Meet Me at Midnight (24 page)

From her expression, she expected him to make fun, as he’d done during the first luncheon they’d attended together. “Have I mentioned that I tend to drool and say some very stupid things from time to time?”

“You don’t drool.” She folded her hands in her lap.

“Ah. I deserved that.”

She chuckled. “That’s all right. My very favorite pastime is chatting with my friends…” Victoria bit her bottom lip, her expression darkening.

“I owe you another apology, then. I’ve made all of your friends into suspects, haven’t I?”

“No. It’s not your fault. Some of them…I…I needed to see differently. They weren’t really my friends. Better to realize that, than not.”

Now she was being noble and making him feel like a complete cad. “Might I suggest we hold a dinner
party, and that you invite the friends of your choice? No suspects allowed.”

Victoria leaned over and kissed his cheek. Not about to be outflanked, he pursued her retreat and caught her lips with his own. After a second’s surprise, she kissed him back. He dimly heard the tittering commentary of the pedestrians and riders around them, but ignored it. Victoria was his. And he wanted them all to know it.

“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.