Tempting a Sinner (20 page)

But damn him, it hurt.

She wiped her eyes and loudly blew her nose. She’d challenged him to use his formidable intelligence to solve the case, and she should be grateful for his ability to put his personal desires to one side. With a groan she rubbed away all traces of her tears. If he could be unemotional about what had happened, then so could she. It was probably the only way either of them would survive.

“Benedict.”

Adam stood at the bottom of the stairs right in his path, which meant unless Benedict was prepared to shove his friend out of the way, he’d have to speak to him. Part of him welcomed the notion of violence—of the chance to clear his head with something as pure as a fist in the face or a broken nose.

Adam put his hand on his arm. “What’s wrong?”

“Oh, nothing, just that Malinda worked out that she was considered a suspect along with my father.”

“Oh, dear.” Adam winced. “She is a remarkably astute woman.”

“I know.”

“Where are you going?”

“Preferably somewhere without a female in sight.”

Adam smiled. “Then wait a moment until I get my hat, and I’ll come with you.”

It was only when he stumbled as he walked up the stairs of the Sinners that Benedict wondered if he was drunk. Adam had taken him in hand, and they’d spent the rest of the day shooting pistols, boxing, and viewing horses at Tattersalls. They’d ended up watching a cock fight at a notorious London pub where a fight was usually guaranteed. Rather than leaving to avoid the inevitable, they’d stayed and both fought with abandon, resulting in a bloody nose for Adam and cracked knuckles for Benedict.

He flexed his fingers as he went into his apartment and winced. Apart from the red glint of the banked-up coal in the fireplace, the room was in darkness. He headed toward the closed door of his bedroom and then hesitated. Would Malinda welcome him into her bed? That was debatable at the best of times, and in his current state highly unlikely.

He gently belched and turned away, tripping over one of the chair legs and making a terrible racket that rang through the silence like a bell. Holding his breath, he waited for the inevitable appearance of his wife, but there was no sound. A waft of stale beer, sweat, and smoke came from his person and he wrinkled his nose. Perhaps he’d be better off having a bath before he allowed himself to fall asleep.

Moving more cautiously now, he crossed over to the door leading to the shared bathroom and let himself in there. It took him a few moments of fumbling around to light the fire and a set of candles. He touched the brass boiler, which was still warm. Had Malinda already bathed? He pictured her creamy skin, the pink of her nipples, and the freckles he loved to kiss.

While the bath filled, he stripped off his clothing, discovering quite a few bruises and bumps as he went. After testing the water, he stepped in and sank down with a sigh, the back of his head resting on the rim of the bath, his gaze fixed on the ceiling.

Peace . . .

He closed his eyes to savor it.

“Benedict.”

He ignored the voice, persistent and familiar as it was.

“Benedict!”

He opened one eye, and Malinda’s pale face swam in front of his vision and abruptly disappeared.

“God,
no
.” He suddenly slid beneath the surface, his mouth filling with water.

She hauled him up by his hair, coughing and spluttering.

“You nearly drowned! Now, get out of the bath. The water is freezing!”

He became aware of a coldness eating its way into his bones, making him shiver, and struggled to sit up. With an impatient sound, Malinda brought a large drying cloth over to him and wrapped it around his shoulders. He managed to step out of the bath without disgracing himself, and allowed her to lead him back into the apartment and tuck him into bed.

She smoothed his damp hair away from his face and lay down beside him, her nose practically touching his.

“Go to sleep, Benedict.”

He nodded and closed his eyes again. If she wasn’t going to shout at him, he was simply going to appreciate the moment, and do as she suggested without any argument at all.

Malinda studied Benedict as he slept, his ridiculously long eyelashes and the stark curve of his jaw and slanted cheekbones. Seeing him like this, she realized nothing much had changed from the boy she’d once known and loved. His expression was peaceful, his mouth curved up in a half smile as she stroked his damp, curling hair behind his ear.

But when he woke and directed his deceptively cool blue gaze on her, things were always more complicated. If she’d known there would still be a spark between them, would she even have begun this mad dance? She’d seen him as a means to get to his father, and that hadn’t proved to be the case at all. He was still Benedict,
her
Benedict, the other half of her soul. Just because she tried to deny that connection didn’t mean it didn’t exist.

She sighed and kissed his nose. He stirred on his pillow, fighting against the constraints of the towel that was still wrapped around him. Hardly daring to move, Malinda slowly pulled the covers away and started to extricate him from his tangled cocoon. Eventually she had the towel laid flat beneath him and was ready to cover them both up again.

Except she paused to admire him in the soft dawn light, the muscled length of his legs, his narrow waist, and the way his hip bones jutted out in a distinctly masculine way that made her want to lick them. She leaned closer to examine the scar on his left arm, her hair trailing over his chest. He murmured her name, one hand catching in her hair, and brought her down to meet his mouth.

She kissed him because she wanted to, because in this half light maybe she could offer him something without words and recriminations and reach that boy inside him, the one she’d loved, the boy who’d been willing to risk everything for her. She kissed him slowly and tenderly, aware that he wasn’t quite awake, but almost glad of it. Reluctantly, she released his mouth and nuzzled his jaw, the rough stubble only adding spice to the caress.

Moving her way down, she continued to use her mouth on him, licking his nipples, counting off his ribs with her fingers and then with tiny nips until she reached his muscled stomach and the jut of his hips. She sighed as his cock stirred and bent her head to it, taking him gently into her mouth. She sucked him in long, slow pulls from tip to root until he was filling her mouth and moving with her.

“Mally.”

He moved suddenly, and then she was beneath him and he was easing himself inside her tight passage. She arched her back and lifted her hips to help him surge into her and then wrapped her arms and legs around him as he started to thrust. Why did she always feel so safe with him when he pushed her to sexual extremes she’d never consider alone? They came together and he rolled them, still joined, onto their sides and instantly went back to sleep, leaving Malinda to bury her face against his chest and simply breathe him in.

They’d be fighting again soon enough, but maybe in this place, in this small corner of their complex world, they could truly be themselves. With that thought she finally managed to go back to sleep.

A
knock on the door made Malinda put down the book she was pretending to read and look up. Faith’s head appeared around the door.

“May I come in?”

“If you are looking for Benedict or Adam, you are out of luck. They’ve both gone out.”

Faith came in, took off her bonnet, and patted her curls. “Actually I was looking for you. I’ve just been visiting with the Marquis and Marchioness of Alford.”

Malinda put away her book. “And?”

“The marchioness is
extremely
annoying.”

“Did she prevent you from speaking to the marquis alone?

“She tried, but he sent her away.”

“Oh, good.” She looked expectantly at Faith. “Well, what did he have to say for himself?”

“Firstly, he was extremely annoyed that we’d found out about the gold and who owned it.”

“I’m not surprised.” Malinda hesitated. “Are you sure you don’t want to wait until Benedict is here to discuss this?”

“I’m not sure if he’ll want to hear what I’ve discovered.” Faith frowned. “After a lot of blustering about not discussing such important matters with a woman, the marquis told me that he’d never seen the gold again, but that in return he
had
kept back some of the promissory notes and coins the government had eventually sent on. He said it was only a token amount to cover his expenses, but for all intents and purposes, what he did was stealing and completely illegal.”

“And he doesn’t want Benedict to know about that.”

“As his only son is employed by the government, he feels Benedict might be honor bound to report the matter to his superiors.”

“He might. He is a great one for the truth.” Malinda sighed. “How do we know the marquis isn’t lying this time?”

“He offered me access to his accounting books from that time period, which he says show the true state of affairs. Of course, he could be lying about that as well. I got the sense that his whole aim in this matter was to prevent his past mistakes from being revealed to Benedict.”

“I wish that didn’t sound so plausible.” Malinda grimaced. “But it would be just like him. It would be so much easier if the marquis would simply admit that everything is his fault.”

“And what if it isn’t?”

“Then we’re still fumbling around in the dark.” Malinda stood up to add some more coal to the fire. “What are you going to tell Benedict?”

“I rather hoped you would do that.”

“Me? He won’t believe a word I say about his father.”

“But if I have to tell him or Adam, or my husband, it immediately becomes an official matter. Benedict might feel he has no choice but to take the subject further.”

“Don’t you want him to do that?”

“Malinda, my love, the marquis is dying. He probably won’t last the year. I don’t see the point of harassing him to his death with threatened legal action, do you?”

“It has its attractions.”

“I can understand you thinking that. He’s hardly been a good friend to your family, has he?”

“He did pay my mother a pension of sorts after my father died.”

“It must have been fairly substantial if it allowed you and your sister to board at a nunnery.”

“Well, apparently, Benedict sent money, so we were well provided for.” She paused to gather her thoughts. “I suppose there isn’t any point in forcing Benedict to turn in his own father.”

“Which is why the information is better coming from you. You can tell him that if he chooses to deal privately with this matter, none of us will ever mention it again.”

“You care about him, don’t you?”

“Benedict? Yes, he’s been very much alone these past few years.”

“I thought we were divorced.”

Faith widened her eyes. “Oh, my dear, I wasn’t criticizing you.”

“You don’t need to. I feel guilty enough myself. I didn’t know he’d . . .”

“Wait for you?” Faith smiled. “That was always the sense I got from him. That he’d found what he wanted long ago and nothing else had matched up to it ever since.”

Malinda scowled at Faith. “Now you’re going to make me cry. He’s not the same boy I married. He deserves more.”

“Isn’t that up to him?” Faith rose and came around to drop a kiss on Malinda’s bowed head. “Speak to Benedict when he gets back, and then make sure you are down in Adam’s study by six o’clock to hear what Nicodemus has to tell us about our arsonist.”

Malinda returned to her book, but found herself constantly rereading the same sentences. It was almost a relief to hear Benedict’s firm tread on the stairs. She rose to her feet, the book clutched to her chest, and smiled at him as he came through the door.

He abruptly halted. “What’s wrong?”

Her smile dimmed a trifle. “Benedict, would you like tea? I can ring for some to be brought up.”

He remained by the door as he peeled off his gloves and took off his hat. “I repeat, what’s wrong?”

“I just asked you if you’d like a cup of tea. What’s ‘wrong’ with that?”

“Because normally you’re not this nice to me.”

“That’s a horrible thing to say.”

“But it’s true, isn’t it? Usually you barge into my office and
demand
things.”

“I’m fairly certain you are exaggerating somewhat, Benedict. I am generally considered to be a very pleasant person.”

“Not by me. The only time you’re sweet to me is when you either want me to do something for you, or you have a confession to make about something you’ve done that you know will infuriate me. So which is it?”

She scowled at him as he placed his hat and gloves on the small table by the door.

“That’s much better. Now, what’s wrong?”

“Perhaps you’d like to sit down. Are you sure that you don’t want some tea?”

He sat, crossed one long leg over the other, and looked at her inquiringly.

She sank down into the chair opposite. “It’s about your father.”

“Oh?” His smiling mask was in place and his gaze was guarded. “And what did he have to say for himself?”

“He denied ever seeing the gold again.”

“As I expected. What else?”

“He said that when the pay did arrive from the government, and he dispersed it to the men, he kept back—a certain percentage to cover some of his losses.”

His hand tightened on the arm of the chair. “His words, I assume.”

“So I believe.”

“You didn’t go and see him yourself?”

“No. I promised you I wouldn’t do that.”

“Then how do you know about this?”

“Faith went as planned.”

“Then why didn’t she tell me this herself? She can hardly have thought it would sound more palatable coming from a woman who hates my father even more than I do.”

There was a sharp edge to his voice that made her want to throw up her hands and walk away. But she’d promised Faith she’d tell him. It wasn’t uncommon for the messenger to bear the brunt of the recipient’s displeasure.

“Faith was concerned that if you received this information from a more ‘formal’ source that you might feel you had to act on it. She thought that if I told you—”

“I wouldn’t believe it?”

She held his icily amused gaze. “No, that you would understand that if you choose not to act, no one would mention the matter again.”

“Then my father would be allowed to get away with defrauding both his government and, worst of all, the men who served in that regiment?” His smile was a masterpiece of scorn. “Why aren’t you ripping up at me? What in God’s name made Faith think
you’d
agree with me dropping a potential prosecution against my father?”

She forced herself to remain calm. “Because I understand.”

He simply stared at her, one eyebrow raised.

“He’s your father, Benedict.”

He sat back. “And you’ve all agreed amongst yourselves that I am too weak to act against him, have you?”

“You’re not weak.”

“But you’ve all decided to protect me from myself?”

“Yes.”

“Even you?”

She nodded.

“For God’s sake,
why?
”

“Because Faith is right. He’s dying. It would be cruel to drag him and your family name through the courts.”

“You were quite willing to do that when you accused him of killing your father.”

“No, I was just going to kill him myself. The only person who would’ve stood trial would’ve been me.” She tried again. “Despite everything, Benedict, I do understand that your father usually has your best interests at heart.”

“Like when he forced us to part?”

“I didn’t say they were
our
best interests. He is an arrogant man. He knows best for everyone, especially his only son.”

“I can’t believe you are defending him.”

“I’m not, I’m—” She took a deep breath as her voice rose. “The only person who would suffer if all this came to light would be you, Benedict.”

He slowly rose to his feet, his hands fisted at his side. “You think I’m not strong enough to cope with that kind of notoriety—with prosecuting my own father—with upholding the standards of the very government I work for?”

“That’s not what I meant.” She forced herself to hold his now hostile gaze.

He smiled. “Oh, I forgot, now that you’ve realized you’re still married to me, are you perhaps afraid of me damaging
your
reputation?”

She held on to her temper. “No one doubts your courage, Benedict, or your ability to do the right thing.”

“Then what?”

“I just don’t want you to be hurt.”

He froze. “Damn you to hell.” He turned on his heel and headed for the door.

She closed her eyes as he slammed it shut behind him. Hadn’t she learned anything about men? Suggesting that they might be too emotionally involved in something was tantamount to questioning their virility. Benedict hadn’t changed in that respect at all.

She sank back down onto the seat. And now she didn’t know what he was going to do and she couldn’t report back to Faith. In this mood, Benedict could make things worse by demanding answers from his father and deliberately causing the kind of scandal they’d all been trying to avoid.

The clock on the mantelpiece struck six times, and she rose to her feet. Sitting here worrying wouldn’t achieve anything. She would go downstairs, warn Faith that Benedict was not in the best of moods, and listen to what Nicodemus Theale had to say for himself.

“My lord?” Benedict glanced up as his new secretary came toward him with yet another pile of papers in his hand. “Are you intending to go out again? Mr. Fisher asked me to remind you that Mr. Theale is due to report in at six.”

Benedict glanced at the open front door and then back at his secretary.

“I suppose I should attend that meeting.” He turned away from his glimpse of freedom and went down the corridor toward his office. “Is there anything else you wished to discuss with me?”

“Nothing urgent, sir.”

“Thank God,” Benedict muttered. Sense was returning to his brain and the urge to rush around to his father and shake him until his bones rattled was slowly subsiding. He
never
behaved like that. He was known for his coldness, his ability to stand back and not let his emotions become involved. Malinda would laugh if she could hear his thoughts. She thought he was an irrational, emotional, tempestuous bully, and to be fair, he felt like one when he was with her.

But that wasn’t her fault, was it? He had the opportunity to prove to all of them that he could handle himself perfectly well even with regards to his father.

His father . . .

“Ah, Benedict, are you coming in?”

He looked up to see Adam approaching his study, Nicodemus behind him.

“Yes.”

He followed them in and saw that the Countess of Westbrook and his wife were already sitting at the table. Nodding politely in their direction, he took the seat as far away from Malinda as possible and turned his attention to his colleague.

Nicodemus took a large leather-bound book from his capacious pocket, leafed through the pages, and stood up.

“Good evening, everyone. I’m pleased to tell you that I found the man I believe was responsible for setting fire to your house, Lord Keyes.”

“And where is he now?”

“Awaiting the attention of the magistrates at Bow Street.” Nicodemus paused. “Obviously, he wasn’t acting for himself, but he could have killed any of the occupants of the house. When he protested at revealing his employer, I reminded him of that, and suggested his sentence could be lighter if he gave me the name of the person who paid him.”

“I assume he accepted your generous offer.”

“Oh yes, Edgar’s no stranger to the criminal courts, my lord. He insisted he was told quite specifically not to stop anyone leaving the house, so that he could hardly be accused of murder. According to him, it was supposed to be a warning. He was offered the job by a man he’d met at the Red Dragon, a coaching inn near Bethnal Green just off the great road.”

“Did he give you the man’s name?”

“He insisted he didn’t know it, sir. But he did describe him to me.” Nicodemus turned a page of his book and scrutinized the tightly written script. “The man was pleasantly spoken, and neither a swell or a beggar. He was in his late fifties, about five and a half feet tall with black hair, graying at the temples, and blue eyes.”

“That’s hardly helpful,” Benedict said. “What else?”

“From something that he let slip, Edgar thought the man worked at the Red Dragon. We might be able to locate him there.”

“I wonder if he is another intermediary?” Adam said. “If he works at an inn, it hardly sounds as if he’s living in luxury.”

“True.” Benedict considered the information. “Perhaps our real target thinks that one of us will recognize him, and is therefore being very cautious about revealing himself.”

Adam nodded. “That would make sense.”

“Which also means that it is probably someone Malinda and I knew from our days with the regiment.”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

“But it does help. Before word gets back to our man that his arsonist has been apprehended, I suggest that Malinda and I visit the Red Dragon.” He glanced over at his wife for the first time. “Are you willing to accompany me, my lady?”