Deepest Desires of a Wicked Duke Page 27

“Not a trace to be seen.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “All of their belongings are gone. I looked in their rooms. Emptied,” Clarissa said, sounding like a duchess about to crack.

  “Has anyone searched the grounds?”

  “Rutledge claims that he has done and saw nothing. But then, he could be the murderer. So I would not trust a word he says. I let him go and stayed with Saxonby. I held my knife at all times. We sat in the drawing room, at opposite ends of the room. But now there is only Blute, Rutledge, Saxonby, and me, and you and Miss Love left.”

  “It could be one of those women. Just because they aren’t in the house, doesn’t mean they are dead,” Sin said.

  “Oh yes. I did not think of that. I wonder—” Clarissa’s dark eyes searched his face. “After all, you weren’t really dead. . . .”

  “You mean, what if one of the other previous victims was not actually dead?”

  The Incognita nodded. “Only Willoughby is beyond suspicion, for his head was smashed to a pulp. But I have no key to those bedrooms, and Saxonby told me you and he had already entertained the thought and checked the rooms.”

  “That’s true,” Sin answered. “We did. They are all dead.”

  “So what do we do now? Do we simply wait to see who shows up to attempt to kill us?” The Incognita narrowed her eyes, which were rimmed with kohl to look massive. “I should think the killer will want to eliminate Miss Love. Since she claims to know who the killer is.”

  They both turned to her. Sin wore a grumpy expression. “You should not have done that.”

  “Actually, in the shock of discovering you alive and . . . uh, everything else—” Portia’s cheeks felt as if burning. “I actually forgot about that.”

  “So, who was it?” the Incognita asked. “Or am I only to know when I am the victim?”

  “I don’t know,” Portia admitted. “I bluffed.”

  “A ruse. Just like the one you pulled, Sin. It does intrigue me—what on earth made you think of faking your own death, Sinclair? I should never have thought of such a thing.” Stepping closer to him, the Incognita smiled saucily into his eyes. “I have been fascinated by you ever since you came to London when you were just nineteen. Everyone thought you must be a naïve young man, raised in the country. But it was obvious to me that you’d had a lot more experience than that. So I learned everything I could about you.”

  In front of Portia’s eyes, Sin paled. “Did you, Clarissa? Why? For blackmail? That’s a damn dangerous game.”

  “Do you really think I would threaten you here? Now? My darling duke, I am relying upon you to save my life.”

  Portia was startled as Clarissa turned to her. “Sin can be quite the hero when he wishes to be. And I believe both of us will be safe. Unless you are the murderer. Wouldn’t that be delicious? The least likely person. The sweet, innocent girl who looks as if butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth. This is the first time I’ve seen you without your mask, Miss Lamb.”

  Shocked, Portia put her hands to her face. But it was unnecessary. She touched bare skin. “You know who I am?”

  “Oh yes. I know your family’s foundling home.”

  “How?”

  Clarissa shrugged. “That is not important. Finding our three missing women is.”

  “Yes,” Portia echoed. “One of the women might be a killer, but that means the other could be a victim. We must try to find them before it is too late.”

  * * *

  They all searched together—Rutledge, Saxonby, Blute, Clarissa, her, and Sin. They scoured through the house, then over the island. All of them slowly walked along the edge of the island, looking over the cliff edge.

  She and Sin took the lead. Sin tucked her hand in the crook of his arm, but she was not afraid of falling. She could face anything, now that she had him back.

  “That part about Genvere being an anagram for revenge was clever, Portia,” he said. “I never saw that.”

  “You heard that?”

  “I was hiding behind the draperies, trying to keep watch over you. I almost launched out of there when you announced you knew who the killer was. I guessed it was a bluff, that you were making yourself into bait. Portia, don’t ever do anything that mad again.”

  The pain in his gaze gave her a spurt of guilt. “I don’t believe I will. I came rather too close to being killed.” She said it lightly, but it had been terrifying. Yet what could she do? She couldn’t sit back and wait to be murdered. Wait for Sin to be murdered....

  “I wish there was really a boat,” she cried. “I suppose there isn’t—the killer must have arranged to have someone come from the mainland when all of this is over.”

  “We’ll be the ones to meet the boat,” Sin said, his voice cool and firm.

  She wanted to believe him. She would believe—

  Then she saw it. A body, huddled on the ground by the cliff edge. She raced toward it, but Sin reached it before her. He turned, then turned the face back toward the ground. Portia knew who it was. Nellie, the young courtesan.

  She bit back a sob. “But she was so young!”

  “I know. The poor kid.”

  “Look there!” About five feet farther along the edge, a bit of gray cloth fluttered. “That must be from the cook’s dress,” Portia said.

  She ran toward it. Sin raced after her, catching up to her as she reached the bit of cloth. His arm went around her waist, holding her fast. “Careful. This could be another trap, set to catch someone who found Nellie.”

  “But I must—”

  “No, you won’t.” He shook his head. “You haven’t changed. None of this has changed you. You’re the same Portia who went into danger to rescue children.”

  “I suppose, for better or worse, I am. But I think you can put me down. If something was going to strike us, pushing us off the cliff, I assume it would have happened by now.”

  She knew he released her with reluctance. She took the bit of fabric from the twig. He moved closer to the edge, muttered an expletive.

  And she knew. “It’s her body, isn’t it? At the bottom of the cliff.”

  “It is. You don’t need to look,” he said. But she peeked around him, his broad body trying to block her view.

  In a huddle at the bottom, trapped in a small circle of jagged rocks, a bundle of gray cloth moved, pushed up and down against the rocks by the waves. From the height, she couldn’t really tell if it was a body. It looked like the cook’s dress. The she saw it—one spot of lighter color. A hand. A pale hand. Now she could spot a shape that must be the cook’s head. A foot.

  “Do you think she was thrown over alive? Or dead?”

  Sin’s arm went around her. “She’s gone now, either way.” “And so is Nellie. And the Old Madam is missing. But is she also dead? Or is she the killer? Is she the one who had a child, and who is driven to get revenge for that child? We’ve searched the island with no sign of her—”

  “If she went over the cliff, her body could have been dragged out to sea,” he muttered. “We’ll take the steps down to the sea. Your idea of a boat in a cave may have been a bluff, but I’d like to make sure.”

  He was armed with a pistol, with knives. They went down together, but they found no boat. They couldn’t reach the poor cook’s body. As they went back up the steps to tell the others, Portia could only think: Was the Old Madam lying in wait? Were they walking back into danger?

  Surely, if they were careful, if they stayed together, watched each other, and focused on survival, they would indeed all survive.

  21

  “You’re so beautiful, Portia.”

  At the soft, awed sound of a masculine voice, Portia awoke and opened her eyes. Sin was leaning over her in the bed they’d shared last night, naked, smiling softly at her.

  She swallowed guilt. So many people had lost their lives, she felt terrible to be happy in Sin’s arms.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked gently.

  She explained, and he bent and nuzzled her
neck, kissed her earlobe. “This makes it all the more important for us to celebrate being alive.”

  “Yes,” she whispered. “I supposed that’s true.” She felt safe here, in his bed, their door locked.

  She and Sin had returned to the house yesterday to discover the house apparently empty with no sign of the Old Madam. Another storm blew in, lashing the house with fierce winds and cold rain, forcing them all to give up the search.

  The six of them—her, Sin, Saxonby, Rutledge, Blute, the Incognita—had taken food from the locked butler pantry and eaten in front of each other. Then they’d gone to their bedrooms and locked the doors.

  Sin had spent hours making love to her last night. Even from behind, as she leaned over the vanity table. She sensed he needed to do it to forget the horror of what they’d found. Portia would never forget the erotic scene of him driving into her—and her coming—in the mirror. Perhaps it wasn’t right, but she too had wanted to push aside thoughts of death and fear. And if she had very little time left, if the murderer did get her, she wanted to enjoy every second before that.

  Sin drew away from her neck. He levered up on his side on the bed. “I’m going to marry you.”

  Portia blinked. Was she still addled with sleep? “I beg your pardon?”

  “We’re to be married, love.”

  “Are you asking me to marry you? You did that before, with rather disastrous results, Sin.”

  “Last time, I broke the engagement because I was not good enough for you. I’d fallen into a dark world of sex and orgies, and I couldn’t be the kind of husband you deserve. You loved me and I hadn’t lived up to that love. This time, it’s not about love. I’ve taken your innocence and it’s my duty and obligation to marry you.”

  She couldn’t believe her ears. “Duty and obligation? I see. And I’m just supposed to put up with your shocking parties?”

  “There won’t be any more of those. I’m going to behave myself as your husband. I’m a decade older, a hell of a lot smarter. I owe you marriage, and it will be my duty to make you happy.”

  She’d had enough. Portia sat up, the sheets tumbling down. “I’m not a duty. I don’t want to be an obligation. I don’t care that I’ve given up my virginity. I knew perfectly well what I was doing. I’d decided I wasn’t going to marry. I am happy running the foundling home. If I’m not going to marry, it hardly matters that I’m ‘ruined.’ So I don’t need a marriage and I certainly don’t want one where you’ve been forced to marry me.”

  The words squeezed her heart. Duty. Obligation. This wasn’t about love. He didn’t love her.

  She pushed out of the bed. Forgetting, until she felt suddenly cold, that she was naked, standing in the middle of the bedroom.

  Sin jumped out of bed too. “Portia, I hurt you ten years ago by not marrying you when I should have done. I won’t do that to you again.”

  She crossed her arms over her breasts and stood behind the bed column, peeking around it. “I don’t want to marry you, Sin. I just wanted to learn about pleasure.” That wasn’t true. He’d captured her heart again, but she was not going to tell him that. “I would never marry you.”

  His jaw dropped. “Portia, you deserve marriage. You deserve security, money, a position—I won’t abandon you. It’s the price—”

  “Stop! I’m not a price. I don’t want to be your lifelong punishment.” This was the problem with being naked. She wanted to run out the door. Run away before she heard any more words that hurt her. But she couldn’t run. And she shouldn’t.

  He was striding across the bedroom toward her. Naked. All lean, hard planes, except for his cock, which was soft and swayed as he walked. Shivers rushed down her spine as she watched him move. Sinuous. Graceful. So, so, so erotic. She wanted to touch him. Everywhere.

  Marry him and you can do that.

  But she would love him, while he saw marriage to her as a duty.

  “There will be no marriage, Sin,” she said firmly.

  He came close and she trembled. He took another step and he was so close her nipples brushed his skin. The top of her head reached his chin. He bent to her, and his lips touched her cheek.

  Sparks showered right to her toes.

  But she fought for control. “You aren’t going to seduce me into saying yes,” she warned. “And we might not even escape this wretched island.”

  “We will. You will—I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

  “I don’t know if you are really in control of that.”

  He cupped her cheek. “Portia, there is going to be a wedding. I’m going to convince you to say yes.”

  There was a sort of desperation in his eyes. He really was determined to marry her. Maybe he felt he was making amends for hurting her in the past. This was his retribution.

  “You do not owe me marriage. I can’t marry you, Sin. We would both be miserable. If we survive this island, let me go back to my world, where I belong and I am happy.”

  Dejection showed in his long-lashed brown eyes. “You don’t think you would ever be happy with me? You couldn’t ever love me?”

  She owed him the truth—she could not reject him without giving him the truth. He deserved better. “I love you now, Sin. That’s why I can’t marry you.”

  His brows drew together. He looked so vulnerable. “I don’t understand.”

  “You don’t love me. I won’t marry you for duty. We’ll both be terribly unhappy.”

  A muffled scream cut him off. It had come from outside. In the hallway, near their room.

  “Hell, no,” Sin muttered.

  For one moment, they both just stood there. Then Portia pulled back from him. “Oh heavens, it’s happened again. That was a woman’s scream.” She felt sick. Sick with horror.

  Sin’s strong hands gripped her upper arms. “You will stay here. It’s not safe. I’ll investigate.”

  She shook her head. “Haven’t you learned by now that is not going to work? I am going with you.”

  Under his breath he muttered a curse. “You know, since you’re so determined to be at my side,” he muttered, “you should marry me.”

  He threw on his robe and left her to put on her gown, so he could run out into the corridor before she was ready. She tried in vain to move faster.

  Then she heard it.

  As soon as he disappeared into the hallway, an explosion roared outside the door.

  She knew what it was—a pistol shot.

  Oh dear God. Sin had been shot! An image flashed instantly through her head: Sin lying on the ground, his shirt and waistcoat soaking through red. That time it had been red ink. But this time it could be real. Shock did something to her—it made her act. It filled her with rage.

  She clamped the gown to her chest and ran for the door. She threw it open. “Damn you, I am going to end this now,” she barked.

  “Hello, Portia. What in the blazes are you doing?”

  It was Sin. Dear heaven, alive. He’d launched back against the wall of the corridor. There was a charred hole in the wall two feet from his head.

  “Get back in the room, Portia. Don’t be mad. Your dress is falling down.”

  “I don’t care. Someone shot at you.”

  “With a pistol. One shot. I would have gone in pursuit, except you began to open our door, and I wasn’t going to move in case I had to shield you. Now, go back inside.”

  With that, he ran down the corridor, then charged down the stairs.

  After him, she shouted, “Who shot at you?” He must have seen, mustn’t he? But of course, he didn’t answer.

  Along the hall, doors opened. The Incognita rushed out, a wrap of silk thrown around her. Saxonby also came out. Rutledge and Blute stayed behind their doors and peeked out. Apparently they had no desire to step out boldly and risk being shot.

  “Was Sinclair shot again? He’s making a habit of this,” Rutledge muttered.

  “You could go to help him,” she shouted, and she took off in pursuit before she’d finished the statem
ent. She didn’t care if the next shot was aimed at her. Sin couldn’t face the killer alone!

  Her legs shook, but she made them work. She was breathing in the smoke of the shot, the acrid smell of it. A male figure was rushing away from the darkened stairs. Why hadn’t she thought of a weapon—?

  Footsteps pounded behind her. “Miss Love, stop,” shouted Saxonby. She ignored him.

  She reached the bottom of the stairs, hesitated, trying to figure out where to go.

  A figure emerged from the shadows. She didn’t scream because she sensed, almost instantly, who it was.

  Sin. He grabbed her, planting his hands on her upper arms. “You should not have come after me. I lost the fiend. Heard the front door slam shut. Then I feared it was a ruse to get me away from you, so I ran back. Cursing myself with every step in case you were in danger. I didn’t see who it was. All I could see was the cloak the blackguard wore.”

  Then Portia realized what she had seen, what it meant. “I saw them all. Saxonby and Clarissa came out of their bedrooms. Rutledge and Blute peeked out. It must have been Harriet Barker. It must have been. What are we going to do?”

  “Nothing tonight. With our doors locked, she can’t get to us. She must have been the one to scream, hoping to lure me out. Or at least lure someone out.”

  “Couldn’t we chase her? If you know she went outside—”

  “Into the dark and a storm. We would be in too much danger.”

  “Then what are we going to do?”

  “Go back to bed.”

  “What?”

  “You said I couldn’t seduce you into marriage. I plan to try. And I want to make love to you while I’m still alive to do it.”

  * * *

  “But you could have been killed! Shouldn’t we try to stop the Old Madam before she shoots at someone else?” Portia couldn’t believe Sin had really returned to their bedroom, locked the door, and carried her to bed.

  “We’re safe until morning,” he murmured.

  “You can’t know that.”

  “We are behind a locked door. The window sashes are locked. I was at risk because I fell for a ruse and went outside. In here, in bed together, we’re safe.”

  “But Saxonby wanted to speak with you. He wanted to make a plan—”