The Sinner (21 page)

"What proof?" Even as she said it, she knew what his answers would be. The same as hers. Hughe was involved in something outside the law at Larkham. A man had been murdered there by Hughe's good friend Cole.

Cole.

The memory of that name crashed into her. It was the name Wright had overheard one of her husband's killers call the other. A big brute of a man, he'd claimed, and dark. Like Cole. His accomplice had been tall too, but not as broad, his hair blond.

Hughe.

Oh God. Oh God
. Everything began to click into place, like the pieces of a puzzle. Hughe was a killer, an assassin, and so were his group of friends. Hughe did not only associate with murderers, he was one. And he'd killed Cat's first husband.

Then he'd married Cat out of guilt.

CHAPTER 11

Cat's stomach and heart dropped like stones. Hughe had killed Stephen, a man who did not deserve to die, in cold blood. For money. The gentleman who'd made love to her with such tenderness every night since their wedding was living a lie. Everything about him was false. He had no honor, no conscience, no heart. The only emotion he was capable of feeling was guilt toward his victim's widow, but he probably assumed marrying her absolved him.

How convenient for him. He gained an agreeable, necessary wife and rid himself of remorse.

The ground tilted beneath her feet. She put her hand out for balance and Slade caught it. His fingers tightened around hers and she could not pull away.

"You know it was him, don't you?" His slick voice held an edge of triumph in it. "Tell me what you know, Cat."

Her suspicions were based on a little knowledge of the events in Larkham and at Slade Hall, and a lot on instinct and guesses. But she knew—
she knew
—it was the truth. It all made sense. The lies, the unusual friends, the strange manner in which Stephen died. But most of all, it explained why he'd married Cat, a plain, dull, nobody.

"There's nothing to tell," she heard herself say. Her voice sounded weak, pathetic.

Slade's fingers tightened, crushing hers. "Tell me," he growled between clenched teeth.

"Why? What do you hope to achieve? Justice?"

"Of course. What else?"

She swallowed past the lump in her throat. Would he do it? Would he dare take his evidence to the authorities? Cat couldn't be sure. Slade was a slippery eel, driven by greed. He would try to get whatever he could out of the knowledge before he turned Hughe in.

"He is my husband. I won't do anything to risk his life. I'm sorry, Slade, but you must do what you think is right and I must do what my conscience tells me."

"You foolish girl!" He twisted her fingers hard.

White-hot pain shot through her hand and ripped up her arm. "Let me go! You're hurting me!"

He bared his teeth and growled low in his chest. He glared at her with those black eyes and she glared right back. She would not give in to him. He could break every bone in her hand, but she would not aid him in his scheme to blackmail Hughe.

With a grunt of frustration, he let her go. She placed her throbbing hand behind her back and tried to keep her face schooled. She would not show pain and weakness around this man ever again.

"You silly creature." Spittle flew from his wet lips and landed on the grass between them. "You're loyal to the man who murdered your husband!"

"Hughe is my husband now." She turned and walked away as regally as she could. Slade did not follow her, and when she looked back, he was gone.

***

Hughe returned late in the afternoon to find Slade and Hislop had been gone most of the day. He sank onto a bale of hay in the stables with relief and buried his hands in his hair. Common sense told him that they wouldn't dare harm Cat in daylight, but niggling doubt had eaten at him ever since riding out that morning. He'd ordered Elizabeth to remain with her at all times, but what could a single female do when faced with two armed men? He should not have left.

Yet he had to, for Widow Renny and her boys. Monk didn't know the farmers who had agreed to shelter the family and they wouldn't trust anyone but Hughe. He needed to be there. They'd ridden across half the country—or so it felt—to set in motion the plan for Widow Renny's flight, yet Hughe's mind had only been half on the task. Slade's arrival at Sutton Hall had taken him by surprise, and Hughe hated surprises.

He'd been sick with worry all day and now he felt sick with relief. He had to find Cat and see how she fared. He had to find her, talk to her, and win back her good favor. Spending another night outside her bedchamber instead of in it was not his idea of a well-spent evening.

Monk's dusty boots came into Hughe's vision. "You need some sleep," he said.

He needed to see his wife. "As do you." He lowered his hands and stood. "Come, Monk. Let's go and see what our wives got up to today." He slapped his friend on the shoulder and walked off. The grooms eyed him as if he were a stranger. Perhaps he was to them; ordinarily he played the fop, but he'd forgotten to maintain the pretense. He was forgetting more and more of late and had dropped the façade entirely in Cat's company.

They strode across the courtyard shrouded in the house's shadow and entered through one of the back doors to avoid a grand entrance. Today he felt anything but grand. Maids stopped and stared at him before curtseying and quickly hurrying on their way to and from the kitchen. Monk chuckled and accused him of scaring the girls.

"They'll think you're spying on them," he said.

"If they think that of me, they probably think the same of you," Hughe said.

"They're used to me entering this way." Monk sighed. "Sometimes I feel like I never leave this place."

"As soon as this is over, we're returning to Oxley House. I don't want our wives here any more than necessary."

"
Your
wife, you mean. You don't want her finding out about you. My wife is quite happy to be near her friends, and she already knows my faults. She won't learn anything new from Cole or Orlando."

Hughe's pace slowed. Monk was right. Hughe didn't want Cat here, where she could learn the truth about him. Bringing her had been a mistake. He prided himself on not making very many in his life, but allowing her to accompany him to Sutton Grange had been a monumental one.

He was already paying the price.

"I need to speak to Elizabeth before I see Cat," Hughe said.

"Aye, I know. Make it quick. I want her to myself."

They found Elizabeth with Cat, however. Monk had to lure her out of Cat's sitting room while Hughe remained out of sight. The three of them slipped into a small empty chamber on the other side of the landing.

"Did you discover anything about Slade and Hislop's reason for visiting?" Hughe asked Elizabeth.

She shook her head. "Slade spoke to her alone this morning—"

"He did
what
?"

Elizabeth flinched at his harsh tone. Monk gave Hughe a murderous glare and slipped his arm around her waist. "Watch your tongue," he said. "She's not Cat's keeper."

"Cat ordered me to leave her side and go in search of Hislop," Elizabeth said. "I made sure he didn't go anywhere near her. He was preparing their horses the entire time."

Hughe let out a long breath. "Where did they ride out to?"

"I don't know and the grooms don't know either. They've been gone all day."

"Did you find out from Cat what Slade wanted?"

"No. She wouldn't tell me, even though I asked directly. But she was…different after their conversation."

"Different how? Upset?" His mouth became dry. "Did he hurt her?"

"I don't think so. She wasn't upset, more troubled, thoughtful. Whatever he said to her, it got her thinking. She's been very quiet all day."

Hughe slumped against the wall and dragged his hands over his face. When he looked up, Elizabeth and Monk were staring at him with varying degrees of sympathy. He must look a wretched sight to elicit compassion from Monk. "Thank you, Elizabeth. You've been a good friend to her."

"And a good spy for you?"

He tried to smile, but couldn't manage it. "I'm sorry you had to do this. It's not what I wanted."

Her face softened and she nodded. "I know. Did you have success today?"

"Aye," Monk said. "The plan is all set. Tomorrow night we ride out to Larkham to get Mistress Renny and the boys."

"In disguise?"

"Aye. We'll leave the horses somewhere nearby and don beggars’ clothing."

"You're not going," Hughe told him.

Monk frowned. "Why not?"

"Disguises are not one of your talents."

"I beg to differ. I'm an excellent actor."

Elizabeth huffed. "Hughe's right. It's best if you stay here and meet them at the first stop tomorrow night with fresh horses, supplies and more disguises."

Hughe gave her a genuine smile. "I knew there was a reason I brought you."

Monk didn't look pleased about missing out on the initial action, but he didn't argue. Elizabeth was right. He had a necessary role to play. If he didn't do it, Elizabeth would take it upon herself to deliver the change of horses and clothing, and Hughe knew Monk didn't want that.

"I have to go to my wife now," Hughe said, pushing off from the wall. He went to move past Monk, but his friend stopped him with a hand to his shoulder.

"You look exhausted," Monk said. "Get some sleep tonight or your wits might fail you tomorrow."

Hughe nodded, even though he had no intention of sleeping in his own bed. It was either Cat's bed or the chair outside her door. He hoped it wasn't the latter; he'd snatched only an hour or two of sleep the night before.

He found Cat still in her sitting room, her maids with her. She did not dismiss them, nor did she look up at him. Her head remained bent over her sewing.

"Leave us," he ordered her maids.

The girls scurried out, yet still Cat didn't look up. She set her sewing aside, however.

He knelt before her and took her hands. She sucked air between her teeth and snatched her hand away. He frowned.

"Are you hurt?" he asked.

She shook her head.

"Cat, let me look." He went to take her hand, but she tucked it behind her back.

"It's nothing. I bumped it as I passed through a doorway."

He saw no choice but to believe her, so did not persist. "How was your day?"

"Pleasant enough."

"Has Slade been near you?"

"Elizabeth just told you that he has, so why are you asking me?"

Heat prickled his skin and made the small ruff at this throat feel tight. "I, uh…"

"It's not fair to ask her to watch me," she went on. "I am not an invalid in need of monitoring, like your mother." She lifted her face a little, perhaps to see his reaction.

He should have known she would discover that he paid his mother's companions extremely well to be with her constantly. At least Cat seemed to understand that it was for the dowager's own good.

"Cat—"

"Don't pay people to be my friend, Hughe. Ever."

"I'm not. I am paying the Monks, but not to be your friend. Elizabeth genuinely likes you, as do Susanna and Lucy. I'm not paying
them
." There, she couldn't argue with that.

"Then why are they keeping secrets from me? To protect their husbands? To protect you?"

He shifted to alleviate his aching thigh. His old injury hurt on occasion, but more so after riding all day. "No one is keeping secrets."

"Stop it," she hissed.

"I have no mistresses, Cat. I don't know how many times I can say it or in how many different ways." He touched her chin to force her to look at him, but she jerked her head away. No. She had to look at him or he couldn't get his message across. He caught her chin between his thumb and forefinger. "Look at me." The plea turned his voice harsh.

Her gaze met his, defiant, fierce, angry. And yet there were shadows in them too that worried him more.

"I don't want any other woman but you, Cat. I think only of you, all day and night. You fill my head, my dreams. There's no room for anyone else and I don't want there to be."

Her eyelids shuttered, breaking the connection. But he forged ahead.

"I want to lie with you tonight, Cat. All night. I want to sleep until dawn with you in my arms." God help him, he did and he would, if she allowed it. If he had to lower some of his barriers to get her to believe him, make love to him again, then he would lower them. He had dispensed with the fop already, and now it was time to end his conviction never to spend an entire night with her.

All that mattered was getting her to believe him and trust him again.

"If you speak the truth, then tell me one thing," she said. "What is between you and Widow Renny?"

He let go of her chin and rose. He rubbed his thigh. "Nothing. Cole killed her husband so I want to see how she fares now that I'm back here. She is not my mistress, Cat."

"How many men has Cole killed?"

The question rocked him. He sat heavily on one of the chairs and tried to collect his wits. If he weren't so tired, would this be easier? "Is that what Slade said to you today? That Cole has killed many men?"

"Answer my question," she snapped.  

What had happened to her? She used to be sweet and demure. He recalled the delighted look on her face when he asked her to marry him, and the wonder in her eyes upon first seeing Oxley House. And then there was the breathy way she said his name when he made love to her. There'd been no sign of her temper until recently. He felt like he hardly knew her. One day she was basking in being Lady Oxley, and the next she was being willful and questioning everything. How had he lost control of his marriage so quickly?

How could he wrestle it back without losing her forever?

"Cole is a good man," he said carefully. "Whatever Slade has told you is a lie."

"And what if it wasn't Slade who told me, but something I worked out for myself? Are you suggesting that everyone has lied to me and only you speak the truth?"

"Perhaps you've simply jumped to the wrong conclusions. Perhaps Slade has put ideas into your head. He's angry at me for taking away his sport—you—and he wants to make you hate me too, as revenge."