Deepest Desires of a Wicked Duke(47)
The hard anger gleaming in his eyes made her take a half step back.
“Will had deliberately ruined a young woman,” he said, bitterly. “He pursued her, made her believe he was in love with her. She was a rich merchant’s daughter, a naïve and pretty young heiress. She fell for him, went to bed with him. The moment after, he broke it off with her. Her father had died, leaving her a fortune, but she had no strong family to pressure Willoughby into marriage.”
“So you tried to.”
“What I did was a damn stupid thing. The indiscretion could have been covered up. By dueling with him, I made the girl’s disgrace public. She . . . she took her own life. And the fault was mine.”
The emptiness with which he spoke stunned her. “You tried to help, Sinclair—”
“Portia, I don’t know if that was the real reason I dueled with him.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Will made a game of conning innocent girls, getting them into his bed, then abandoning them. He made wagers with his bas—I mean, his friends. I was angry that he was so callous and I called him out. But maybe I did it because I wanted vengeance for being lured to brothels, for his part in ending our engagement. It was stupid, because the fault was mine.”
She drew in a deep breath. She knew it was true, but the pain in his eyes touched her heart. “What happened between us is not of consequence. You did champion that poor girl. You risked your life to force Willoughby to do the honorable thing. That makes you the hero—”
“Angel, of all people, you know I am not heroic.”
She didn’t know what to say.
“Do heroes break women’s hearts and hold orgies?”
“No,” she said. “I suppose not.”
“Exactly. But I am aware of when a man needs to take action.” Lifting a brow, he looked toward the door.
Then she knew. “You’re going out there? In the storm?”
“To hunt. I don’t know if I’ll find anyone out there, but the other option is that someone in this house killed Willoughby.”
Rain again lashed the panes of the doors. Portia clutched the fireplace poker. “Whoever wrote these notes must have done it. Sadie was alone with Sandhurst.”
“You think Sadie a murderess?” His brows shot up.
“I don’t know. It seems madness. But she could have fed him something or given him a drink once they were together.”
“I saw no used glassware near him. And he didn’t go into the drawing room.”
She stared at him. The fact that he had thought to look surprised her.
“I don’t see how he was poisoned during dinner, if in fact, he was,” Sinclair continued. “No one else was near his plate or glass. The butler or footman could have given him an individual serving of food that was poisoned, I guess. Sandhurst left before port was served. He could have had a doctored drink before dinner. There could have been poison in the brandy in his bedchamber. Or Sadie could have done it.”
Then he added, “But it would have been impossible for Sadie to overpower and attack Will.”
Portia nodded. That did seem logical. She looked up at the ceiling. Above her were all the bedchambers. “Still, it had to be someone . . . here. In this house. One of the guests. Or one of the servants.”
“Not necessarily. It could be someone not in the house. Someone hiding on the island. This mysterious host of ours, for instance.”
“If it was someone outside. . . .” An idea hit her. One she wanted to grasp at. “Perhaps it was someone else who lives on the island. Who found Willoughby and decided to attack and rob him.” But that would not explain Sandhurst’s death.
“No one else lives on this island. That was what I was told, when I was searching for you, asking fishermen on the quay.”
“You were searching for me? Before you reached the island?”
“I was sent a note that told me you’d been kidnapped. It was the only reason I came to this place—I was told you were in danger.”
He’d only come here for her? That thought rushed through her, intense as lightning.
He’d come close to her, and she was enveloped in awareness of him.
“What do you think, Portia? To have found Will in a thunderstorm outdoors, the killer had to know where to look. That’s why my suspicions lean toward our unknown host. Someone brought us all here for some purpose.”
He was telling her of his thoughts. Wanting her opinion. “Wasn’t the orgy the purpose?”
“That’s what we all thought. Now two of us are dead.” He rubbed his jaw again. “I wonder if our host has arrived and he’s hiding somewhere out there.” He sighed. “It’s time I went out and looked.”