Meet Me at Midnight (6 page)

When she thought about it, his invitation to the other two ladies had been rude to her. Apparently the company of any woman was completely the same to him—and as stupidly attracted to him as she felt, she intensely disliked his attitude. If she did have to go through with marrying him, that was one thing she was absolutely not going to put up with.

Luckily for Sinclair, he had no idea she was already making plans for his reformation. He stayed a few feet behind the two ladies as they entered Hyde Park, his attention divided between their amusing conversation and the crowds of vehicles and pedestrians also enjoying the afternoon. He needed access to these people, and the lovely young lady pretending to ignore him was his best method of entry. At the moment, though, Victoria didn’t seem to want to be alone with him.

He wished Marguerite Porter had decided to join them. Her uncle was Viscount Benston, and Benston had been acquainted with Thomas. Miss Porter was
obviously shy of scandal, but he could wait. If he’d learned one thing working for His Majesty’s government, it was patience. Marguerite and the Vixen were friends, and so as long as his relationship with Victoria continued, he would see Miss Porter again.

“You’re being very quiet back there,” Victoria said, her parasol shielding her face from his view.

“I’m enjoying the sights,” he answered, lowering his gaze to contemplate her slender, rounded backside.

Lucy turned to face him. “Have things changed much since you were last in London?”

“A few more locks on the doors, perhaps, though that may be solely in my honor.” Seizing the opportunity, Sin increased his pace and caught Lucy’s free arm around his. “So tell me, Miss Havers, how many hearts has my betrothed broken?”

“Oh, hundreds.”

“Lucy! Don’t gossip with him!”

He leaned around Lucy. With one finger he pushed Victoria’s parasol down so he could look her in the eye. “It’s only fair. You’ve been trumpeting my foul reputation, and I know nothing of yours.”

She narrowed her lovely violet eyes. “Then perhaps you shouldn’t have kissed me.”

“But I wanted to kiss you.” At the sight of her blush, he drew a breath. Good God. “And after we’re married, we will pursue the next steps in a seduction. In fact, we shall—”

“Excuse me,” Lucy said, blushing crimson as she slipped out from between the two of them, “but are you certain this is only the third time you’ve…conversed?”

Sinclair used her escape to close the gap between
himself and the Vixen. “Tell me, my lady, am I being too familiar?”

“Yes. And if we have any chance of escaping this dreadful trap, your looming over me like this is not going to help.”

“‘Looming’?” he repeated, wondering whether she was conscious of her flirtation, or whether she just naturally attracted men to her like bees to a beautiful flower. “I don’t believe anyone has ever accused me of looming before.”

She pointed the parasol at his chest and shoved. “Yes, looming.”

As her lips formed the soft sound, he was aware of just how much he desired to taste them again. Whether a deliberate actress or not, she was irresistible. Almost without thinking, he leaned down toward her.

“Don’t you dare,” she hissed, lifting the parasol between them again.

He disarmed her, snatching the parasol from her fingers before she could blink. “Why not?”

“Give that back!”

“Why shouldn’t I kiss you?”

She stomped her foot. “Because we’re trying to get out of this marriage—not make escape impossible.”

With only a few days left before half of London witnessed their wedding, he needed to let her know he intended to go through with it. He owed her that. At least that. “
You’re
trying to escape this marriage,” he said slowly. “I like the idea.”

“
You what?
” She blanched.

“Um, perhaps we should continue our walk,” Lucy suggested, glancing past Victoria.

He followed her gaze to the assemblage of pedestrians and carriages, which were beginning to face in
their direction. “We seem to have attracted an audience,” he murmured, annoyed—not because of the attention, but because he truly had wanted to kiss her.

“I don’t care who’s watching,” Victoria snapped. “Why in the world do you want to be forced into marriage with me?”

“Why should I not?” He smiled, grateful he’d deprived her of the parasol before she could try disemboweling him with it. “As I said, I intended to marry soon, anyway. You’re of good family, you’re astoundingly lovely, and I’ve already secured your father’s permission. A fairly painless prospect, as I see it.”

She didn’t look flattered, or amused, or agreeable. In fact, she looked furious.

“The night of the Franton soiree,” she ground out, “I made a vow to speak only to nice men. I wish I’d kept it.” She turned on her heel, dragging Lucy along with her. “Good day, Lord Althorpe.”

“And your parasol, my lady?”

“Keep it.”

He tipped his hat. “I’ll see you next Saturday, then. For the wedding.”

Staying a fair distance behind them, Sinclair made certain they returned safely to Fontaine House. What bothered him the most about marrying Victoria was that if he was somehow the reason Thomas had died, then she had possibly become a target now, as well.

A moment after the two ladies entered the house, his phaeton left the drive and turned up Brook Street toward him. As Sin climbed up into the seat, tossing the umbrella down beside him, Roman handed over the reins and swung over to sit on the narrow perch at the rear of the vehicle. Sin clucked to the team, and they clattered off again.

“Well?” he prompted, once they’d rounded the corner.

“It’s possible you’re not as insane as I thought,” the valet said grudgingly. “You’re still a fool, but she’s…she’s…”

“Astonishingly attractive,” Sin finished, giving a slight grin.

“Much too fine for a blackguard like you’re pretending to be. That’s what I was going to say.”

“And you talk too much for a valet, or a groom, or whatever it is you’re pretending to be. I’m not going to have this argument with you again.”

“How about this argument, Sin? You could be putting her in d—”

“Danger. I know. Which is why, after Saturday,
you
are going to become her invisible guardian angel.”

He felt the valet’s frown boring into the back of his skull. It needed to be done, though, and Roman was one of the few people he trusted to do it.

“And who’s going to be your guardian angel, while I’m watching her?”

“The devil doesn’t need an angel, Roman.”

The valet snorted. “Tell that to the killer.”

“I hope to, very soon.”

By Saturday morning, Victoria would have agreed to marry nearly anyone just so she could escape the house and the frowning silence of her parents. She hated being housebound, and she hated the fact that no one except Lucy would come to call on her, though even her friend had been absent for the past two days. Lady Stiveton kept insisting that everything would be fine after this week, as though having the Marquis of Althorpe put a ring on her finger would render her
acceptable again. And the idiotic thing was, it probably would.

“This is ridiculous,” she muttered into her dressing mirror.

“Yes, my lady,” Jenny agreed, her voice strained as she pulled the laces of the wedding gown tight around Victoria’s rib cage.

“Tighter, Jenny,” she instructed her maid, gripping the table to keep from being yanked over backward. “If I can’t breathe, I’ll faint, and then I can’t get married.”

“A fair last-minute plan, if you hide all the smelling salts first,” a new voice replied.

Victoria spun to face the doorway. “Lex!” she shrieked, hurrying forward.

Alexandra Balfour, the Countess of Kilcairn Abbey, returned her warm embrace. “So it’s true.” She released Victoria and fluffed one of the lace sleeves she’d crushed. “You might have given us a bit more notice. Lucien nearly had to run his team to the ground to get us to London in time. Our coach won’t even arrive until tomorrow.”

“If this were up to me, it wouldn’t be happening at all,” Victoria returned, plunking herself down on the edge of the bed.

“My lady, your gown,” Jenny protested.

“Excuse us for a few moments, won’t you, Jenny?” Alexandra asked, glancing from the maid to Victoria.

The maid bobbed a curtsy. “Lady Victoria is to be at the Cathedral by eleven.”

“And she will be.”

As Jenny left the room, Alexandra took a seat beside her friend. She was wearing her “I told you so” look, and Victoria scowled. “I don’t need a lecture,
Lex. At least no one had to lock me in a cellar to get me to cooperate.”

Her friend chuckled. “Point taken. So what happened?”

“Everything—nothing. Take your pick. I kissed the Marquis of Althorpe at the Franton soiree, and everyone saw, and my father decided I had to marry him.”

“So why did you kiss him in such a public setting?”

Victoria flopped backward on the bed. “I don’t know! He’s handsome, and—”

“You’ve had handsome men begging at your feet since you turned twelve. You never kissed any of them at Lady Franton’s party.”

“He kissed me first.”

“Hmm.”

“All right, I’m an idiot. That’s why I kissed him.” She beat her fist against the mattress. “I make trouble without meaning to. I always have.”

“You leap before you think.”

Victoria glowered at her friend, not feeling the least bit comforted. “Is this your way of telling me that I deserve this? Because I’ve had quite enough of that over the past week, thank you very much.”

“Actually, I was going to say that in all the time I’ve known you, including when you attended Miss Grenville’s Academy, and after that when I tutored you, you led. You never followed, and you never did anything you didn’t want to.”

“So you think I want to marry Althorpe? Lord Sin? Well, I don’t. He’s impossible. His reputation is worse than mine, and he does it on purpose. He
wants
to marry me—but only because it’s saved him from the inconvenience of actually looking for a bride.”

“He told you that?” Alexandra eyed her skeptically.

“Yes. In those words.”

Slowly Alexandra stood. “Then he doesn’t deserve you, Vix. But it seems a bit late to stop anything.”

“I’ve tried to stop it. I can’t, unless I’m willing to flee and become a fugitive actress or something.”

“Well, I can’t see that.” Her expression rueful, Alexandra fluffed the skirts of Victoria’s gown again.

“Neither can I.”

“All I can tell you is that I would never have married Lucien on first meeting him. I fell in love with what lay underneath. If you feel compelled to go through with this, all I can advise is that you give yourself some time before you decide to dislike Lord Althorpe. He must have some intelligence, or he would never have survived five years in Europe with Bonaparte racketing about.”

“He lived in a brothel for six months.” Victoria sighed. “I’ll marry him, Lex, because otherwise Father—and the rest of London—will think I care nothing for our family’s standing. But I won’t have anything further to do with Sin Grafton. Not unless he proves to be something more than what he appears.”

Alexandra kissed her on the cheek. “Don’t give up hope, Victoria. You constantly surprise me; perhaps he’ll surprise you.”

“I hope so.”

“Are you insane?” John Bates hissed.

“That’s possibility,” Sinclair admitted, and turned to view the set of his cravat in the dressing table mirror. “Splendid, Roman. You’ve outdone yourself.”

“Aye,” the valet grunted. “Have to make you look pretty for the executioner.”

“Sin, you
can’t
get married! What happened to avoiding all attachments until—”

“I need her.”

“You need her? Or is it that you want her?”

“That too, but—”

“Then just get her on her back and—”

“Stop right there, Bates,” Sinclair snapped. “You’re talking about my future wife.”

“Your wife in twenty minutes,” Roman amended. “Bates, where’s Crispin? That lad could talk him out of this nonsense.”

“You’re right. I’ll go get him, right now. Don’t leave until I get back.”

Sin scowled. He was going to marry Victoria Fontaine. He wanted to marry her, and not just because their union would help him catch a murderer. He couldn’t figure out what it was about her that compelled him so, but he couldn’t deny it, either.

“Bates,” Sinclair said, forcing himself to calm down. No one was going to stop him. He simply wouldn’t let it happen. “It’s likely that Thomas knew whoever killed him. In all probability that makes the murderer one of Lady Vixen Fontaine’s acquaintances.”

“And what if she gets hurt?”

Sin shrugged into his coat. “I won’t let that happen. She knows her way through the dregs of the London
ton
better than I do. Don’t worry. When this is over, if she wants an annulment, I’ll give her one.”

Even as he said it, Sinclair realized that he didn’t like the idea at all. He wanted Victoria Fontaine, and oddly enough, the less certain she seemed of him, the stronger his desire for her seemed to become.

The most dangerous part of this insanity was that
he wanted her to desire him—and not just physically. No, he wanted her to
like
him; a blatantly impossible wish, unless he was willing to tell her who he really was. Since that would likely get her—and himself—killed, he seemed to have mired himself into the deepest hole he’d yet managed to dig.

“Unless you’ve decided to come to your senses, we’d best get you to Westminster Cathedral,” Roman said brusquely.

Sinclair stifled his sudden burst of nervous anticipation under years of practiced cynicism. “I keep thinking it’d be a better show if I were drunk for this. Should I be?”

“I would be,” Bates muttered.

“I’d say no, Sin,” the valet countered. “This is to get you into the nobles’ good graces without you looking like a threat. If you embarrass ’em, you’re a threat. And then this whole play will be for nothing.”

Sinclair nodded. “Good point.”

“Besides,” Bates added, “you want to be good and sober for this—a clear-eyed witness to the biggest mistake of your life.”