They both turned to her. Sin wore a grumpy expression. “You should not have done that.”
“Actually, in the shock of discovering you alive and . . . uh, everything else—” Portia’s cheeks felt as if burning. “I actually forgot about that.”
“So, who was it?” the Incognita asked. “Or am I only to know when I am the victim?”
“I don’t know,” Portia admitted. “I bluffed.”
“A ruse. Just like the one you pulled, Sin. It does intrigue me—what on earth made you think of faking your own death, Sinclair? I should never have thought of such a thing.” Stepping closer to him, the Incognita smiled saucily into his eyes. “I have been fascinated by you ever since you came to London when you were just nineteen. Everyone thought you must be a naïve young man, raised in the country. But it was obvious to me that you’d had a lot more experience than that. So I learned everything I could about you.”
In front of Portia’s eyes, Sin paled. “Did you, Clarissa? Why? For blackmail? That’s a damn dangerous game.”
“Do you really think I would threaten you here? Now? My darling duke, I am relying upon you to save my life.”
Portia was startled as Clarissa turned to her. “Sin can be quite the hero when he wishes to be. And I believe both of us will be safe. Unless you are the murderer. Wouldn’t that be delicious? The least likely person. The sweet, innocent girl who looks as if butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth. This is the first time I’ve seen you without your mask, Miss Lamb.”
Shocked, Portia put her hands to her face. But it was unnecessary. She touched bare skin. “You know who I am?”
“Oh yes. I know your family’s foundling home.”
“How?”
Clarissa shrugged. “That is not important. Finding our three missing women is.”
“Yes,” Portia echoed. “One of the women might be a killer, but that means the other could be a victim. We must try to find them before it is too late.”
* * *
They all searched together—Rutledge, Saxonby, Blute, Clarissa, her, and Sin. They scoured through the house, then over the island. All of them slowly walked along the edge of the island, looking over the cliff edge.
She and Sin took the lead. Sin tucked her hand in the crook of his arm, but she was not afraid of falling. She could face anything, now that she had him back.
“That part about Genvere being an anagram for revenge was clever, Portia,” he said. “I never saw that.”
“You heard that?”
“I was hiding behind the draperies, trying to keep watch over you. I almost launched out of there when you announced you knew who the killer was. I guessed it was a bluff, that you were making yourself into bait. Portia, don’t ever do anything that mad again.”
The pain in his gaze gave her a spurt of guilt. “I don’t believe I will. I came rather too close to being killed.” She said it lightly, but it had been terrifying. Yet what could she do? She couldn’t sit back and wait to be murdered. Wait for Sin to be murdered....
“I wish there was really a boat,” she cried. “I suppose there isn’t—the killer must have arranged to have someone come from the mainland when all of this is over.”
“We’ll be the ones to meet the boat,” Sin said, his voice cool and firm.
She wanted to believe him. She would believe—
Then she saw it. A body, huddled on the ground by the cliff edge. She raced toward it, but Sin reached it before her. He turned, then turned the face back toward the ground. Portia knew who it was. Nellie, the young courtesan.
She bit back a sob. “But she was so young!”
“I know. The poor kid.”
“Look there!” About five feet farther along the edge, a bit of gray cloth fluttered. “That must be from the cook’s dress,” Portia said.
She ran toward it. Sin raced after her, catching up to her as she reached the bit of cloth. His arm went around her waist, holding her fast. “Careful. This could be another trap, set to catch someone who found Nellie.”
“But I must—”
“No, you won’t.” He shook his head. “You haven’t changed. None of this has changed you. You’re the same Portia who went into danger to rescue children.”
“I suppose, for better or worse, I am. But I think you can put me down. If something was going to strike us, pushing us off the cliff, I assume it would have happened by now.”
She knew he released her with reluctance. She took the bit of fabric from the twig. He moved closer to the edge, muttered an expletive.
And she knew. “It’s her body, isn’t it? At the bottom of the cliff.”