.
As though sensing the heat of his gaze, she turned her head and looked at him. “What?” she mouthed.
He smiled. “You.”
She blushed. “Shh. You’re missing the story.”
Sin shook his head. “I’m not missing anything,” he whispered.
“Vixen?” Christopher whispered, leaning forward and gripping the back of Sin’s chair. “That girl—Lucy—she’s not serious about anyone, is she?”
“I’m afraid she is, Kit.”
“Blast it. Who was that other one? Marguerite? She batted her eyes at me, I think.”
“That’s because she’s half blind,” Sin muttered, grinning.
“She is not,” Victoria protested. “She’s just shy.”
“So was she batting her eyes, or not?” Leaning forward as he was, Kit didn’t notice Augusta until she reached over and cuffed him on the back of the head. “Dash it, Grandmama,” he protested. “It took me an hour to get my hair to look this way. It’s the very latest, you know.”
“You could’ve gotten straight out of bed and achieved the same look,” Augusta replied calmly. “Now hush.”
Victoria opened her fan and lifted it to her face. Her shoulders shook with her silent laughter, and her eyes sparkled as she glanced at Sinclair again. “She may have been batting, Kit,” she whispered. “I’ll find out for you.”
“Splendid,” Christopher returned, then had to dodge another swipe from his grandmother. “All right, all right. I’ll be quiet. You have no sense of romance, Grandmama.”
“And you have no sense at all, Christopher James Grafton. Hush.”
They did settle down after that, and the remainder of the opera passed uneventfully. Prinny vanished as soon as the curtain fell, no doubt to introduce himself to Mademoiselle L’Anjou. That was fine with Sinclair.
“Did you enjoy it?” he asked Victoria as she took his arm.
“It was wonderful,” she returned, smiling. “My parents rarely let me attend. They thought it was too frivolous, I suppose.”
Sinclair made a mental note to purchase the next available box. “If they thought opera was frivolous, I’m surprised anything in the world could have convinced them to let me near you.”
Her expression grew more somber. “They thought I was too frivolous, as well.”
He put his hand over hers where it rested on his arm. “That is their mistake, and their loss. And my gain.”
“Hmm. I continue to be impressed by your better qualities,” she mused, her violet eyes dancing.
If she didn’t agree to spend the night with him tonight, he was going to break down her door. “I continue to be surprised that I have better qualities.”
At the foot of the wide staircase, Augusta paused to wait for them. “Will you come for dinner tomorrow night?” She must have seen the hesitation in his eyes, because she turned to Victoria before he could draw a breath to respond. “The responses to the invitations have begun to arrive, and I hear you have a talent for arranging seating charts, my dear.”
“Who told you that?”
“Lady Chilton.” Augusta smiled. “I support the orphaned children’s fund.”
The two of them immediately began chatting about charitable causes, while Kit prattled
to his brother about some horse race he wanted to attend, and Sin mentally undressed his wife. When he was finally able to pry them apart, he said a quick good evening to his relations and escorted Victoria to their waiting coach. As he handed her in, the driver leaned over the top to look at him.
“It’s a mad crush, my lord. It’ll take me a few minutes just to get out of this.”
Sin nodded. “Take your time, Gibbs. We’re in no hurry.”
The accompanying footman and the driver glanced at one another, and he thought he caught their knowing grins as he stepped inside and pulled the door closed. Just in case they hadn’t caught his meaning, he closed the flimsy latch on the inside of the door, as well.
“What are you doing?” Victoria asked, unbuttoning her gloves.
“Let me do that,” he said, drawing her hand forward. Slowly, he unbuttoned the second delicate button and pulled the soft kid glove from her fingers.
She was staring at him, her color scarlet. “In the carriage?”
“Yes. Definitely in the carriage.” As the coach rolled forward a few feet, he took her other hand and rendered it naked, as well.
“Sinclair, won’t they know?” She gestured toward the driver’s perch.
“Probably.” Leaning forward, he unfastened the clasp of her cloak and let it slide down the seat behind her.
“But—”
“Kiss me,” he interrupted, tugging her forward.
Victoria half fell into his arms, pushing him back in his seat and meeting his mouth with a passion he’d begun to think he’d dreamed.
Hot, unrestrained desire inflamed him. She was his. Even as her mouth molded with his, she was undoing his waistcoat, as hungry for him as he was for her. Moaning, she started to tug at his coat, but he put his hands over hers and returned them to his chest.
Meet Me at Midnight Page 17
