“I agree, if you’ll also invite the friends of your choice.”
Sinclair straightened, immediately sensing a trap. “Damnation, Vixen. You want to force me to reveal my friends to your friends, don’t you? Trust me or else?”
“Not everything is a war, you know,” she retorted, scowling. “I want our friends to be friends. Invite them or not, Sinclair. I just hope they have a life to return to when this is finished.”
Her violet eyes practically pleaded with him not to make an issue of a simple dinner party. Nothing, of course, was simple where murder and trust were concerned. He’d probably tortured her enough for a lifetime with that already, though. “I’ll ask them,” he grumbled.
“Thank you.”
He’d made her happy for once, and a corresponding lightness touched what was left of his heart. That didn’t last, though, as he realized he’d just announced his willingness to put his compatriots at risk in order to please his wife. And they would know it, too.
Lucy Havers fidgeted in her straight-backed chair while Pauline Jeffries and her mother, Lady Prentiss, prepared for Pauline’s part in the afternoon’s recital. The seat beside her stood empty, as Victoria chatted in the anteroom with Lady Kilcairn.
Marley leaned against a marble pillar at one side of the music room, watching. Recitals made his skin crawl, but as he’d managed to arrive late and intended to leave before Pauline began squeaking whatever tune her overbearing mother had decided on, he supposed he could stand it.
The intermission would run for another five minutes or so, and the Vixen, at least, seemed completely engrossed. With a last look toward the doorway, Marley pushed away from the pillar. Strolling over to the empty chair beside Lucy, he touched her shoulder.
“I see you’re trapped as well,” he murmured, sinking into the vacant chair.
She jumped. “Oh, my, you startled me. How in the world did you end up here? I thought you couldn’t tolerate this nonsense.”
“I lost a wager,” he said in a low voice, glancing over his shoulder. “And you?”
“Vixen loves these things. And she went with me to Almack’s the other night, so I had to come here.”
“Vixen is here?” he asked, fixing a surprised look on his face.
“She’s just in the other room. You didn’t see her?”
“No,” he lied, settling closer to her. “Althorpe isn’t here, is he? I’ve heard more than enough of his gloating already this Season.”
“What are you talking about?” she whispered. “Lord Althorpe seems very pleasant…though I wouldn’t want to make him angry with me.”
If anyone in the world was more gullible than Vixen Fontaine, it was Lucy Havers. “I’m sure he can be very pleasant,” Marley agreed. “Most men can, when they want something. I worry about the rest of the time, though—especially with Vixen alone and helpless in his household.”
Lucy wrinkled her brow. “He would never hurt her. I’m certain of it.”
“Maybe not physically. But thank God I was there to silence him last week at White’s, before he could do any permanent damage to her reputation.”
“What was he doing?” she whispered, her blue eyes wide and concerned.
“He…suffice it to say that he said some things not fit for a young lady to hear.”
“About Vixen?”
Marley nodded solemnly. “He was drunk, of course, which was the only reason we didn’t come to blows.” Movement in the doorway caught his attention, and he took Lucy’s hand. “If you sense any danger for her, Lucy, please let me know at once. I worry about her. She is…a good friend to me.”
“I should speak to her about this.”
“Are you certain that’s wise?”
She squeezed his fingers. “Yes. She should know what’s going on. I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation.”
“I only want to see her safe. And I miss the fun we all used to have together.”
“She has been much more serious lately, now that I think about it,” Lucy mused. “But don’t worry, my lord. I’ll keep my eyes open.”
Pulling his fingers free, he rose. “Thank you, Lucy. I’ll see you soon.”
He made it back to the far side of the pillar as Vixen entered the room and reclaimed her chair. When Lucy leaned over to whisper something to her, Marley smiled. He felt like whistling as he strolled from the room. Married or not, Vixen Fontaine and her money would be much better off away from damned Sin Grafton and closer to him. And of course, he would be much better off as well.
“Sinclair, you don’t have to do this.”
Victoria stood squeezed against the windowsill as Sin and a small army of footmen rearranged the downstairs office. Her husband, coatless and with shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows, hefted a corner of his late brother’s mahogany desk.
“You said it gave you the shivers,” he grunted. “Left, Henley. I can’t say I’m terribly fond of the damned thing, myself.”
“I know, but—oh, look out for the vase!” Leaping forward, she caught the tottering crystal before it toppled off the bookshelf.
“Good reflexes. Now, you still haven’t said: do you want your desk beneath the window, or closer to the fireplace?”
Clutching the vase, Victoria returned to her tiny space by the window. “Grafton House has twenty rooms. You really don’t have to stuff two desks in here.”
By some miracle they shoved the mahogany behemoth into the hallway without bringing down the ceiling. A moment later, Sin leaned into the doorway. “Wait here.” He vanished again. “Well, my lads, I think this calls for a glass of beer before we load this monstrosity onto the wagon. Milo, the kitchen.”
“With pleasure, my lord.”
The sound of cheers and backslapping faded down the hall. Victoria set the vase back on the bookcase. With the massive desk gone, the office looked much larger and less formal. The carpet directly below where the desk had stood was darker than the rest of the expanse, though whether because of the sun or a remaining bloodstain, she didn’t want to speculate.
“Much better, don’t you think?” Sinclair slapped at the lingering dust on his trousers. His gaze went to the dark patch of carpet as well, and he clenched his fist and swallowed.
“Yes, it’s much better,” she said in her cheeriest voice, “but it still isn’t necessary.”
“It’s already done.” He came forward, catching her around the waist with a possessive confidence that left her breathless. “I think we need to place you by the window. The sunlight puts bronze in your hair.”
“I have a desk in my study upstairs, you know.”
Sin took her chin in his fingers and tilted her face up toward him. “That tiny thing? That’s for correspondence. The office is for business. If I’m to spend half my damned life in here doing accounts, I would at least like to be able to look up and see you.”
He was talking about after—after he’d done his duty by Thomas. It didn’t sound as though he was terribly excited by the prospect, but up until a few days ago he’d never even mentioned it. Now, he had put the future and Victoria together in the same sentence. She took a steadying breath. “And what am I to do at my office desk?”
“Business. Grandmama Augusta heads the voluntary London education committee.”
“She—”
“You didn’t know that, did you?”
The blatant surprise on her face must have been easy to read. “No, I didn’t. I know she’s involved in several charitable organizations, but—”
“Public service has always had a high priority in my family—except for me, of course. It takes a great deal of Grandmama Augusta’s time.”
“I’d call risking your life for your country a public service,” Victoria countered.
“Thank you,” he murmured. “And anyway, my point was that Grandmama has expressed interest in reducing some of her duties. She needs a successor.”
Victoria hugged him hard. “Thank you,” she managed.
“Anything for
you,” he whispered almost too quietly for her to hear, rubbing his cheek along her hair.
And anything for you, she returned silently. She wanted that life he spoke of to begin, with a strength and a hunger she’d never felt before. It had never seemed possible she would ever find it before. Victoria loosened her grip and stepped back.
“If you don’t mind,” she said slowly, trying to select words that wouldn’t make him suspicious, “I’m going out for luncheon with Lucy and Marguerite while you finish arranging. I have no wish to be crushed by my new desk.”
Sin chuckled. “By all means. I’ve several things to look into this afternoon anyway.” He leaned down and kissed her. “And I have several gentlemen to invite to a party.”
Victoria hurried upstairs to change into her green flowered visiting gown. Green was Marley’s favorite color. From his chat with Lucy yesterday, the viscount obviously wanted to see her about something, and she had a few questions for him herself. She was convinced the murderer was either Marley or Kingsfeld. And before a real life with Sinclair could begin, she had to figure out which one it was.
Sin leaned back against his new desk. With a Persian carpet laid over the site of the old desk and the two smaller ones in place, it seemed a different room entirely. He liked it—Thomas’s dark, conservative taste would never do in a household filled with Victoria and her lively menagerie. Part of him, though, felt as though he was removing memories of his brother. “I won’t forget,” he murmured.
His valet leaned into the doorway. “Very cozy.”
He straightened. “Aren’t you supposed to be keeping an eye on Victoria?”
“She’s just leaving. You going to stay and play house all day?”
“Another crack like that, and I may lose my temper, Roman,” Sinclair snapped. “Today’s Thursday—Kingsfeld will be at the horse auctions. I’m going to forget that and call on him at home.”
“You don’t think it could be him,” Roman exclaimed.
“Vixen does. A little reconnaissance might put both of us more at ease.”
“Mind yourself, then.”
“Go mind my wife,” he retorted.
With a concerned scowl, Roman vanished back down the hallway.
Though they were used to working alone, Sinclair supposed he should have asked one of the lads at least to keep watch outside Astin’s house while he was inside. The problem was, he wasn’t willing to consider Thomas’s friend a suspect—yet. And not solely because Victoria had suggested him as one. Sin knew what Crispin would have to say about that, and he didn’t want to hear it.
He arrived at Hovarth House a little before noon, which would put Kingsfeld at the auctions for at least another hour. Suppressing a slight twinge of guilt at what he was about to do, and surprised that he still possessed the ability to feel guilty, Sin turned his stallion over to a groom and climbed the front steps. His knock reverberated into the house for several long seconds before the butler pulled open the door.
“Good afternoon, Geoffreys.”
“Lord Althorpe. Lord Kingsfeld is not home at present.”
Sin frowned. “Isn’t he?” Pulling out his pocket watch, he flipped it open. “Damnation. He’s still at the auctions, isn’t he?”
“Yes, my lord. Is there—”
“Might I wait for him?” Sin cleared his throat. “When one storms out of the house, I don’t believe one is supposed to return twenty minutes later.”
The butler’s expression didn’t change. “My apologies, my lord, but the earl doesn’t allow visitors when he is away from home.”
Several alarm bells went off in Sinclair’s head. While his first instinct was to push past the butler and invent another reason he had to be allowed inside, he needed a less obvious route. He still didn’t know anything, and he wasn’t about to ruin one of his few friendships over a fleeting hunch—or risk alerting Kingsfeld if Vixen turned out to be right.
“That figures,” he drawled. “I’ll go find him at the auctions. My thanks, Geoffreys.”
“My lord.” The door glided closed again.
Cursing under his breath, Sin collected Diable again and headed for Covent Gardens and the horse auctions.
“I’ll take this as a fortuitous coincidence,” Marley said, hopping down from his phaeton.
As he joined her on the sidewalk, Victoria couldn’t help glancing up and down Bond Street. Anyone who saw her in the middle of the shopping district with Lord Marley would be more than happy to share the news with the gossips. “How are you, Marley?”
“Better, now that you’re here. Parrish insisted that we go to the Society Club last night, and we ended up tangled in a damned game of whist with Lord Spenser. Good God, what a bore.”
Victoria chuckled. “It’s good for you to learn patience.”
Lady Munroe and Miss Pladden strolled by, and Victoria smiled and nodded as they passed. Blast. Lady Munroe made Mungo Park look like a Trappist monk parrot.
“Why is learning to accept interminable boredom considered a virtue? I intend to avoid it at every possible opportunity.”
“I don’t doubt it.” Oh, this was ridiculous. She’d gone looking for him, for goodness’ sake. And not only were her reasons for encountering Marley completely respectable, if somewhat—well, very—secretive, but she’d practically made an art form of being fodder for gossip for most of her adult life. But she knew the difference between accidental and intentional troublemaking, and she didn’t want to hurt Sinclair.
“I have an idea,” Marley said, grinning. “They’ve just opened a new monkey cage at the zoo. Come with me to see it, and I’ll purchase you a lemon ice.”
“Oh, I couldn’t,” she stammered, her cheeks warm. She’d wanted a chance encounter, not an entire afternoon spent with the man her husband most suspected.
“Nonsense,” he drawled, taking her arm. “I’ve heard that one of the monkeys bears a striking resemblance to Prinny.” When she hesitated, he smiled more broadly and twitched at her skirt. “Come on, Vixen. You’re not married to a bishop. It’ll be fun.”
She wasn’t married to a bishop, by any means, but Sinclair barely trusted her as it was. If she offended Marley or turned him down, though, she’d likely never be able to manage a private conversation with him again. “All right.” She allowed him to lead her to his carriage. “But I can’t stay long.”
If he hadn’t driven up in the open phaeton, she wouldn’t have gone anywhere with him. She’d done it before, of course, ridden off with Marley to meet up with their friends at Vauxhall or some ball or other. In fact, her escapades with the viscount had been the reason her parents had kept her housebound until the Franton ball. But today, as they clattered down the street, she kept seeing the dark patch of carpet in the office. Victoria had never been an idiot about taking chances, and hopefully she wasn’t being one now.
“I’ve heard that Lady Franton now begins every conversation with, ‘Well, you know, the catastrophe happened in my very garden,’” he drawled.
“So it’s ‘the catastrophe,’ is it?” she said, unsurprised. Her own perspective had altered over the past few weeks.
“For the entire male population of Mayfair, it’s a catastrophe,” he replied, glancing away from the busy street to look at her. “For me, it is.”
Victoria forced a smile. “We both know my reckless ways couldn’t have continued much longer. My parents would have bustled me off to a nunnery.”
“If you’d lasted until you reached your inheritance, you could have carried on however you wanted for the rest of your life.”
“But it would have gotten dull, don’t you think?”
Marley shrugged. “We always had fun.”
For her, most of the mindless meandering had ceased to be fun a long time ago. He didn’t need to know that, though. It certainly wouldn’t do any good—and the friendlier they were, the more likely he was to talk to her. “Yes, we did.”
He chuckled. “Do you remember when Lord Edward and I stole those fir
eworks from the stash at Vauxhall?”
“Yes. You two nearly burned down the Tower Bridge trying to set the silly things off.”
Without warning, Marley leaned across and kissed her. Victoria jumped, clutching her hands together to fight the urge to push him away. “Marley!” She sent up a quick prayer that no one had been looking in their direction. “I’m married!”
“That doesn’t have to change anything,” he said in a low, urgent voice quite unlike his usual drawling tone. “Your damned husband’s probably doing the same thing somewhere else right now. I heard Sophie L’Anjou was his mistress in Paris. How odd that she would come to London so soon after he arrived. Do you really think that’s a coincidence?”
The coincidence hadn’t even occurred to her until he mentioned it. But she didn’t believe it for a moment. Sin would never do such a thing. “Oh, my, do you think so?” she asked anyway. This must be another of the compromises of conscience her husband had mentioned. Compromising her new feelings about Sinclair, though, was even more difficult than luring her friends in for interrogation.
“I wouldn’t put it past him. You have to look out for your own interests, Vix. You used to like it when I kissed you, and that was only a few weeks ago. It doesn’t have to change.”
It had already changed. She didn’t want anyone but Sinclair to kiss her or to hold her. He was the one who made her pulse fly. More importantly, he was the only man who seemed to like the person she liked to be.
“I don’t know,” she hedged. “Perhaps it might make a difference if you could tell me why you dislike Althorpe so much.”
Marley gave a bitter laugh. “You mean besides the fact that he stole you away?”
“You didn’t like him that night at the Frantons’, and that was before any of this…mess happened.”
He frowned. “It’s not something you’d be interested in.”
Victoria’s heart lurched. The Vixen he knew wouldn’t be overly suspicious, and neither would she be afraid of Marley, so before she could think better of it, she whacked him on the arm. “Of course I’m interested. I’m living in the same house with him, and you’re my dearest friend. I value your opinion.”
Meet Me at Midnight Page 23
