Meet Me at Midnight (32 page)

Victoria wanted to shout at him to be careful, but she didn’t dare risk distracting him. Then the earl pulled a knife from his boot. “Sinclair!” she shrieked.

“I hope you know how to use that,” Sin snarled, dodging backward as Kingsfeld struck at him.

“Well enough to put you and the rest of your family out of my misery.” The earl lunged at him again.

At the last second Sinclair ducked and heaved upward, throwing the earl over his shoulder. With a cutoff shriek, Kingsfeld went down the first flight of stairs headfirst and collapsed on the landing. Sinclair was down beside him in what seemed like one leap, kicking the knife from the earl’s limp fingers.

Kingsfeld’s head lay along his shoulder at an impossible angle. Sinclair rolled backward on his haunches and sat, bone-crunching weariness and relief flooding through him. He’d been in time, thank God—or whichever deity looked after fools like him.

“Is he dead?” Kit asked shakily from the railing, rubbing at an ugly knot on his forehead.

“Yes.”

“There’s one more, Sin.”

“No. I found him in the drawing room; he won’t be going anywhere for a while.”

“Good.”

Slowly Sinclair got to his feet again, his body and mind exhausted. Victoria stood at the top of the stairs, gazing at him, her hair disheveled but her expression for once unreadable.

Part of him had thought he would never see her again, sure that he was never to be allowed the happiness Victoria gave him. Even now, he wasn’t sure. He’d lied to her and insulted her and manipulated her too many times. She couldn’t possibly forgive him.

He climbed the stairs anyway. “Victoria,” he said softly.

She flung herself into his arms. “Sinclair,” she
sobbed, digging her hands into the back of his coat as though she never intended to let go. “Are you all right? Tell me you’re all right.”

Sinclair closed his eyes, burying his face in her hair. “Victoria, I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t you
ever
lie to me again,” she said fiercely.

“Again?” he repeated, pulling her away from his chest so he could look into her violet eyes. “You mean you’re giving me another chance?”

“Of course I am. I love you.”

He stared at her. The dark, distrustful armor protecting his hurt, cynical insides melted away as though it had never been there. “You love me?” he whispered wonderingly, reaching out to tuck a straying strand of her midnight hair behind her ear. “Me?”

A tear coursed down one soft, smooth cheek. “Yes. I borrowed a horse from the Academy. I was going back to London to find you, but then I saw Kingsfeld heading here, so I turned around to warn—”

“You…you put yourself in danger. On purpose.”

“So did you,” she murmured.

Slowly he drew her into his arms again. “I love you,” he said into her hair.

She lifted her face to him, and he kissed her fiercely. Victoria Fontaine was
his
. Finally, For whatever reason, she wanted to stay with him, and he wasn’t about to question her wisdom.

“Sinclair,” she whispered, “I need to tell you something.”

“I already know.”

Victoria looked at him. “You
knew
, and you still sent me away?”

“No, no, no,” he said quickly, keeping tight hold of
her in case she attempted an escape. “Alexandra told me last night.”

“Alexandra?”

“She punched me and then told me about the baby,” he said, kissing her again.

Her violet eyes began to dance. “Lex punched you? She’s never even punched Lucien.”

He nodded. “I had the distinct impression that she was rather angry at me. Furious might be a better word. Sweet Lucifer, Victoria. You rode all the way from the Academy to Althorpe? Are you certain you’re all right?”

“I am now.”

He kissed her again. “You have every right to punch me yourself, you know. Or worse. I know you were hurt and angry.”

“I was—until I figured you out.”

“Again,” he said with a soft chuckle.

“What finally convinced you about Kingsfeld?” She glanced over his shoulder toward the landing, but he turned her away.

“You don’t need to see that. We’re finally finished with him—thanks to you.
You
convinced me. And then I discovered that he owned a lamp factory in Paris.”

“He killed Thomas because of
lamps
?”

“No. I happened to have visited it once, when one of Bonaparte’s generals lost a wager to me. He owed me a rifle, and since we were both drunk and he therefore wasn’t exercising the soundest judgment, he took me to a munitions factory. I didn’t discover until the other day that it had the same name as the lamp factory Astin owned.”

“Then he deserved to die,” she whispered fiercely. “Do you think Thomas found out?”

“I think Astin was concerned he would. Apparently he meant to read a list consisting of every peer with French holdings when he presented his treatise before the House.”

“He suspected Astin already, or he wouldn’t have hidden those papers.”

Sinclair nodded, looking up as Christopher and his grandmother approached. “I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you. It was too dangerous.”

“You should have told us anyway, you big oaf,” Kit said heatedly.

The double doors downstairs slammed open. “Sin?”

“Upstairs. We’re all right.”

Victoria smiled at him. “Yes, we are.”

Crispin thundered up the stairs, pausing for only a moment to look down at Kingsfeld’s body. “Thank God. We heard a shot as we came over the hill.”

A few seconds later, Wally and Bates joined them. “I’m getting too damned old for this,” Wally rasped, bending over and panting.

“No matter,” Sinclair said, hugging his wife as tightly as he dared. “I’ve just retired.”

“Um, Sin, just so ye recall, we have one more matter to tend to back in London,” Crispin countered.

Sinclair looked at him blankly for a moment. He was finished with this; finished with spying, finished with avenging Thomas, and finished with lying. Now he could finally look forward, instead of back over his shoulder. And he had something to look forward to: life with Victoria, and children, and whatever animal she decided rescuing next. He didn’t think he’d mind if she
did
end up finding an orphaned elephant.

“What’s left?” Victoria asked, resting her head against his chest.

“Marley,” Wally prompted.

“Marley?” she repeated, frowning. “He didn’t do anything—did he?”

“Damnation,” he muttered. “No, except try to steal you away from me.”

“He never had a chance, Sinclair.”

“I had him arrested, though, to fool Kingsfeld. We have to get back to London before they decide to hang him.”

Her lips twitched. “Poor Marley.”

Sinclair kissed her smiling mouth. “Yes. I’ll have to be the one who gets you into trouble from now on, I suppose.”

Laughing, Victoria hugged him. “Is that a promise?”