Which definitely meant an orgy was no place for her.
As he went down the stairs, Sin tore open his letter. A second sealed note fell out and landed on the step. He bent and picked it up.
Miss Portia Lamb was written on it.
What the hell—? Their host knew she would be here. Genvere had to be responsible for her kidnapping.
Bastard.
Whoever the hell this man was, he’d have hell to pay when he arrived.
Sin looked down at the first sheet, the one addressed to him. Three sentences were written across the page.
I know all your sins. They will soon be revealed. And you will pay for your crime.
What in hell was this?
Sin had reached the first floor and he stood, staring at the blasted letter. He had a boatload of sins to his name. But no one could know about the crime. That wasn’t possible—
A hand grabbed his arse and squeezed hard.
“What the blazing hell—?” he snapped, and spun around.
A woman had her hand on his buttock. She tittered behind her ruby-encrusted fan. Her long lashes fluttered at him. Harriet Barker was one of London’s most successful brothel owners. She had started as a prostitute in the House of Discipline, took it over when the former madam died, and had taken control of dozens of brothels in London. She ruled her empire like Bloody Mary had ruled England.
She had come to many of his orgies, though he’d never been intimate with her.
She was too old for him. Too ruthless.
She reminded him of—no, hell, he wasn’t going to think of his brother’s wife.
Harriet folded her fan, but still had hold of his ass.
Usually, when he went to an orgy, he did not object to being fondled. Touched. Admired. Right now, it made him want to grit his teeth.
He moved her hand away.
Harriet laughed. “Your Grace, how delightful to see you here. There are several charming young gentlemen here, but none as handsome and delicious as you.”
Could this woman be involved in Portia’s kidnapping? Harriet Barker was not adverse to hauling innocent women off the streets of London and forcing them to work in her brothels. She had a private army of thugs and criminals.
So how did he handle this? Ask her bluntly? She wouldn’t admit kidnapping Portia and it would put her on guard.
He bowed over her hand, kissing it lightly. “And you are ravishing as always, Mrs. Barker.” He was very practiced at meaningless compliments.
“Do call me Harriet, my dear Sin.”
“I found an unusual gift in my room, Harriet. But no calling card, so I don’t know who to thank for its delivery.”
She was waiting for him to offer his arm, so they could stroll together. But he played obtuse.
“A gift?” she squawked. “I didn’t receive anything.” She actually pouted. “Our host must have wanted to reward a duke.”
“I wondered if it was from you,” he said, though from her reaction he doubted it. He didn’t think Harriet was smart enough to display such genuine acting.
She frowned. Lines puckered her forehead. “I am afraid not, my darling duke. But I should be happy to give you a gift later. A very special gift. I am aware of how generously endowed you are. I could swallow it all for you. Every inch.”
“Er, yes. I imagine you’re skilled enough to do it.”
“Shall I show you now? A little aperitif before dinner is served?”
No, he really couldn’t see Harriet Barkder being responsible for Portia’s kidnapping. Portia would be competition.
He managed to get away from Harriet, telling her he had to speak to the butler. He found Humphries as the man emerged from the servants’ stairs, carrying a tray with a decanter of sherry.
Sin cornered the man, who swallowed and said nervously, “May I help you, Your Grace?”
“What do you know of the woman in my room? You gave me a note with her name on it.” In fury, he loomed over the butler. “Do you know how she was brought here? Unconscious and against her will? She was kidnapped.”
The man’s jaw dropped. His face went pale. “I don’t understand, Your Grace. How can that be possible? I had no idea—no idea. In my instructions, I was told that you would have a Miss Portia Lamb joining you. I was told to give you a box when you informed me of her arrival, and to tell you that it is specifically requested that she come to dinner tonight. All guests are to attend, I was told. An important announcement is to be made.”
“Then he did arrive. Genvere. Where is the bast—man?”
“He has not arrived, Your Grace. I have a sealed letter, and I am to read it in his stead. Please excuse me one moment, Your Grace, while I fetch the box. All the guests are to enjoy sherry in the drawing room, as they arrive, before dinner.”