Meet Me at Midnight (11 page)

Althorpe nodded. “I’m off, then. Lady Nofton, Victoria.”

“You actually did marry him, then,” Estelle said as they watched him round the corner of the house. “I’d
heard, but then when you arrived today, I thought perhaps I’d been mistaken.”

“No mistake.” Victoria sighed.

“Sin Grafton, himself. Oh, my. He’s quite…delectable-looking, isn’t he?” Lady Nofton’s substantial frame shook with her tittering laughter.

“I suppose he is. Never mind that, though. Let’s have a look at your seating arrangements before the guests arrive.”

By the time they decided that Lady Dash would sit beside Lady Hargrove but not her sister-in-law Lady Magston, the carriages began to arrive. Victoria had just begun to wonder where her husband had vanished to, when he materialized beside her.

“I had no idea you knew so many stodgy people,” he said, nodding as the Count and Countess of Magston passed by them and nearly tripped over a border fence as they turned to stare at him.

“Hush.”

He chuckled, and she leaned closer to him, sniffing and abruptly suspicious.

Victoria cursed under her breath. “You’re drunk? You can’t be drunk. You’ve only been gone for twenty minutes.”

“I try not to waste time. But don’t worry, I’ll let everyone know the cause has my full support. Is that Lord Dash? The marksman?” He started forward.

She grabbed him by the arm to hold him back. “Please don’t support anything on my account,” she whispered urgently. “Some of the people here actually believe the law needs to be changed.”

“And some of them are here for the roast chicken. They might support you with their stomachs, but how many back it up with their purses?”

“Enough to make the luncheon worthwhile,” she snapped. “Not everyone here thinks of nothing but themselves.”

His lazy amber eyes glinted. “Indeed,” he drawled softly. “I’m learning something new every day.”

She stood on her tiptoes, trying to look him in the eye and demand that he leave before he offended one of their patrons, but she abruptly noticed something. His clothes reeked of whiskey, but his soft breath on her cheek still carried the tang of the peppermint candy he’d snagged from a bowl on their way out of Grafton House.

Victoria narrowed her eyes, remembering the three supposedly intoxicated strangers at their wedding and their sober midnight rendezvous last evening. “I’m learning new things, as well.”

He tilted his head at her. “And what might you be learning, Victoria?”

“I’m not sure yet. But I am beginning to learn what you’re not, Sinclair Grafton.”

“Enlighten me. What am I not?”

“You’re not drunk, for one thing.”

At that moment Estelle summoned Victoria to the front table, and she walked away. Let him think about that for awhile.

“W
ho was that nasty fellow with the large nose? The one who ate all the Brazilian cashews.”

“You ate your share of them,” Victoria returned airily, apparently fascinated by the hordes of pedestrians outside the carriage.

Sinclair crossed his ankles. “Yes, but I didn’t snatch a platter of them from a neighboring table when no one was looking.”

“Apparently at least one person was looking.”

He scowled. Whatever he’d done wrong at the charity luncheon, his bride was hanging onto it like a dog on a ham bone. “So I noticed him stuffing himself. Who the devil was the fat ox?”

Finally she looked at him. “Why were you pretending to be drunk? Was it because I asked you to behave yourself? Was it just to embarrass me?”

She’d left him a way out, though any answer would make him look like a cad. “I’m not used to being told what to do,” he returned, sidestepping. “Especially by someone five stone lighter and eight years younger than I am.”

“And a female.”

“Yes. And a female.”

She folded her arms across her lovely bosom, her expression as warm as icicles. “Fine. I won’t tell you what to do. But don’t you dare tell me what to do or who to speak to or how to conduct myself.”

“I’m not your damned parent. I haven’t given you any orders. But don’t you throw any tantrums in my direction, Vixen. I went to your useless charity luncheon and watched some fat man whose name you won’t tell me eat cashews. You got your way.”

To his surprise, a tear ran down her cheek. “It was not useless.” She swiped the tear away with her fingers. “And that fat, stupid man is a vicar in Cheapside. If it takes a few Brazilian cashews to convince him to talk to his parishioners about setting up another local school, then I would happily give him a thousand of them.”

He’d begun to think her invulnerable. How pleasant to know that he could wound her with such little effort. “Oh. Point taken,” he muttered.

“What?”

“I said, ‘Point taken,’” he repeated more loudly. “You were doing something worthwhile, and I was…being myself.” The self he’d become over the past few years, anyway. The one who’d seen holy vicars sell out a loyal parishioner for a bottle of whiskey—when he’d been the one to provide the bottle.

“I don’t think you were being yourself.”

Damnation
. “For God’s sake, Victoria, I was trying to have a bit of fun with you and it misfired,” he said, hoping volume and conviction would carry some weight with her.

She jabbed a well-manicured finger into his knee. “So you’re nothing but a boor?”

“Apparently. I did compromise you horribly in Lady Franton’s garden.”

“And then you offered to marry me, thereby saving my reputation.”

“And my own.”

Victoria began another jab, and he caught her hand in his.

“Make your point verbally, if you please.”

“Aha!”

She didn’t try to withdraw her fingers from his grip. Her skin was so smooth, and her hand so delicate that he could scarcely remember what they’d been talking about. “Aha, what?”

“That
was
my point.”

Shifting his grip, he tugged her out of her seat and yanked her across the small space of the coach to sit her down beside him. “I seem to have suffered an apoplexy. What point did you make?”

She lifted her face to him. “You didn’t let me poke you again. You don’t repeat mistakes.”

“What?”

“So you’re being a boor on purpose. Why?”

He looked at her. “That’s a very weak argument.”

“Nevertheless, I asked you a question. Please do me the courtesy of answering it.”

Obviously, words had failed. Sin met her mouth with his. It was a ragged, desperate kiss, solely meant to distract her from her very troublesome line of questions. And it sent a jolt of electricity through him. She shifted closer to him, deepening the kiss of her own volition. He was ready—more than ready—to follow, however far she wanted to go.

Her soft lips parted at his teasing, her arms draped over his shoulders, and Sinclair had to stifle a triumphant groan. Good God, he wanted to make love to her. He reached for his walking cane to rap on the roof and signal Roman to make another circuit—or two—around Hyde Park.

“Sinclair,” she murmured against his mouth.

“Hm?”

“Answer the question.”

He sat up, letting the cane fall back against the seat. Her lips and cheeks were flushed, and she still clung to his neck as though she intended never to let go. Yet distraction obviously wasn’t going to work, either. He wanted to trust her, but he couldn’t be certain which part of his body was telling him that.

“The question,” he repeated thickly. “You’ve missed the straightest path. I’m being a boor because I am a boor. Just because I don’t want you drawing blood with your damned nails doesn’t mean I’m playing games or hiding things.”

She studied his face while he gazed back at her evenly and waited for a lightning bolt from heaven to strike him dead. He’d told lies as blatant before, but never to anyone to whom he’d wanted to tell the truth.

“All right,” she said quietly, withdrawing her arms. “If that’s how you want it. But if you won’t trust me, don’t expect me to trust you.”

“I don’t believe I asked you to.”

“No, you didn’t.” Victoria turned away again to resume gazing out the window. Hurt and disappointment showed in every line of her slender body.

Seeing her disappointed, though, was far better than seeing her—or himself—dead. And so, though he wanted to apologize, to assure her that if she would
just be patient he would try to make things right for them both, he kept silent.

The coach turned up the drive and stopped. As a footman pulled open the door and flipped down the step, Victoria glanced at him again. “I have a dinner engagement this evening.”

He followed her to the ground. “Anyone I know?”

“I didn’t ask them.”

Well, this wasn’t going to be very productive. He needed access to her friends. If she’d decided to ignore his existence, that was going to become considerably more difficult. So, he had two choices. He could tell her another lie that would hopefully leave her feeling more charitable toward him, or he could tell her the truth. A little bit of the truth—enough to regain her cooperation, but not to put her or his friends in any danger.

Milo pulled open the front door as they reached it. “Good afternoon, Lord and Lady Althorpe. How was your luncheon?”

In the four weeks Sinclair had known the butler, Milo had never asked him how any part of his day or evening had gone. Obviously, the question wasn’t for his benefit. “Quite well,” he answered anyway, when Victoria kept walking. “It was very enlightening.”

“Ha,” she said to the air, heading for the stairs and, undoubtedly, her private rooms above. And she still had the damned key.

“Victoria, may I have a word with you?” he asked.

“You’ve had several already.”

Sinclair strode forward and scooped her into his arms before she could so much as gasp. “I require several more,” he stated grimly, continuing up the staircase with her in his arms.

“Put me down! At once!”

“No.”

His rooms began at one end of the hall, and hers at the other. After a few seconds’ debate he decided on neutral territory, and pushed open the library door opposite the master bedchamber. Once inside, he kicked the door shut and then plunked his bride down on the sofa beneath the window.

“You are worse than a boor!” she snapped, shooting to her feet again. “No one has ever treated me in such a disrespectful manner, and I certainly won’t tolerate it from you!”

“Sit,” he ordered.

She folded her arms across her chest. “No.”

He took a step closer. “If you won’t sit down, it will be my pleasure to convince you to do so, Vixen.”

Victoria’s expression could have frozen the sun, but after a moment’s defiance she sank gracefully onto the cushions again. “As you wish, my lord,” she said, her jaw clenched.

“Thank you.” Now that he had her attention, though, he wasn’t quite certain where to begin. He’d kept his own counsel and his own secrets for so damned long that he had no idea how to part with any of them, or how to sort out which ones might be safe for her to know and which ones wouldn’t be. From the expression on her face, growing grimmer by the moment, he’d best think of something.

“I haven’t been entirely honest with you,” he said slowly.

“Don’t expect me to act surprised.” She leaned over to pick up a book and open it. “In fact, I no longer care.”

Hoping that wasn’t true, that after only two days he
hadn’t alienated her beyond repair, Sinclair paced from the door to the window and back again. “I did return to London with a purpose other than assuming the marquisdom.”

“Yes. You mentioned something about finding a spouse.” Licking her forefinger, she began flipping pages, slowly and noisily. “I was there.”

“I intend to find the man—or woman—who murdered my brother.”

Victoria slammed the book closed. “I knew it!”

“Yes, well,” he continued, trying to ignore the sudden dryness of his mouth and the hard pounding of his heart, “don’t make more of it than there is.”

Her violet eyes were still suspicious as he faced her again. “Why not just say that’s what you’re doing, for heaven’s sake? And why did you wait so long to come back to London if you wanted to see justice done?”

At least she still seemed interested. “I was…obliged to remain where I was,” he said slowly. “And obviously whoever killed Thomas thinks he’s gotten away with the murder. I don’t want to disabuse him of that fact until after I’ve caught him.”

“So what does that have to do with your pretending to be drunk? Or with those three men lurking in the stable yard?”

He froze, then fixed a puzzled look on his face. “What three men lurking in the stable yard?”

She sighed. “The three men I saw you out there talking with last night; the same three who were at our wedding pretending to be drunk—or so I presume. I have some reason to doubt that now, as you know.”

Good God. She was astounding. He and the lads weren’t sloppy; they would have died a long time ago if they had been. Yet she had noticed them and in two
days figured out part of their play. No wonder she’d become so immediately suspicious of him. He hadn’t realized how intelligent she was, and it didn’t leave him feeling any better about including her.

Sinclair cleared his throat. “I know those gentlemen from my excursions in Europe. They offered to help me out.”

“And the supposed drunkenness?”

“People talk more freely when they think you’re inebriated. It’s a habit, I suppose.”

As he finished speaking, he realized he’d said too much. Thankfully, she seemed too absorbed by the rest of the information to realize that he’d stumbled.

For a long moment Victoria sat in silence, looking down at her hands. “Might I ask you a question?”

“Yes.”

“How many of the stories about your escapades in Europe are true?”

He relaxed a little. “Most of them.” On the surface, anyway.

Slowly she stood again. “Very well, Sinclair. You’ve given me something to think about.”

Any answer was better than outright rejection. “And might I ask you the same question? How many of your supposed exploits in London are true?”

She strolled to the door and opened it. “Most of them,” she said airily, and turned up the hallway to her rooms.

Sin resumed pacing. Victoria wasn’t precisely an ally; he wasn’t willing to tell her enough to make her one. But she wasn’t an enemy, either, and that felt like a victory—or at least the beginnings of a truce.

“A shilling for your thoughts, dear.”

Victoria started, realizing she’d been shoving her potatoes back and forth across her plate for the past five minutes. “They’ll cost you at least a pound, Lex.”

Alexandra Balfour smiled. “Done.”

“But we demand the thought in advance of payment,” Lucien Balfour said from her other side. “And considering that I have received permission to play faro at White’s tonight, it’d better be an astonishing thought.”

His wife scowled at him. “Don’t be silly, Lucien. Obviously she came here to talk.”

“No, actually I came here because I told Sinclair I had a dinner engagement. I needed…a moment to recover my wits.” She glanced at her friend. “I probably chose the wrong location for that, now that I think about it.” Witlessness was not a weakness to suffer from in the Balfours’ formidable presence.

“Nonsense,” Alexandra countered. “Don’t say anything, then, if you don’t wish to. I’m just glad to see you.” She shot another look at the earl.

Victoria couldn’t read it, but apparently Lucien could. He pushed back from the table and stood. “I’m off to White’s, then.”

“Oh, no, you don’t need to go because of—”

“I’m not.” He nodded in Alexandra’s direction. “I’m going because of her.”

“He’s terrified of me,” Lex said dryly.

“Only when she has slicing apparatus to hand.” Lord Kilcairn strolled over to his wife’s chair and leaned over the back of it. Alexandra tilted up her face and touched her lips to Lucien’s.

Victoria fidgeted. That was what being married was supposed to be like. Sinclair could use a few hundred
lessons in that. And so could she, no doubt, since she’d arranged to spend the second night of her marriage dining without her husband.

“All right, Vix,” Alexandra continued when Lucien vanished. “What’s troubling you?”

“I really didn’t come here to complain. Sinclair made me angry, and so I said I had a dinner engagement.” She shrugged. “So here I am, abusing your friendship.”

“You never could, with what you’ve done for me. What made you angry?”

“Lex, don’t. You’re not my governess any longer.”

“But I am still your friend.”

“You’re also the one who said if I didn’t learn to behave, I’d end up married to some incorrigible scoundrel.”

Lex grinned. “No, it was Miss Grenville who said that. I told you you’d end up with a poor reputation.”

Victoria pushed her plate away. “Well, you were both right, I suppose.”

“Is he incorrigible?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Cursing, Victoria stood to pace around the table. “I can’t even be in the same room with him without us arguing.” And without her thinking about his delicious kisses and his warm, sure touch—which made his boorishness even more annoying.