Deepest Desires of a Wicked Duke Read online

  Another shot and Charlotte screamed and grabbed for her leg. She dropped her second pistol and crumpled to the ground.

  Portia stood, frozen, then launched forward to the wounded woman who writhed in pain and wailed like a banshee. She knew someone had shot Charlotte, saving her life, but her thought was for the bleeding woman on the ground. “Stay still,” she commanded. “I’ll tend to those wounds.” She got on her knees beside Charlotte and pulled up her skirts, searching for the hems of her petticoats—for clean fabric to use as bandages.

  Suddenly, Portia found she was being lifted into the air, while behind her a masculine voice demanded, “What are you doing? The woman wanted to kill you.”

  That growling, deep voice. Sin! As he set her on her feet, she turned to him—saw his stark expression. “She’s wounded, Sin. We must do something so she doesn’t bleed to death.”

  He pulled her against him and his mouth, hot and commanding, seared hers in a kiss. He kissed her breathless. She wrapped her arms around his neck, holding him tightly.

  When he broke the kiss, he took long, ragged breaths. “God, Portia. I was so afraid I’d lost you. How can your concern be for that witch of a woman? She’s a murderess.”

  She pulled free of Sin’s arms, knowing what she must do. “She deserves justice, not agony. I can’t stand by and watch her suffer.”

  He shook his head, his hair spraying rain. “No, I guess you can’t, Portia. You are just like the woman I loved ten years ago. Still every bit as noble and perfect. Let me help you.”

  She lifted her skirts a few inches to reveal her petticoats. “Tear off some of the fabric of the petticoat—it makes good bandaging. Try to find clean bits—the hems are very much splattered with mud.”

  Sin did so quickly, ripping off strips. Then he held the cook steady while Portia pulled fabric clear of the woman’s wounds. “They are surface wounds.” She looked up at Sin. “Was that deliberate? You were the one to shoot her.”

  “I was. At first I wanted to debilitate her, not kill her. But when she threatened you with the second pistol, I couldn’t afford to be so careful. I would have killed her had it been necessary.”

  Portia saw the cool ruthlessness on his face. How much he’d changed from the young, sweet man of the country she’d fallen in love with.

  Yet she loved this mature, wise, strong man even more.

  Sin stabilized the woman as she wrapped her makeshift bandages around the wounds.

  “I hate you both. Let me up. Let me kill you!” Charlotte Lyon screeched.

  “Shut it,” Sin growled. “You’re lucky to be alive.”

  As Portia wound the bandage around the bleeding cut, she said, “I’ll have to clean them properly at the house.” Then she told Sin what the cook had said.

  “I heard the end of it,” he said hoarsely. “I reached you just as she was explaining all our sins toward her daughter.”

  “But how did you guess we were here?”

  “I didn’t. A note was left for me in the drawing room of the house. I was wild with terror, wanting to search for you; then Sax found the note. It was intended to lure me here, where she planned to kill me after—” He broke off. “Let me do that.” He took over, wrapping a bandage around the woman’s arm, tying it. “I learned this from when I was shot twice in duels.” He met the cook’s wild-eyed gaze. “You lured me here so I would watch you hurt Miss Lamb.”

  A mocking laugh, deep and thoroughly wicked, cut through the night. “No, she didn’t, Sin. I did. The least likely suspect, that’s who I am.”

  * * *

  Sin slowly stood, turning to face the owner of the sneering laugh.

  The barrel of a pistol was the first thing Sin saw. Then, beyond that, the face of a madman with golden hair.

  “Willoughby. I knew you were involved in this,” Sin said coolly. He had to play this game carefully—Will was pointing the damn barrel at Portia.

  “You couldn’t. My death fooled you completely.”

  “No, when Portia realized it was the madam who had been pushed off the cliff, not the cook, I began to realize the truth.”

  “You didn’t.” Will’s eyes narrowed into dark slits. “You were fooled. You’re bluffing.”

  “You’ve played enough cards with me to know when I’m bluffing. You know I’m telling you the truth now.”

  “You couldn’t know. I was too clever.”

  Sin heard a soft squeak from beside him. Portia’s eyes were huge with surprise and she’d made the little sound. She looked from Will to him. “You knew he was really alive?”

  “You gave me the clues,” Sin admitted. “When Harriet was murdered and dressed like the cook, we were fooled because we couldn’t get close enough to identify her body. Then I realized there was one other victim who couldn’t be readily identified. Will was the only victim to suffer so much violence he was disfigured beyond recognition.” He turned back to Willoughby. “I went to your room, looked at the body that was supposed to be you. You used to joke about the heart-shaped scar on your back, put there by your father once when he hit you. That body had no scar. Who was he, Will? And why in God’s name did you help this woman murder ten people?”

  “He helped?” Portia repeated. “That was how she was able to perform such feats of physical strength. Willoughby did it. But why?”

  Will took a few steps closer. He still had that damn pistol trained on Portia and Sin felt powerless. Will was watching him and he couldn’t make any move yet.

  “That body belongs to a young man I met on the mainland, a man was about my height with the same color hair. I brought him over here, drugged him, kept him hidden in the basement. You didn’t search the house until after my ‘death.’ As for why I did it, pretty, noble Miss Lamb? Sin thought he loved you so damn much. He thought that your purity would save him. He didn’t know a damn thing about real love.”

  “He does,” Portia said, defiantly.

  “Angel, don’t let him goad you.”

  “Let her talk, Sin. Don’t you think it’s time she knew what you are?”

  “She does know,” Sin said angrily. “I lost her because of that.”

  “You told her you went to those brothels. You never really told her what you are.” Will glared at Portia. “I knew everything about his past. You were no sweet, innocent, handsome young rube from the country. Why do you think I took you to the House of Discipline, Sin? I knew what you were.”

  Sin didn’t say anything. Will wasn’t paying attention to him. His crazed gaze was fixed on Portia. If he jumped Will right now, they might both go over the cliff. But Portia would be safe—

  “He slept with his brother’s wife. Faced his brother in a duel over it. His own mother seduced him. He killed his own damn father. He grew up in a world of sex and perversion, and he lived in a private hell. I know what he suffered. I know,” Willoughby shouted. “And I was trying to help him. Trying to lead him to see that he was not a sinner at heart. I was going to offer him love, damn it. Then he broke off his engagement and—”

  “Love?” Portia whispered. “You loved him?”

  “True love. With my heart and soul, I loved you, Sin. I’d waited a lifetime for someone who could return my love. I shared women with you to be close to you. I brought you to orgies because when we were making love in a crowd, it was like we were making love together. Then you rejected me—because you still loved her!”

  “I didn’t know how you felt, Will,” Sin said quickly. He had to drag Will’s attention and anger from Portia. “But I never would have loved you. Not because of Portia, but because . . . I just don’t.”

  Just as he’d hoped, the pistol jerked around to point at him. Will’s finger went toward the trigger.

  A shot exploded—but it slammed into Will’s back. Sin grabbed Portia and pulled her with him to the grass, to safety. In reflex, Will pulled the trigger, just as he stumbled forward, propelled by the force of the shot. His boots skidded on the wet grass; he howled in pain, then tumbled forward,
off the edge of the cliff.

  “No,” cried the cook. She had managed to get to her knees. “Brother!”

  “Your brother?” Portia gasped.

  “My half brother. We shared the same father. I killed our father—he’d threatened to kill Will over his love of men. Called him a Molly boy, a sinner, a waste of flesh. I protected Will all those years ago, and in return, he came here to help me.”

  “You will swing for what you’ve done,” Sin growled.

  “I won’t! I’ll be with them now. I’ll be with my little girl again. I’ve committed enough sins that I’ll see her now!” The woman laughed manically and staggered to her feet.

  Sin lunged forward to stop her, but he was too late. Lyon leapt off the cliff, her screams cutting through the night.

  Damn, he was sliding toward the edge. The grass, slick with rain, sloped toward the cliff—

  Hands grabbed him just as he managed to dig in his boot. He stopped his slide, wrapped his arms around Portia, who had stopped him from falling, and he got both of them several feet from the cliff.

  He gazed into her huge gray eyes. The most beautiful eyes in the world, belonging to a woman who now knew the worst about him. Not everything Will had said was true, and he owed Portia the truth. Once she had it, he would lose her forever.

  She cocked her head. She looked so startling beautiful with her huge pale gray eyes, her sweet freckles, her sensual mouth.

  The most beautiful, sensual woman he’d ever known. Portia was precious.

  “Portia—” That was all he got out because his throat was so dry and tight.

  “Wait,” she gasped suddenly. “The shot that stopped Willoughby—where did it come from?”

  “That,” he growled, “was Sax. Once I realized Will was still alive, I knew he would think I came alone. Sax armed himself, took cover, and waited. I was determined to save you, Portia, but I had hoped to be able to have Lyon and Will arrested. Of course, if I’d had to, I would have jumped him. Will and I would have gone off the cliff together, but I would’ve protected you.”

  “Thank heaven Sax made the choice to shoot, rather than you jumping off the cliff.”

  “In the end, Will left us with no other choice but to kill him. And he’s gone.”

  “He was in love with you,” she said softly.

  He put his hands on her delicate shoulders and leaned close to her. “I had no idea.” That was the truth. In Sin’s wild orgies, Will had been notorious for vanishing into bedrooms with groups of men and women. There was much speculation about what he did in there. Sin himself had played with other men, to delight women or when it had been part of the play at brothels. Will had obviously hoped for more.

  Sin bent the last inch, kissed her.

  Sax had not come out yet, obviously not wanting to interrupt this moment.

  Sin drew away from the kiss, waiting for her to demand the truth. But she just reached up and stroked his cheek.

  “You saved my life,” she whispered. “Your planning, your cleverness saved me.”

  “Portia, about what Will said . . . aren’t you wondering what he meant by those things?”

  “I love you,” she said firmly. “I don’t care what a madman said about you.”

  Her faith in him stunned him. “I asked you to marry me because I owed you marriage, but I was certain that if you knew the truth about me, you’d never want to say yes.”

  She stared up at him, confused.

  “Some of the things Will said were lies. But some were the truth. I don’t know how he found out—he must have talked to everyone I grew up with. He must have figured it out somehow. I didn’t kill my own father. My mother killed him—and she did it to protect me in her own warped way. And to save her own skin. When I was young . . . she did things to me that she had no right to. Things that were wrong.”

  His skin was hot, his heart pounding even harder than when he’d faced Will over a gun. “Sexual things. She touched me for years. Fondled me. Then she—hell, I can’t even talk about it. My father found out, hated me, and she—I think she poisoned him because she feared he would punish me. That was how I knew the effects of poison when Sandhurst died.”

  Strange how he could talk about it dispassionately. As if it had happened to someone else.

  “My brother was older than me. He was my half brother. I was twelve years younger than him. His mother died; then my father married my mother. My mother arranged the marriage between my brother and his wife, Estella. Estella was stunningly beautiful. She was also as warped as Mama, and soon after her marriage to my half-brother, Estella started coming to my bed.”

  “How old were you?” she whispered.

  “Twelve, I guess. Old enough to know it wasn’t right. My mother had been doing things to me for years before that—I don’t really remember when she started. My father was still alive then. He was so busy with his own mistresses that he didn’t care what was happening. My brother cared, though. He called me out. I was sixteen, facing my brother over pistols. The thing was—I wasn’t sleeping with Estella by then. I’d refused to do it once I reached fifteen. I was away at school then, and she would try to seduce me on the holidays. But I said no. Out of spite, she told my brother. When we dueled, I missed my brother deliberately. But he didn’t miss me.”

  “Oh my heavens,” Portia gasped. “You were a child! None of this was your fault. How could he have shot at you?”

  “I guess he hated me. He winged me. I wished he’d killed me. But afterward, he must have had a change of heart—he was so guilt-ridden over what he’d done that he took his own life. Estella died soon after when she fell and broke her neck while riding. My father found out the whole sordid truth; then he died of poisoning. And my mother . . . she paid soon after that. She died of a fever. I was the last one left. Then I learned I was the new duke. For me it was going to be a new start. I played a role when I came to London. I pretended to be innocent. I didn’t want anyone to know about my past. What I wanted to do was forget it. But when Will took me back to the brothels, I found I craved wild sex. It flooded my mind so I couldn’t think about the past. When I was having orgies, when I was drunk or in an opium haze, I was free of my past.”

  “Now I understand,” she whispered.

  “I proposed to you ten years ago because I loved you. You were like an angel to me, Portia. The most good and beautiful woman I’d ever known. I wanted to be worthy of you. But I’m dark and warped inside. That’s why I can offer you marriage, but nothing more. Every time you look at me now, you’ll see the warped man inside. I know I’ve lost your heart forever.”

  “Sin, I don’t—”

  She broke off and looked over his shoulder in surprise. Sin turned.

  The other guests had come from the house—the Incognita and the two earls. Clarissa rushed forward with her arms open. “Saxonby told us everything. Dear Portia, thank heavens you are safe. You saved us all. Both of you. Oh, thank you.”

  She embraced Portia, then buried her face in Portia’s shoulder and began to sob.

  There was nothing more he could say to Portia now. He was going to insist on marrying her, then give her the freedom he knew she would want.

  24

  She was on the mainland again. On England’s shores. Safe and alive, thanks to Sin. As soon as she stepped off the dory, Portia bent down and rested her hands on the solid surface of the quay. “I just have to make certain it’s real.”

  Sin crouched beside her. “I’m tempted to give the thing a kiss, except there’s likely been a pile of fish slopped there.”

  That made her withdraw her hands and he grinned. “It is real, though, Portia. It’s all over. And I’m going to get you safely home.”

  He moved to his knees to cup her face tenderly. Then he kissed her—a hot, long, openmouthed, sensual kiss for the whole world to see.

  Once she’d been a model of propriety. But that was before their scandalous night—nights—together. Before she’d thought him dead and discovered there we
re more important things than being proper.

  So she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed Sin passionately, in front of fishermen and sailors and fishwives.

  When their kissed finally ended, she took fast breaths, and so did he. He stroked her cheeks so sweetly, she shivered. The wind off the sea tossed his hair about his handsome face, leaving the silky brown tresses as seductively mussed as after she and he made love.

  “I know no harm can come to you now,” he said softly. “And I know we survived because you are so good, because you deserved to survive.”

  He had been quiet on the boat ride back. He’d looked troubled. Now she knew it was because he’d been forced to tell her about his past.

  Portia clasped his warm, strong hand. “You aren’t bad. You were a boy, Sin, and others hurt you and took advantage of you.”

  “That does not excuse what I did. I knew right from wrong.”

  “Sometimes children are forced to do wrong by adults. It does excuse you.”

  He shook his head.

  His heart was in anguish. He was tormented by his past. He’d offered marriage, but she couldn’t bear to have a marriage in name only. She loved him and wanted him to accept her love. To believe in it.

  Or did he simply not want a real marriage because he wanted to go back to his wicked orgies and brothels?

  “It’s time to take you home.”

  Sin lifted his hand, summoning a young lad to him. He gave the boy some coins to fetch his coachman, instructed other men to pile up his trunks.

  Beyond the quay, the sea rippled. The waves sparkled in the sun that had broken through the clouds that dawn. Early this morning, discovering the sun glimmering and the sea calmer, she, Sin, and Sax had used a fire to signal the mainland and the dory had come out.

  Now, safe on the quay, Portia turned away from the dark, foreboding shape of Serenity Island.

  She would be going back to the foundling home. To the children she missed. She would see Mother and embrace her. It didn’t matter that Mother wouldn’t know who she was. She would be able to tell Mother she loved her, and that was what mattered most.

  Surviving made everything seem so clear.