Closer To Sin (42 page)

‘And do you mind if I inquire as to the nature of this disagreement?’ Sir Avery queried, perturbed at what a man of Sinclair’s years and experience could possibly have to argue about with a lady of Liliane’s calibre.

Sinclair looked to Nate, hoping for some assistance, silently beseeching him to save him the effort of having to confess his transgressions to Sir Avery. Apparently, though, Nate had decided that it was time for Sinclair to fall upon his sword. It seemed that some indiscretions were only tolerated for so long and then one was on their own.

He cleared his throat. ‘I neglected to tell you that Solange Beaumont sent a proxy to accompany me on my last mission. I also chose to deliberately withhold her name, and the fact that it became necessary for me to wed that woman.’

Sir Avery stood abruptly and began to bluster, his complexion turning a florid shade of red. ‘You can’t possibly be serious. You, of all people, Esselton, understand the necessity of avoiding complications, or of becoming embroiled in compromising situations. This is an—’

‘Sir Avery, the woman concerned was Liliane Desailly. It seems all of us,’ he gestured to include Nate, ‘have been ignorant of, or have failed to consider, the significance of the connection, but Liliane and Yvette are first cousins to Solange Beaumont.’

Sir Avery stopped his tirade mid-sentence and gaped, first at Sinclair and then at Nate. ‘So you knew about this too, did you, Martinbury?’

Nate gave him a curt nod. ‘Up until this point, the connection between my niece and your operative was inconsequential. In fact, Beaumont’s relationship to my late brother-in-law spoke in her favour. None of us foresaw Liliane’s actions, but as you understand, Sir Avery, once Liliane’s true identity became apparent to Esselton it was essential that we did all in our power to protect her reputation. Even if that meant withholding information from you.’

‘Blast it.’ Sir Avery dropped back into his chair. ‘That was not your call to make.’ He looked from one to the other. ‘What level of trust do we have here if the both of you think I’m incapable of protecting the identity of some flighty miss who took it into her head to have an adventure?’

Sinclair stiffened. ‘Trust has nothing to do with it, Sir Avery. Until the attack in Kensington Gardens last week, there was no apparent need to bring Liliane’s name into it.’

Nate nodded in agreement. ‘With circumstances as they now are, however, I’m concerned Liliane is vulnerable. Particularly as De Bois will have recognised her as the woman he encountered in Boulogne.’

Sir Avery slumped back. ‘May I ask what Miss Desailly was doing in France?’ Yvette opened her mouth to explain but, at Nate’s shake of the head, she sat back and maintained her silence.

‘If you have no objections, we would prefer to keep those matters private.’ After several terse moments, the man reluctantly nodded and Sinclair breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Thank you.’

A knock at the door alerted them to Thornton’s return. He entered the room at Sinclair’s summons and stood before the room’s occupants, a grim look frozen upon his face.

‘My Lord, the house has been searched, but Miss Desailly was not located. I also took the liberty of checking the Chapel and summer house by the pond, but nor was she at either of those locations. As I was returning from the Chapel I encountered the head gardener, Perkins—he and the lads have been working in the orchard most of the day. Perkins saw nothing of consequence, but one of the lads said he saw a lady running into the woods, in the direction of the lake, earlier today. The description of that lady fits Miss Desailly.’

Sinclair stiffened. ‘Did he give an indication of what time that was?’

Thornton nodded agitatedly. ‘Yes, m’Lord. About an hour after the breakfast service finished. He didn’t notice anyone return from that direction.’

Nate flipped open his pocket watch and looked to Sinclair and Sir Avery. ‘That was over four hours ago.’

Sinclair looked out the window to the distant woodland that obscured the lake from the house. There were still a few hours of light left, but Liliane wasn’t the type to take a sulk for such a long period of time. The certainty that something had happened to her cloaked him in icy dread.

With determination, he strode to the concealed wall safe and withdrew a pair of pistols. Ensuring they were primed, he turned and handed one to Nate. ‘I’m not prepared to wait this out in the hope she suddenly reappears.’ He glanced over his shoulder. ‘Thornton, it’s essential the guests don’t get wind of Miss Desailly’s disappearance. I trust you to keep a lid on that if you’d be so good.’

Nate waited until the door had closed behind the retreating butler. ‘Yvette, I need you to find Lady Carrick and Lady Beechworth and discreetly explain what is happening. Guests will be assembling for tea very shortly, so they would be well versed to make excuses for Liliane being indisposed for the remainder of the afternoon.’

‘Quite right,’ Sin agreed. ‘Sir Avery, I would ask you to hunt down Beechworth and my cousin Cornelius.’ He flicked a glance at Nate. ‘They’re both aware of my relationship with Liliane. Given the current state of affairs, I think it’s pertinent that they be apprised of what is going on. Martinbury and I are going to take a look down at the lake. I’ll take a couple of the footmen with me and we’ll send word if there are any developments.’ He tapped Nate lightly on the shoulder. ‘Let’s go, Martinbury.’

***

Liliane shivered violently and huddled more tightly into the corner, concentrating hard to keep her balance on the narrow platform that was the only thing separating her from the cold lake water at her feet. How long had it been since the last person had used this boathouse? She peered through the gloom. Judging by the holes in the roof and amount of slime on the platform, it was obviously long abandoned. And certainly De Bois had not seemed overly concerned with being discovered.

She had lost track of how much time had passed since he’d dragged and pushed her deeper into the woods and around the perimeter of the lake. From the path she hadn’t even noticed the ancient wooden structure sitting at the water’s edge until they were upon it. If she hadn’t seen it, how was anyone else to find her here?

She clenched her jaw and pushed back the coil of fear that threatened to unwind and envelop her. She was not prepared to seal her fate by giving into despair. There was very little light filtering through the cracks in the wood and the damp was starting to permeate her bones. She looked up to where her bound hands were looped over a hook above her head. There was just enough slack to leave her dangling above the water if she slipped, but not enough to give her relief from the strain it was putting on her arms. She rolled her shoulders and bit down hard upon her lip to stifle a moan of pain as her elbow and shoulder joints protested their unaccustomed position.

Surely De Bois didn’t intend to abandon her here? She squinted through the dull light and looked up at the hook again. It was, she realised, designed to slide along the railing to which it was secured. Obviously in days gone by there were other hooks that had acted as moving brackets to allow oars of varying lengths to be laid across them and stored up out of the water.

She stilled. If that were the case, where were the other hooks? It was too dark, and the water too murky to see anything that may be sitting in the shallows of the lake. Liliane ran her eyes across the railing: nothing. Pulling hard on the rope to steady herself, she looked about. There was no sign of any hooks lying on the ledge, which meant they may have slid off the end of the railing.

Tentatively she stepped away from the corner of the building and moved out along the narrow platform, deeper into the lake. The rusty hook that her hands were tied to grated loudly as it dragged over the aged metal. She halted and silently rejoiced—it moved. She listened intently. The only sound she could discern was the gentle lapping of the water against the walls of the boathouse. With caution she took another step and the hook grated further along the railing. What she hoped to achieve by this, she couldn’t be certain. But perhaps, by the time she got to where the boathouse opened onto the lake, she would have come up with an idea.

Her legs trembled as she stepped over a hole in the ledge and reached the end of the platform. Looking up, she could see where the railing had detached from the wall. If she was able to slide the hook along, just a few more inches, it would be free of its constraint. She shuffled forward another step and teetered as the length of the platform fell short of the railing above her.
Blast!

Liliane hesitated as she weighed her options. Return to the corner and wait until De Bois returned or, she looked up again, swing forward from the edge of the platform and hope that the momentum was sufficient to dislodge the hook from the end of the rail. She looked down at the water. It would be cold and probably deep. But she would be free.

With one last glance about, she drew in a deep breath and, with as much force as she could muster, pushed off from the end of the platform. Pain arced through the length of her arms as the rope stretched taut and took the full weight of her body. A loud screech echoed through the boathouse and the hook shot forward, stopping at the edge of the rail.

She was dangling, suspended over the water. Too far from the edge of the platform to be able to step back onto it, but not close enough to the end of the rail to be able to slide the hook the rest of the way free.

The rope bit deeply into the chaffed skin at her wrists, burning. Blind panic nipped at her, fraying her breathing and elevating her heart until the sound drowned out all else. Desperate, she bit hard into her bottom lip and tucked her legs beneath her. Dredging the last of her resolve she kicked forward, hard, grunting loudly from the exertion.

A sob escaped her throat. Despite all effort she had only managed to move another fraction of an inch. Determined to ignore the pain in her wrists, she lifted her legs and started swinging herself, kicking higher with each forward movement. As her momentum increased she kicked forward one last time and the hook screeched across the last inch of railing until she felt herself plummet.

The cold of the lake knocked the air from Liliane’s lungs as the icy water enveloped her in its depths and the weight of her skirts dragged her down.

Oh God, it was so much deeper than she had expected. She didn’t think she would be able to hold her breath much longer.

Her feet hit the soft, silty bottom of the lake and, not wasting a moment, she pushed upwards.

Her skirts wrapped themselves about her legs, constricting her movements. Her lungs burnt from the need for air. As she reached upwards her knuckles scraped the wooden platform above her and in blind desperation she grasped the ledge and held hard. Splinters cut into the tender flesh on her hands but oblivious to the pain she pulled herself up until she broke the surface and breathed deeply.

Fear and exhilaration hammered through her with each gasp of fresh air. She shook her bound hands free from the metal hook and watched it disappear into the depths of the boathouse.

She may be free of the hook, but now she needed to get herself out of the water and back to the house. She moved closer to the edge of the platform and took stock.

The water had swollen the ropes binding her wrists, making them near impossible to untie. But without her arms being suspended above her she had enough latitude to move her hands. Her skirts hampered her movements too much to allow her to swim away from the boathouse, so she would need to take her chances and leave through the back door. All well and good, provided De Bois didn’t choose this moment to reappear.

Her fingers numb from the water, she hauled herself along the platform until her feet made contact with the muddy bed of the lake. Gingerly she stepped forward, grimacing as silt oozed into her shoes and the slime coating the shallower water clung to her skirts.

Liliane clambered from the water on trembling legs and cautiously stepped out from behind the door of the boathouse. The sun had sunk lower in the sky, the air had a distinct chill to it and the woodland loomed dense and black.

The path lay before her. Where was De Bois? If she followed the path to the left, towards the house, would she be more likely to encounter him? Or should she take her chances and hope that the path to the right encircled the lake, taking her the long way home? Indecision held her motionless for mere seconds. She needed to get to Sin, to warn him. To tell him she loved him.

With resolve she hitched her dress in her bound hands and made to step forward, and stopped short.

De Bois emerged from the path to her right. With him, her arm linked through his was Solange Beaumont.

Liliane gasped, her mind seized and her body stood motionless as she sought to understand what Solange could be doing with De Bois.

De Bois was quick to mask his surprise at the sight of Liliane standing in the clearing. He pulled his gun from his waistband and laughed maliciously. ‘I see I was wrong to underestimate you, my petite.’ He turned to Solange. ‘Your cousin is very resourceful. It must be a familial trait.’

Solange smiled at De Bois. ‘And that’s a lesson I advise you not to forget, my love.’

My love
? Liliane looked frantically from De Bois to Solange. She closed her eyes momentarily, gathering her thoughts, and opened them to see De Bois and Solange watching her intently. Outraged, she stepped forward, her clasped hands extended towards her cousin.

‘You’ve been in an alliance with De Bois this whole time?’ she challenged.

Solange shrugged, unrepentant. ‘Needs must, Liliane. Surely you’re not so naive that you can’t recognise that.’

De Bois laughed, the menace behind his eyes warning Liliane to tread carefully. ‘You have been very useful to us, my petite, exposing Lyon and Allard, and of course, your devoted husband.’

He glanced at Solange. ‘She did tell you of her impromptu wedding, didn’t she?’ He shrugged. ‘No matter, it’s of no consequence now.’

‘And what of Gareth Whitby? Where is he, De Bois?’ Liliane demanded.

Du Bois shrugged. ‘I believe he was last seen lying in a muddy ditch outside of Boulogne with his lifeblood pooling about him.’