Meet Me at Midnight (20 page)

Victoria swallowed. She’d seen him angry before, but never like this; never so furious he seemed almost out of control. She was frightened—not of him, but for him. “I’m sorry I’ve upset you. The next time I see someone lurking, I’ll tell you. I promise.”

“That is not—” He stopped, then took a deep breath
and knelt at her feet. “That is not the point,” he repeated in a quieter voice. “If that hadn’t been damned Wally out there, you might not have had a second chance to make the right choice.”

She stared at him. Sinclair wasn’t angry that he might have looked foolish, or that he’d caused a scene in front of the servants. He was upset because she might have been hurt. Slowly she reached out to cup his face with hands that had begun to tremble.

“I’m all right,” she whispered, an unbidden tear running down her cheek. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize—”

Brushing her hands aside, he rose up and captured her mouth in a fierce, possessive kiss. “I won’t lose you,” he murmured.

Victoria flung her arms around him, returning his kisses twofold. Slowly Sinclair became aware that Roman, Jenny, Milo, and what looked like half the household staff stood crowded in the doorway, but he couldn’t seem to let go of his wife. They’d been damned lucky this afternoon; one or both of them might very easily have ended the day dead. He might have lost her to the same murderer who’d taken his brother, and he would have been helpless to stop it.

He felt her lithe body stiffen as she, too, realized they had an audience. Reluctantly he released her and stood. “Jenny, Lady Althorpe took a spill.”

The maid hurried forward. “I’ll see to her at once, my lord.”

“You do that.” With a last look at his wife, Sin turned for the door.

“Sin?” Roman muttered as he passed.

“Come with me.” His valet’s presence was the only thing that would keep him from killing Wally.

To his credit, Wally was still seated on one of the
hay bales, nursing the fingers of his right hand. He shot to his feet as Sinclair strode inside, Roman on his heels.

“Sin, I thought you knew I was there,” the spy blurted, flushing. “Really. I only ducked when Vixen came in, so she wouldn’t—”

“Roman, take a look at his finger.”

“Aye, Sin.”

“But Sin, I didn’t—”

“Wally, you’d best have a damned good reason for being here, because if you don’t, I’m going to send you back to Weigh House Street in pieces.”

“Crispin sent me.” While Roman took charge of his right hand, Wally dug into his pocket with his left. “Here.”

Still glaring, Sinclair took the missive and opened it. He swiftly read it, then slowed down and read it again. “Fine,” he said stiffly, crumpling the note and shoving it into his own pocket. “Just get going before anyone else sees you.”

“Everything all right, Sin?” Roman asked.

“Yes. Everything’s wonderful. Blasted, bloody wonderful.”

No wonder Crispin had declined to deliver the note himself. They’d cleared Kilcairn, but it was like Crispin to make an extra check or two, just in case. And it was like Vixen to go and visit the earl for twenty minutes while his wife was away. They were friends, after all. It abruptly seemed past time that he became better acquainted with the Earl of Kilcairn Abbey, himself.

Arranging to meet him was easier than he’d expected. He knew Kilcairn frequented White’s, and
when he strolled into the club at half past ten that evening, the earl was there, seated with Lord Belton, Henning, and a few others.

As Henning saw him approaching, he stood. “Ah, I forgot. Promised I’d introduce Charles Blumton to the Duke of Wycliffe this evening,” he stammered, and hurried off.

“Lucky Wycliffe,” Lucien murmured, and Lord Belton chuckled.

Sinclair gestured at the vacated seat beside Kilcairn. “Do you mind?”

The earl gazed at him. “Actually, yes, I do.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Sin spied Crispin, seated at the opposite end of the room and obviously unhappy to see him in such close proximity to Kilcairn. “Any particular reason?”

Rumblings started around the edges of the room, and inwardly Sinclair sighed. Of all Kilcairn’s group, the earl was the only one with whom he would have thought twice about picking a fight, but he wasn’t going to leave without finding out what he wanted to know.

“People you sit down to talk with always seem to end up with bloody noses,” Kilcairn drawled, sipping his brandy. “I insist on a flag of truce before I allow you anywhere near me.”

Sinclair looked at him for a moment, adjusting his opinion of the earl upward. “Fair enough. Any specific boundaries?”

“White’s is good enough for me.”

“Agreed.”

Kilcairn gestured at Henning’s empty seat. “Join us, then. Robert’s been prattling about his wife and im
pending offspring, though, so I imagine you’ll be bored senseless within minutes.”

“You said you were looking forward to the birth,” Lord Belton protested.

“Yes, so you’d stop talking about it.” His eyes dancing, the earl sat back in his chair and nudged a half-empty box of cigars in Sin’s direction.

“What about you, Althorpe?” Belton said. “Are you planning a family?”

“I really hadn’t thought about it,” Sinclair answered, abruptly struck by the vision of dark-haired little girls with Victoria’s eyes playing in the morning room. Sweet Lucifer, he
was
becoming domestic.

“I would say not, with the way you’ve got the Vixen running every which way,” Kilcairn commented. “Eventually she will begin hinting about it, though. They all do.”

Sinclair frowned. “What do you mean, ‘Vixen running every which way’?”

“Uh-oh,” Belton muttered and stood. “I’m going over to see what Bromley’s up to.”

“I’m with you, Robert,” Lord Daubner said, rising as well. In a moment, Sin and Kilcairn were alone at the table.

“Hm,” the earl mused. “Cowards.” He emptied his glass of brandy and gestured for another. “What’re you drinking?”

“Whiskey.”

“An odd drink for an Englishman who spends all his time gadding about France.”

“And you smoke an American cigar.” Sinclair leaned forward. “We can discuss our loyalties when the truce is over. At the moment, I’d like to know what you were talking about in regards to my wife.”

The earl looked at him. “She told me she was working on a project for you. If you want to know anything else, you’ll have to ask her. I don’t gossip about my friends.”

Damnation. He knew she’d been entirely too quiet. And now she’d let yet another person in on his secrets—and put him in that person’s debt. “Kilcairn, I have to ask you for your discretion in this.”

Kilcairn shrugged. “I’d think less of you if you didn’t want to find your brother’s killer. At least I presume that’s what this is about.”

“That’s none of your affair.”

The earl set his snifter down on the table. “I consider Vixen to be a good friend. And she wouldn’t have married a fool, whatever she might have been caught doing with him.”

“Is that a compliment?”

“Of sorts, I suppose. I don’t know exactly what you’re about, Althorpe, and I haven’t pried into your loyalties because she seems to like you. If you need my help, ask me for it. I won’t gossip, as I said, but I will tell you what I know.” Stretching again, the earl stood. “Now. My wife’s begun hinting, so I’d best go home and take care of matters.”

“No, Mungo,” Victoria said patiently. “‘Dash it all.’ Say it.”

“‘Ooh, like a mare and a stallion.’”

She closed her eyes, knowing her cheeks must be scarlet. “You were listening again last night, weren’t you, you evil little bird?”

“‘
Now
, Sin. I want you ins—’”

“Victoria?” Sinclair called, rapping on her sitting room door.

“Come in,” she returned, relieved at the interruption. As Sin stalked into the room, though, relief sagged into concern. Something had made him angry again, and odds were it was her. “How are your mysterious friends?” she asked, in case anything could still distract him.

“I don’t know. I went to see your friend.”

She fed Mungo Park the last bit of biscuit. “Which friend?”

“Kilcairn.”

“Kil—” Victoria snapped her mouth shut. “I thought you didn’t like him.”

“I didn’t. And since he told me you’ve been carrying on your little investigation behind my back, I’m still not overly fond of him.”

Some very colorful profanities danced through her mind, but Mungo Park was still in the room. “I didn’t go behind your back.” Striding forward, she grabbed his hand and pulled him into her bedchamber, closing the door so the parrot couldn’t overhear. “I’m helping you find Thomas’s killer.”

“I asked you not to do that.”

“Because you don’t want to see me hurt. Talking to Lucien Balfour is not the least bit dangerous.” She couldn’t miss his skeptical expression. “Well, maybe it is, a little, but not for me.”

“Victoria,” he said, abruptly relaxing his shoulders. “I don’t want to fight with you.” He sank onto the edge of her bed. “But neither am I going to let you continue this investigation. Not only could you be hurt, but you might alert whoever murdered Thomas, and I would never get my hands on him.”

The change in tactic surprised her. If he expected her to apologize and become his meek little useless
wife, though, he hadn’t learned much about her at all.

“How important is finding Thomas’s killer to you, Sinclair?” she asked quietly, sitting beside him and lifting Henrietta onto her lap so she could scratch the little disheveled dog behind the ears.

“You know how important it is,” he said a little sharply. “Or I thought you did, anyway.”

“I do know—very well. So we both agree that it’s the most important thing in the world to you.”

“Then why do you insist on become entangled with it?”

“
Because
it’s the most important thing in the world to you.” She looked down, hoping he couldn’t hear the hurt in her voice. “It’s not a pleasant feeling to be shoved aside. I know you don’t want me to get hurt, but it’s more than that. And I know we were trapped into this marriage, and that it’s been an inconvenience. Nevertheless, I…” She stopped.

“You what?” he asked quietly.

She was falling in love with him
. But that was not what this conversation was about. “I admire what you’re doing,” she said instead, “and what you’ve done already. People think I’m silly and flighty and dim, and maybe you do, too. But I’m acquainted with people you’re not, and I can speak with people who would be uncomfortable speaking with you. I can help. I can contribute, and it hurts that you think I can’t.”

“I don’t think you’re silly and flighty,” he returned in his deep, soft voice—the one that made her tremble. “And you’re certainly not dim. And—”

“Then why—”

“Let me finish,” he said with more volume. “I know you could help. When we first met, I thought I would want to use your assistance.”

She looked up at him. His amber gaze was serious, and surprisingly compassionate, but it didn’t leave her feeling any more hopeful about her chances of being included. “What changed your mind, then?”

“Henrietta, and Lord Baggles, and Mungo Park, and the children’s charities, the schools, and all the other animals, people, and causes you’ve adopted.” He smiled a little. “You even like me.”

“But Sinclair—”

He held up one hand, and she subsided. Whatever his argument was, he’d obviously considered it carefully. Whether she agreed with it or not, she owed him the chance to finish.

“I do have my suspicions about who killed Thomas. You have a warm and compassionate heart, Victoria. As I realized that, I knew I couldn’t expect you to help me. Not when the killer might very well turn out to be a friend—a good friend—of yours.”

Her heart stopped. “Not Lucien! He would never—”

“No. Not Kilcairn. I could wish you didn’t find him quite so admirable, but it’s not him. You’ve proven my point, though. You can’t even conceive that a friend of yours might be a killer.”

He was right, she realized. And he was wrong. “I admit I could never believe it would be Lucien, or certain other of my friends. I’m not as naive, or as weak-hearted, as you think, though. Try me, Sinclair. Who among my friends do you suspect?”

For a long moment she feared he wouldn’t tell her. That meant he would never trust her completely, and they would never have a real, true marriage—the kind that she’d always longed for, and the kind that she had begun to hope she could have with him.

Then he looked at her again. “John Madsen,” he said flatly.

“
Marley?
” she blurted, before she could stop herself. He narrowed his eyes, and she pressed on before he could say she’d proved him right. “What…are your reasons for suspecting Lord Marley?” she forced out in a calmer voice, setting Henrietta down and folding her hands in her lap.

Sin stood up again and paced back and forth in front of her. “I’ll give you the short list, on the condition that you stay out of this from now on.”

It was times like this that Victoria wished she were a large, tall man, so she could simply knock her husband on the head and make him listen to reason. “Tell me first,” she countered, “and then we can discuss the rest.”

Over the next few moments she learned some new profanity, part of it in Portuguese and Italian, she thought, grateful that Mungo was in the other room. Finally Sinclair came to a stop in front of her.

“All right. Marley has shares in several export companies which made quite a tidy profit during the Peninsular War. Thomas opposed any dealings with France while Bonaparte had control.”

“I’m sure many people opposed dealings with France then.”

“I know that. But Thomas was very vocal about it. He wrote me that Marley had threatened him. And it wasn’t just a portion of Marley’s money that was tied up in trade, though that’s the story he tells. Except for his entitled properties, all of his money was in export stocks.”

She’d heard some of Marley’s tirades about commerce versus country, and had thought them childish
and self-centered. Now they suddenly seemed more sinister. “Marley’s not rich as Croesus these days, but he’s not quite a pauper either,” she said quietly.