Closer To Sin (16 page)

The proprietor, seated at his desk and busy transcribing a pile of invoices into the ledger before him, looked up in surprise as Sinclair stepped into the room and moved towards the desk. Holding out his hand in greeting, Sinclair quickly allayed the man’s fears. ‘Good evening. I’m Monsieur St Clair—Sin. My friend, Gaston Duval, suggested you’d be able to provide me with a specific type of parchment that I require.’

Rising, the proprietor moved to quietly close the door behind him before returning the greeting. ‘Ah, and I’m Henri Lyon. How is my good friend Gaston?’

‘He was well last time I saw him and excited at the prospect of becoming a papa.’ Sinclair paused and studied Henri closely. ‘Gaston suggested that you may be able to assist me.’

Lyon studied Sinclair for a moment before nodding. ‘Very well.’ He indicated a pair of arm chairs in the far corner. ‘Please take a seat.’ Placing a decanter of brandy and a pair of glasses on the table between them, he poured each a measure and passed one across to Sinclair. ‘Go on.’

‘A colleague of mine, Gareth Whitby, went missing last month on his way to meet with a French informant. It’s greatly feared that he’s been murdered.’ Sinclair went on to explain his recent meeting with Basile Deneux and his suspicions that Gareth may have uncovered a new Jacobin plot.

He picked up his glass of brandy and slowly swirled the amber liquid, watching the play of the candle light against the liquor. ‘Please understand, I didn’t come here to investigate any alleged Jacobin activities, but I fear Gareth may have uncovered something that jeopardised his safety.’

And now for the bit that was likely to get him tossed out on his ass if he didn’t phrase what he had to ask next in the most subtle way possible. He took a sip of his brandy. ‘It’s my suspicion that, if Gareth had stumbled across something, he may have come to you to validate that information.’ He looked Lyon in the eye. ‘I suspect you may have been the last person to see Gareth Whitby before he went missing.’

The room went silent as Lyon stared at Sinclair for several long moments. ‘I hope you’re not implying I had anything to do with Whitby’s death?’ His voice was cold and uncompromising.

Sinclair let the silence play out before answering Lyon. ‘Let me assure you, Monsieur Lyon, you’d already be dead if I had thought that to be the case.’

Lyon lifted a brow. ‘I seriously doubt that Monsieur St Clair.’

Sinclair shrugged his shoulders. ‘Perhaps we’ll never know. What I do think is it was you who orchestrated the meeting Gareth was scheduled to attend.’ He leaned back in his chair and looked steadily at Lyon. ‘I want you to set up a similar meeting on my behalf.’

Lyon poured each of them another measure of brandy and then studied the contents of the glass thoughtfully until he swallowed it back in one quick gulp. ‘You are correct. I did set up the meeting between Whitby and the informant.’ Looking directly at Sinclair he continued. ‘Whitby was already gone when the informant arrived. It was the informant who raised the alarm about his disappearance.’

Sinclair tried to hide his shock. ‘You can be sure of this?’

‘Yes.’

Bloody hell, why hadn’t Sir Avery advised him of this, or hadn’t he known? And why had he been leading a merry goose chase and dancing about with the likes of Deneux when Lyon seemed to be in possession of so many of the facts? ‘And where is this informant now?’

‘At his post. He’s a part of Marshal Soult’s personal staff.’

‘Soult? Commander of Boulogne’s Saint-Omer camp?’ The news that the informant was placed so highly slammed through Sinclair with the impact of a blow to the body. Hell, the sole reason Liliane was travelling with him on this mission was to gain him access to a contact on Soult’s staff. If that were the case, then Solange Beaumont must obviously know Henri Lyon. Which begged the question, why did Solange have no apparent knowledge of Gareth’s disappearance? It seemed it was time to have a little talk to the delectable Liliane. ‘So how did you come to have such a highly placed informant?’

‘Michel Allard is my nephew.’

Sinclair’s mouth dried. This got all the more complicated by the minute. He sat back in his chair and took a sip of his brandy. After giving this information a few moments of consideration he looked to Lyon. ‘I see why you trust your source implicitly, but it’s a dangerous path your family has chosen to tread.’

Lyon nodded grimly. ‘We don’t all get to choose our path in life. Often, we must make the most of what fate presents. Napoleon has taken this country’s vision of nationalism and is using it for nothing other than to further his own ambitions. My family has already sacrificed too much. We’ve surrendered our lands and our titles and we’ll do what we can to put a stop to this man’s machinations.’

‘We all make sacrifices, Lyon, none more so than Gareth Whitby. Will you assist me to meet with your nephew?’

A period of silence ensued before Lyon slowly nodded his head. ‘Leave me your directions. I’ll get word to you.’

Liliane awoke to the sound of a door closing. She sat bolt upright, her heart slamming in her chest. She looked around at the elegantly furnished room and was assailed by the memory of being detained by De Bois. And of the subsequent marriage ceremony.

She gripped the sheets and fought to steady her breathing. If only she could quell the panic that clawed her throat at the thought of returning to England and going through the motions of a Season. One where she was expected to accept an offer of betrothal from Freddy Parkes, all the while married to Sin.

It had been difficult enough to lay a trail of subterfuge in order to get to France this time. She and Yvette had worked hard to persuade Great-Aunt Woolner that they were in need of time at home before joining her in town for the Season. It would be nigh impossible to use that same excuse to disguise her whereabouts a second time. She bit down on her bottom lip and blinked back the tears that stung the back of her eyes. If she couldn’t return to France, she was irrevocably trapped in this marriage.

And where on earth had Sin gone last night? As soon as she’d mentioned she was tired, he’d left the room as though he had the devil on his heels.

At least his disappearance had solved the awkward question of where he was going to sleep, particularly as every time she had peered at him over the rim of her wineglass her mind had conjured images of him curled around her in the shepherd’s hut. Of him slowly kissing and tasting her, exploring the hollows and planes of her body, and the rasp of his whiskers against the tender skin at her throat.

Instead, she had lain awake for what seemed like hours, tossing and turning and waiting for him to return. She had no recollection of finally succumbing to sleep, for all the good it did her. Her head was heavy from her muddled dreams while her eyes felt as though she had swum through an ocean of sand.

Beside her the door to the dressing room swung open and she hastily dragged herself upright, hauling the sheets up to her chin as she did so. She looked across to see Sin emerging from the small closet, and forgot to breathe.

Sweet Lucifer, the man was pure virility. His wet hair was brushed back from his face, bringing his eyes and high cheekbones into prominence. A strong aquiline nose balanced out his features. Liliane took in the dark stubble that coated his firm jaw and squirmed at the memory of it grazing against her neck. Unbidden, a spark of heat lanced her core, leaving her shaky and breathless.

She let her eyes drop and closed her mouth with a snap. A bath sheet casually encircled his narrow hips, leaving her with a delectable view of finely sculpted perfection. From behind lowered lashes she studied him further. Her mouth dried as she followed the fine smattering of dark hair that covered his broad chest, trailing down a washboard stomach to disappear beneath the towel.

He winked at her as he approached the bed. ‘Good morning, Madame St Clair, I trust you slept well?’

Liliane blushed furiously and all logical thought was incinerated. She had never seen a man in any state of dishabille before, but how mortifying to have been caught eying him so openly. But then, what did the man expect, dressed like that? ‘Did you call me Madame St Clair?’

‘I recollect something about a wedding yesterday. And you agreeing to honour and obey me until death do us part.’

Liliane quirked an eyebrow. ‘Well, at least until annulment do us part.’ She looked at him askance. ‘Do you intend to dress this morning, or are you looking to start a new fashion?’

Sin laughed. ‘This, sweet wife, is mandatory attire for all newlyweds. Particularly when one’s clothes are being laundered by the good innkeeper’s wife—I took the liberty of sending your dresses down for laundering last night also. I expect they’ll be returned shortly,’ he commented over his shoulder as he walked across to the dining table and casually sat down.

‘Meanwhile, we have fresh coffee, hot bread and strawberry jam for breakfast. Although I can order some tea or chocolate if you prefer.’

Liliane bit back the retort that was on the tip of her tongue. How considerate of him. Every day brought something new about him that continued to surprise her. ‘That sounds divine, thank you.’

A knock on the door interrupted their discussion and at Sin’s bidding a maid entered the room with their freshly laundered clothing. Seeing Sin’s half naked state, she quickly hung the clothes in the dressing room and beat a hasty retreat. Sin gestured for Liliane to remain where she was. He then stood with indolent grace and returned to the dressing room, closing the door behind him.

Liliane sat looking at the closed door. The man had no shame. Within moments he reappeared casually dressed in a pair of navy blue breeches and black Hessian boots. And a white linen shirt that he had yet to tuck in or fully button up. Liliane swallowed, her mouth bone dry. If anything, the shirt only served to further emphasise his powerful shoulders and the broad expanse of his chest. She wiped her hands over the bed linens. The abrasion of the fabric was a counterpoint to the tingling in her palms, but it did nothing to appease the flames that licked at her conscience and threatened to incinerate all sense of self propriety.

Sin dropped back into the chair he had so recently vacated and poured them each a cup of the fragrant coffee. He nodded towards the basket of hot rolls. ‘Help yourself when you’re ready.’

Liliane grabbed her shawl and threw it over her shoulders. She really needed to stop letting herself get so distracted by Sin. The man was a menace. Self-consciously she seated herself at the table and reached for one of the small loaves and broke off a hunk of warm bread, spreading it with a generous amount of butter and jam. Careful to keep her eyes trained on the table or the winter-worn garden outside the window, she grappled for something to say. After all, what did one say when one dined with a man that had been half naked only moments before? Particularly, when that man was her husband and now legally controlled every aspect of her life.

Yesterday she hadn’t thought the wedding vows, temporary as they were intended to be, would hold any significance. But in the cold light of day she felt their weight like the heaviest of shackles. There was no escaping the fact they were as legally binding as any other, and she was dependent upon Sin being the honourable man she believed him to be. There would be many men who would not behave so honourably if they were to discover their wife was the niece of the Duke of Martinbury, and they now had control over her considerable fortune.

A voice gnawed at the back of her head. Perhaps that’s why Sin had left so hastily last night. Maybe he knew who she was. She grabbed her cup of coffee and took a sip, trying to assemble her thoughts. She stirred a small amount of sugar into the strong brew and sipped again.

Her thoughts returned to Sin’s sudden departure. Surely he would have said something by now. If he was aware of her identity and sought her fortune, he wouldn’t need to hide that fact any longer, although she could simply be jumping to conclusions. For all she knew, Sin may have a perfectly innocent explanation for his sudden retreat. Likely, he just didn’t want to have to share sleeping quarters with her again.

‘So, you left suddenly last night. Where did you sleep?’ She started as Sin’s body stiffened in response to her question. Damn, that didn’t come out right; she sounded like a scorned lover. ‘I only meant you couldn’t have been very comfortable, where ever it was that you spent the night.’

His eyes bored into hers. ‘Well, that didn’t take long before the wifely nagging commenced. We’ve been married for less than twenty-four hours and you’re already questioning my devotion? That’s a fine start to a marriage, sweet wife.’

Drat, the man was difficult. She sat pinned by the intensity of his gaze, desperately replaying his comments back through her head until she realised his eyes had creased at the corners and were sparkling in amusement. Determined to stay on an even keel with him she casually shrugged a shoulder. ‘I think we should start as we intend to proceed.’

‘Then suffice to say, I had an appointment and it was quite late when I returned. Having no wish to awaken you, I slept on the maid’s trundle in the dressing room.’

Liliane swallowed. What sort of appointment did he have? ‘I see. So you’re to be a faithless husband who stays out all night, keeps assignations and sneaks home through the servants’ quarters. I’m pleased this marriage is not intended to be a lengthy arrangement.’

Sin smiled broadly. ‘You have a sharp tongue, Liliane. But, truly?’ He looked at her intently, as though gauging her reaction. ‘I went to visit a man by the name of Henri Lyon.’

Liliane gasped and reflexively covered her mouth with her fingertips.

‘You know him?’

Liliane felt like she was about to wither under Sin’s penetrating stare. Where was this line of questioning going? She shook her head. ‘No, I’ve never met Henri Lyon. But he is the man I was going to meet with in order to arrange the introduction with Michel Allard.’ She looked at Sin, trying to pull the pieces of the puzzle together. ‘If you already know Lyon, then why did you need my escort?’