Meet Me at Midnight (7 page)

Pure, cold nervousness ran through him. Bates was probably right. He’d begun this, though, and he needed to see it through. Sin forced a chuckle. “Only one of many. And if all my mistakes looked like Vixen Fontaine, I wouldn’t mind making them.” He picked up his kid gloves. “Roman, Lord Stiveton will be sending over his daughter’s things during the ceremony. Have them put in the bedchamber adjoining mine, and the spare sitting room.”

“You going to tell Milo, too? Because he won’t listen to me.”

“I already have. I want you to keep an eye out here, though.”

The valet sighed. “Aye. It would be nice if you had more than four damned people in the world you trusted, you know.”

With another grin, Sin slapped him on the back. “Who says I trust you?”

Roman scowled. “I’ll pack a bag for you, just in case you change your mind.” He continued grumbling as he straightened the dressing table. “Bringing a vixen into a house that’s already full of snakes. That makes as much damned sense as anything.”

A
ll Victoria remembered later of her wedding was that it glittered. Beading and pearls and precious gems reflected the light from the glowing stained glass windows and the hundreds of candles flickering down the long aisles. She didn’t faint, though it wouldn’t have taken much more than a gentle breeze to send her to the floor.

Everyone was there, from Prince George to the Duke of Wellington to the Duke of Monmouth, most of them smiling benevolently as she numbly repeated the archbishop’s words. The whole event seemed such a fraud. The guests didn’t all have to be so jolly about it, and they certainly didn’t have to celebrate the catastrophe.

When the archbishop pronounced them husband and wife, and Sinclair Grafton lifted her veil, his amber eyes were dancing. This, of all things, apparently amused him. It shook her out of her stupor, and she scowled.

“Don’t frown,” he murmured, caressing her cheek as he straightened the veil. “I won’t disappoint you.”
He leaned down and, feather-soft, touched his lips to hers.

It didn’t seem like something a rake would say, and she wondered about it all during the reception and dancing at Fontaine House. If that was his way of apologizing, it was far too little, and much too late.

“You make a beautiful bride.”

She turned at the sound of the low, masculine drawl, dreading yet another round of stupid congratulations and good wishes. As she met the light gray eyes looking at her, though, and took in the lean, strong figure dressed all in black, she relaxed enough to smile. “Lucien.”

The Earl of Kilcairn Abbey took her hand and bowed over it. “Whatever you told Alexandra, no one outfoxes the Vixen. What’s your game?”

She sighed, noting that her husband was across the room talking and laughing with some rather inebriated-looking young men. “I think I was outfoxed. It was bound to happen eventually, I suppose.”

“Hm. Well, you’re not out of options yet, my lady.”

“What do you mean by that?”

Kilcairn shrugged. “If you don’t like him, shoot him.”

Laughter burst from her lips. “Hardly conventional, but I’ll keep it in mind.”

He nodded, smiling briefly, then stepped closer. “I consider you a friend, Victoria,” he continued in a lower voice. “If you have need of anything, you let me know.”

Victoria tilted her head at him. “Did Lex put you up to this?”

“No. She said you were less than pleased with this
nonsense. Any and all offers to do violence come from me alone.”

Kilcairn didn’t make such offers lightly, nor did he do anything without thought. “Thank you, Lucien,” she said quietly, lifting her chin, “but I shall manage.”

“I don’t believe we’ve been introduced.”

Moving so silently that Victoria hadn’t even heard him approach, Sinclair took her fingers and placed them on his arm. His attention, though, was on Kilcairn. If Victoria thought he had any reason in the world for the emotion, she would have called him jealous.

“Lord Althorpe, this is the Earl of Kilcairn Abbey. Lucien, Lord Althorpe.”

The two tall men were nearly dark-haired mirrors of one another, amber eyes assessing gray ones. Lucien, though, had come to grips with his demons already, and he nodded. “Althorpe. You’ve backed into a fine marriage.”

“I’d like to think so,” Sinclair replied, so cool that icicles might have formed from his breath.

Kilcairn, of course, was made of ice. “Just so you appreciate that—and her.”

Sinclair’s eyes narrowed. Before they could begin pummeling one another, Victoria stepped between them. “That is quite enough stomping and snorting,” she announced.

His gray eyes amused, Lucien inclined his head. “Very well. No bloodshed at your reception. Good afternoon, Althorpe.”

To his credit, Sin waited until the earl strolled through the door connecting the ballroom to the upstairs sitting room. “Who was that?” he demanded, turning on her.

“I told you,” she said, surprised at his vehemence. “Lord Kilcairn. Lucien Balfour.”

“One of your conquests?”

“You
are
jealous.”

He blinked. “I’m merely trying to sort out the players.”

“Well, Lucien isn’t one of them.” Victoria stepped away from him. “It’s good to know, however, that you expect me to begin an affair on our wedding day, my lord.”

“You sh—”

“Thank you for thinking so highly of me,” she continued, angrier and more frustrated by the moment. “No doubt, though, you are merely judging me by your own standard of behavior.”

Althorpe waited calmly. “Finished?”

“Yes. Quite.”

“Then I think you should call me Sinclair. Or Sin, if you prefer.”

“I would prefer,” she said, her jaw clenched, “that you didn’t insult me and then change the subject, my lord.”

Another barely noticeable pause. “So noted. Will you dance with me, my bride?”

She would have preferred not to; her nerves fairly hummed with agitation already, and she felt torn between wanting to knock him senseless and flee, and wanting to fall into his arms and make him live up to his promises of seduction and ecstasy. “I suppose I should,” she answered, and took his proffered hand.

Of course the orchestra began a waltz, and as he drew her into the dance she felt the same magnetic attraction of the night they had met. “Are you nervous?” he asked, pulling her close.

“Why should I be? Waltzing is easy.”

“You’re trembling,” he murmured back. “Do you anticipate tonight?”

She admired self-confidence. Unmitigated arrogance was something else entirely. Victoria clenched her jaw. “Don’t you, of all people, try to make this marriage into something other than the farce it is. There will be no ‘tonight.’ Not in the way you mean.”

For a long moment he held her in silence as they glided across the room. “Do you dislike me that much? You didn’t just a week ago.”

“Wanting to kiss you and wanting to converse with you are two completely different things.”

He had no trouble at all grasping the significance of that comment. “You want to kiss me. You want me to kiss you. In that case, conversation can always wait.”

She colored again. Goodness, she hadn’t blushed so much in ages. “I believe women as a rule do like your attentions. You did say you were a
successful
rake. Otherwise, you would merely be a fool.”

Sinclair didn’t like that; she could see it in the way his eyes glittered. “I’m not a fool, Victoria. The fools are the ones who held you and then let you go. I want you in my bed.”

Victoria favored him with a smile. “You’ve paid a high enough price for the opportunity, no doubt, but it’s
not
going to happen, Sinclair.”

His return smile didn’t comfort her at all. In fact, it began a delicious cascade of shivers down her spine. And from the way his amber eyes watched her so closely, he knew it, damn it all. “I think you know that it will, sooner or later,” he said. “And I think it frightens you a little.”

“You most certainly do not frighten me, my lord.”

“Sinclair,” he corrected softly.

“Sinclair,” she repeated. The name felt right on her lips, and she had the odd sense that she was losing some sort of argument she hadn’t even realized she was waging with herself. “It’s easy to converse with men, anyway,” she said, hoping the sudden edge of desperation running through her didn’t show in her voice. “All one need do is flatter them.”

“But I don’t require flattery. That’s why I make you nervous. I only want to know about you.”

“Yes—how I react to
you
.”

“You don’t know as much as you think you do.”

The waltz ended and she began to pull away, practically trembling with relief. “That is your opinion.”

That should have succeeded in silencing him—but he didn’t release his warm, sure grip on her waist. Instead, he merely looked at the orchestra and lifted a sardonic eyebrow. Before she could inform him that they would never play two waltzes in a row, they struck up another one.

“You can’t dance with me again.”

“I
am
dancing with you again. No one will stop us; we’ve just been married, remember? Besides—you threw me a challenge.”

“I did not.”

“You said I only wanted to know about you in ways that related to me.”

“No, I—”

“In a sense you’re correct,” he mused, “because knowing about you is one of my desires. So indulge me. Tell me something about yourself.”

She managed to summon enough indignation to answer him. “I don’t like you.”

His soft chuckle reached all the way down to her
toes. “Something that isn’t about me, my darling.”

Now he was simply gloating. Victoria clenched her jaw. They might agree that he wasn’t a fool, but she was certainly acting like one. “Then I suggest
you
pick a topic.”

“All right.” He glanced around the room, his expression thoughtful. “Ah. Your friends. Tell me about your friends.” Gesturing with the hand at her waist, he indicated the stocky, square-jawed man who waltzed with Diane Addington. “Him. Why is he at your wedding?”

She followed his gaze. “I don’t know. I don’t like him, either.”

“Why not?”

“That gentleman is Viscount Perington. He drowns kittens.”

“It won’t get him sainthood, but it’s also not criminal.”

“It doesn’t seem to matter whose kittens they are. And he keeps a count.”

“Then how did he manage to get an invitation?”

“My parents. He asked to marry me last Season, and my refusal deeply offended him.”

Lord Althorpe’s expression darkened. “I assume, then, that this is your parents’ attempt to demonstrate that there are no hard feelings?”

“No. They wanted to show him what a poor match I’ve made so he’ll be amused, and won’t refuse my father’s bid to add Stiveton factory-fired ceramic pottery to the products he exports. Shall I go on?”

Far from showing the boredom she expected, his eyes seemed to smoulder with that same intensity she’d seen in him the last time they waltzed. “Yes. I’m fascinated. Continue—who is that scarecrow with
the high shirt-points over by the refreshment table?”

Unlikely as his interest seemed, something compelled her to believe him. That magnetic energy between them didn’t lessen her anxiety, but it did cause a breathless anticipation she’d never felt before to rise in her. “Ramsey DuPont. He proposed to me last year, too.”

“I hope he wasn’t wearing that same coat.”

“Actually, he might have been. Lime green is his favorite color. It improves the tone of his skin, he says.”

“And you rejected him because of his poor fashion sense?”

“I rejected him because I don’t like him.”

“Might you be more specific?”

A smile curved her lips. “Looking for pitfalls to avoid?”

“No, that would relate this conversation back to me,” he said smoothly. “I’m just curious.”

“I can’t be more specific. It was just something about the way he assumed I would accept.”

“How did he take your answer, then?”

Unlike his heated reaction to Lucien Balfour, Sinclair’s queries about Ramsey didn’t seem to have any jealousy motivating them. Victoria decided to probe a little further. “Not well. I’m surprised he’s here, unless he means to make a scene.”

Sin’s expression didn’t change. “That would be interesting. Nothing more subversive, though? Just shouting and flailing about?”

“Mostly. Why, were you hoping for something worse?”

His dark smile appeared again. “I just like to be prepared.”

So did she. While he was learning several insignificant facts about her, however, she still knew nothing about him. “Your grandmother is very charming. And so is your brother. Christopher, isn’t it?”

The waltz ended but again he kept hold of her, taking one arm and drawing her toward the refreshment table. “Yes. I’m surprised you’d never met them, though, being that you and Thomas were friends.”

The jealous note was back again. Apparently he considered Lucien and Thomas to be serious threats, but not Perington or Ramsey. Interesting, that. It made her wonder whether he
was
jealous—and whether or not he looked at any other females with that intense amber gaze. In all likelihood he did, and, given his reputation, he would continue to do so. “I saw them at the funeral, and offered my condolences. Chatting didn’t seem appropriate.”

His gaze sharpened again. “You attended the funeral?”

“Most of the
ton
did. Why didn’t you?”

Before he could answer, Lucy Havers swooped in to kiss her on both cheeks. “You are the most beautiful bride I’ve ever seen,” she gushed. “I heard Diane tell her mama she wants the same dress when she marries. I told her it would be old-fashioned by then.”

“That explains the large quantity of Madeira she’s been drinking,” Sinclair said dryly.

Victoria hadn’t realized he’d noticed—or even that he knew who Diane Addington was. “Thank you, Lucy.”

“She shouldn’t have abandoned you last week. I have no sympathy for her at all.”

“Not everyone has parents as understanding as yours,” Victoria countered feelingly, looking to where
hers stood glowing at the scores of congratulations they’d been receiving all afternoon.

“Where are you going on your honeymoon?” her friend continued. “I forgot to ask you before.”

“We’re not going,” Sinclair said, taking a glass of punch from a footman. “Since I’m just back in town, I am afraid I have some things to take care of first.”

Victoria missed a step and would have stumbled if not for her grip on Sinclair’s arm. She wasn’t surprised, really. Disappointed—that was how she felt. Disappointed.

“Drat. I told Diane I thought you were going to Spain.”

“We’ll be sure to visit there, then, when we do go,” Victoria offered weakly.

Lucy’s smile dimpled her cheeks. “Fair enough.”

When her friend hurried off to further antagonize Diane Addington, Victoria freed her hand from Althorpe’s arm. “You might have said something to me.”

“About what?”

“About our travel plans. Or lack thereof.”

His wary expression grew more defensive. “You’re the one who said I shouldn’t pretend this marriage is anything but a farce.”