Meet Me at Midnight (21 page)

He nodded. “I know. He made it through the war fairly intact.”

“I still don’t see why Marley would single out your bro—”

“They used to be friends,” Sinclair interrupted. “From recent comments he’s made, Marley pretends their relationship never changed.”

“But you know that it did.”

“I know that it did.” He shrugged. “There’s more, as well. Marley and Thomas were both at Hoby’s the day he died; Marley had been in Grafton House numerous times and knew Thomas liked to spend the evenings in his office…. Are you all right?”

Victoria had begun shaking. She knew Marley. She’d considered him a friend. For God’s sake, she’d let him kiss her. “I…don’t want you to think I’m incapable of believing you if I say you’re wrong,” she said slowly. “It’s not because he’s my friend, or anything like that.”

“What, then?”

She could have wept from relief. He was still listening. He might think she was in error, but he was still willing to listen to what she had to say. Oh, Lord—she wasn’t just falling in love with him. She’d already fallen.

“Marley likes things that are easy. Gambling is easy. Killing someone and getting away with it can’t be.”

“Greed and self-preservation are good motivators.” Sin came forward and sank to his knees before her.
“I’m not absolutely certain—yet. But do you see why I don’t want you involved?”

“Did you know that Thomas had been social with Lady Jane Netherby?”

He frowned at her. “You said you didn’t know of any acquaintances.”

“I didn’t. I do now.”

Sinclair’s amber eyes darkened. “Kilcairn.”

“Yes, he tends to know everything about everyone.”

He remained silently at her feet, his expression distracted and thoughtful. Her heart leapt. Finally, she’d given him information that he didn’t already know.

“Lady Jane Netherby,” he repeated. “Are you certain?”

Victoria nodded. “And when I introduced myself to her, she reacted very oddly. In fact—”

“You
introduced
yourself to her?”

“Sinclair, I’m not completely incompetent,” Victoria snapped. “I was at the same dress shop, and we were looking at the same calico fabrics. She was friendly—perhaps a little aloof, but I put it to shyness. When I said I was Lady Althorpe, though, she said something cryptic and practically bolted out the door.”

He put his hands on her knees. “What did she say?”

“When she mentioned that she and Thomas had been friends, I said that I wished I’d known him better. She replied that knowing someone too well can have its drawbacks. Then she went on about how a person’s reputation is theirs to control while they’re alive, but after they’re dead it rests in the hands of anyone who cares to speak about them.”

His grip on her knees tightened. Slowly he raised himself up until their faces were only inches apart. “I knew he’d been seeing someone, but he never men
tioned who it was. He kept teasing me with it—and then, of course, his letters stopped.”

The pain and regret in his voice hurt to hear. Victoria cupped his face in her hands and kissed him. He leaned into her, plundering her mouth hungrily. Just as the heat skittering through her veins became molten fire, though, he sank back again.

“Get dressed,” he said, standing up. “I want to introduce you to someone.”

B
y the time Sinclair and Victoria left Grafton House it was nearly midnight, and a heavy fog had settled over the streets. They didn’t have far to go, so rather than attracting attention with a horse and rig, Sin took Vixen’s hand and set out toward Hyde Park.

Quiet as Mayfair was this evening, Sinclair kept a firm grip on his walking cane—and the razor-sharp rapier sheathed inside the ebony wood. He wasn’t about to let anything happen to Victoria.

The safest way to keep her under control would be to include her in the plotting—to a degree. He couldn’t deny any longer that she’d already helped, and in more ways than her sleuthing. There were moments now, in her presence, when he felt almost human again.

They crossed into the park and Victoria edged closer to him. He resisted the urge to pull her into the protection of his arms, though; he needed to be alert, and the closer she was to him, the less clear his mind seemed to become.

At the nearest grove of oak trees, they stopped. “Lady Stanton,” he called in a low voice, and caught
Victoria’s surprised look. Again he read jealousy in her violet gaze, and he found it profoundly satisfying.

A wall of fog drifted before them. As it cleared a little, he caught sight of Crispin rounding a tree and making his way toward them. “Are we late?” he asked.

The big Scotsman kept his gaze on Victoria, his expression unreadable. “Nae. I’m early.”

“Crispin, my wife, Victoria. Vixen, Crispin Harding.”

“
You’re
Lady Stanton?”

“Sometimes.” Crispin turned his attention to Sinclair. “Do ye have a moment for a private word, Sin?”

Sinclair shook his head. He knew what the private word would be, and he had no desire to hear a lecture on whether he was leading this investigation with his brain or his nether regions. He was the one who usually gave that lecture. “What do you know about Lady Jane Netherby?” he asked instead.

“Netherby? she’d be the daughter of the Earl of Brumley.” Harding glanced at Victoria again, obviously uncertain how much he should be saying.

“Thomas was seeing her,” Sin supplied. “She seemed a bit skittish about discussing him.”

“Not skittish,” Victoria contributed in a low voice. “Reluctant to talk, once she realized who I was. Not just about Thomas, but about anything.”

“If she was thinkin’ she might be the next Lady Althorpe, meeting you might not have been very cheery for her,” Crispin returned.

“Crispin, I would—”

“—appreciate if I’d look into her, anyway,” the Scot finished. “Aye. Just in case you’re still interested, three nobles left London by sunrise the day after the mur
der.” He pulled a note from his pocket and handed it over.

“Who?” Sinclair asked, trying to decipher Crispin’s scrawl in the darkness.

“The Duke of Highbarrow, Lord Closter, and…” He looked at Victoria again. “And one other,” he finished acridly.

“Lord Marley, you mean,” she said, holding the big man’s gaze as though she discussed murder and murderers all the time.

Crispin’s expression eased a little. “Aye. Lord Marley. You have anything more for me, Sin?”

Sin hesitated. The big Scot was looking for a chance to vent his anger, and Sinclair really didn’t want Victoria to hear any of it. Neither, though, did he want to leave her alone. “All right. Vixen, wait right here for a moment. Don’t move.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Sinclair motioned Crispin to follow him. A few paces away, beyond the shelter of the trees, he stopped. “Don’t give me that look, Harding,” he whispered. “I can’t keep her from helping, but I can use it to our advantage.”

“Ye want her to tag along, that’s fine. None o’ my affair. But if she makes a bad step, all of us could end up dead. Ye might’ve asked me and the lads before ye gave her all our secrets.”

“I’m giving her what she needs to know to help me find a murderer,” Sin retorted in a low voice. “When we all returned to London I thought I could just sniff around the fringes of Mayfair, but that wasn’t very practical. I need to be right in the middle. I’m a part of this damned society now, and if I keep skulking about and prying, the wrong person
will
notice.”

“So she’s your armor for a full frontal assault. Does she know that?”

“Probably. And I’m not going to discuss it any further. Are you set for tomorrow night?”

“Aye. We’ll be ready. You just go and have a grand time with your new friends.” Harding turned on his heel.

“Crispin,” Sin muttered at his back. “Be careful.”

The big Scot paused. “You’re the one who’s risking his neck, Sin. I just hope ye know what you’re doing.”

“So do I.”

Victoria jumped as he emerged from the fog. “My goodness. I almost expect Frankenstein’s monster out here tonight.”

“You’d probably adopt him,” Sin said dryly, and was rewarded by her hushed laugh.

“Your Lady Stanton doesn’t like my being here, I presume,” she said.

Sinclair took her hand again. “Let’s get you back inside. It’s cold tonight.”

“He thinks I’ll do something stupid.”

“No, he doesn’t.”

“You’re not just humoring me, are you?” Victoria pulled her hand free and stopped. “You’re not just pretending that I’m being helpful?”

What had it been like, he suddenly wondered, for this intelligent, beautiful young woman to spend all of her time in the company of men who addressed her perfect breasts rather than her eyes? To have someone court her diamonds and not even notice there might be a diamond beneath?

“No,” he said quietly. “I’m not pretending. You’ll just have to give us all a bit of time to get used to
you. We’re—I’m—not used to being able to trust anyone.”

She nodded. “I know. There are people you can trust, though.” Victoria leaned against his shoulder, both hands wrapped around his arm. “Good, honest people do exist.”

“I’m beginning to believe you.” He’d found one, it seemed. And he wasn’t about to let her go.

Augusta’s ball certainly drew an eclectic circle of guests, Victoria reflected. Lady Drewsbury’s dignified friends mingled with the young gentlemen Kit had invited down from Oxford. Into the mix was added Victoria’s rather wild set, or at least those who hadn’t gotten into fights with her husband. Sinclair’s choices occupied the fringes—his three allies, who mingled and chatted with various suspects Sin had wanted to encounter in a controlled, yet social, setting.

“This is…unexpected,” Lionel Parrish commented, as he approached with a glass of Madeira for her and one for Lucy. “I hope we don’t end the evening with a civil war. It would definitely be memorable, but a bit bloody as well, I would imagine.”

“It’s amazing,” Lucy agreed. “I’d never have thought to see Lord Liverpool and Lord Halifax in the same room together without either of them throwing things.”

Victoria was rather surprised herself that no one had yet called anyone else outside for a duel. “Lady Augusta is amazing.”

“And so are you,” Lionel pointed out. “Even your husband looks civilized.”

She turned to see Sinclair, standing by the musicians and chatting with Kit and one of his young friends.
He looked more than civilized; he looked delicious. Her pulse jumped and sped. “Yes, he cleans up rather well.”

“And you convinced Marley to come,” Parrish continued, surprise touching his dry voice. “That was a…brave choice on your part.”

A shiver of an entirely different sort ran down her spine as she caught sight of Marley, encircled by their usual set of cronies. She’d sent him a personal invitation at Sinclair’s request, though it had made her feel dirty and nauseous to do it. Sinclair had called it a compromise of conscience. The offhand statement made her wonder how many times he’d had to compromise parts of himself to accomplish a task.

“May I steal Vixen away for a moment?” Sin’s warm hands slid down her shoulders.

Whether he was humoring her or not, over the past day or two she’d begun to feel part of his life instead of apart from it. It was a heady feeling.

“Oh, yes,” Lucy said, chuckling. “We have to go tease Marguerite, anyway.”

“Tease her about what?” Sinclair asked Victoria, as Lucy and Lionel departed.

“About batting her eyes at your brother, I would imagine,” she supplied.

“Kit? What…Oh. I don’t think he’s quite ready for matrimony, yet.”

“Hmm. Sometimes it just sneaks up on you when you least expect it.”

“I see.” Gently he kneaded her shoulders. “And what might one expect if this happens?”

She wanted to lean back against him and have him wrap his strong arms around her. “One never knows,” she murmured. “It’s very…interesting, I hear.”

His soft chuckle vibrated deep inside her. This was what being married was supposed to be like: two people with eyes only for one another, the rest of the world and killers and disapproving parents and friends be damned. Smiling, she resisted the urge simply to close her eyes and let the moment sink into her.

A heartbeat later she wished she had closed her eyes, but it was too late. She straightened as reality intruded. “Your Crispin is scowling at us.”

Sinclair cleared his throat and released her, stepping around to face her. “Right. Is she here, yet?”

Victoria knew immediately to whom he was referring. They had sent one additional belated invitation, to Lady Jane Netherby. “No. I told you she wouldn’t come.”

“That’s part of the test, too. It all means something.”

“I just wish we knew what.”

“We will. Eventually.”

She nodded. “Whom do you want me to begin with?”

“I thought Lord and Lady Hastor would be a good choice. He and Thomas went hunting together on several occasions.”

Victoria looked in their direction and had to stifle her sudden frown. “But they’re chatting with my parents.”

He smiled, his eyes dancing with cynical humor. “Well, I can’t very well speak to them then, can I?”

“I suppose not. What’s your plan?”

“If it makes you feel any better, while you’re suffering your torture, I thought I might have a little chat with Kilcairn.”

“Really?”

“If you trust him that much, I suppose I can trust him a little.”

She wanted to throw her arms around him and kiss him. He trusted her. Not only that, but he’d admitted it. “Good luck,” she murmured, trying to keep from grinning like a halfwit.

“Let me know if you see Lady Jane.” Leaning down, he brushed his lips across her cheek and then went to find Lucien.

Usually, parties like this were beyond easy—they left her bored and restless and feeling like a new dress in a window display. Tonight, though, nervousness and tension sizzled through her as she moved from group to group spread throughout the Drewsbury House ballroom, the drawing room, and an upstairs study. Nothing was the same. Every word she spoke, everything she heard, was sifted through her senses for one purpose: to learn something about Thomas Grafton’s murder.

After only an hour she was ready to run screaming into the street. When she looked for deceit and lies, she seemed to see them everywhere. Sinclair had managed to do this all day, every day, for five years. No wonder he regarded everyone with such jaded cynicism.

“Good evening, Lady Althorpe.”

She jumped, nearly spilling her glass of Madeira down the front of Lord Hauverton’s coat. “Lord Kingsfeld,” she said, hanging desperately onto her tired smile. “We’d given up on seeing you this evening.”

“I meant to be here earlier.” The earl smiled. “I owe you an apology, it seems.”

“We began badly,” she said, determined to be congenial. “Let us speak no more of it.”

He took her hand and bowed over it. “You are a gracious lady. Might I impose on you to guide me to Sin?”

Her annoyance deepened, but she’d never been one to shrink from a challenge. “It’s no imposition. Lord and Lady Hauverton, if you’ll excuse me?”

“I hope Sin explained my mistake to you,” Kingsfeld said as he strolled beside her. “Surely you must be accustomed to the men of your acquaintance reminding you of your beauty.”

“As I said, the past is the past. Today, we’ll speak of today. Where is Kingsfeld Park? Sinclair never said.”

“Staffordshire. A more lovely place you’ve never seen. It even rivals Althorpe, if I do say so myself.”

“Did you spend much time at Althorpe, then? Or Thomas at Kingsfeld? Wiltshire and Staffordshire are quite distant from one another.”

“I visited when I could. Thomas never left Althorpe until the Season and his duties with Parliament demanded it, and then he returned to it as quickly as he could.”

That made sense, if Thomas was worried about missing one of Sinclair’s scattered letters. “I look forward to seeing the estate. Sinclair and Kit both speak very fondly of it. I’ve seen some of Thomas’s sketches, so I have an idea, but there’s nothing like seeing a place with one’s own eyes.”

“Ah, yes, Thomas’s doodles.” Kingsfeld chuckled. “I’m a firm believer in not keeping anything about that could cause undue embarrassment in the event of one’s untimely death.”

“Did you ever view any of his sketches? I don’t see how they could cause anything but pride in his abilities, and sorrow that he didn’t have time to further develop his talents.”

He smiled. “So you consider yourself knowledgeable in the arts?”

Her annoyance deepened. Though his continued belief in her dim-wittedness wasn’t surprising, it grated considerably. Neither did she feel inclined to be quite as polite toward him as she had been the last time. This time, Sinclair already had whatever information he needed from the patronizing twit. “Knowledgeable? Not so much about pencil and charcoal sketches, but I have advised several of my friends regarding landscapes. I’m a particular fan of Gainsborough’s garden portraits.”

“I find them highly romanticized and far too softhearted and flattering.”

“I thought the object of art was to reflect and capture beauty.”

“The
objet d’art
, my dear, is to make the artist money.”

“Money might be a product, but art is its own
raison d’etre
. Many things are.” She felt like sticking her tongue out at him. Her skill at French could stand against anyone’s—except, Sin’s, perhaps.