Sin considered the food. Could it have been poisoned? Portia walked to the warming dishes and picked up a plate. He lunged forward and caught her wrist, ladling spoon clutched in her hand. “Watch for a few moments,” he muttered. “Let them eat. See how they fare.”
She gulped. “Oh, I see.”
Her tummy made a rumbling sound and she stared at the dishes. Damn, he knew she was hungry. How long would it take poison to act? Longer than mere minutes. But he could see the appetizing smells were getting to Portia.
“Do you really think all the food could be poisoned? Though Lord Rutledge is not eating. Do you think that means he is wary of the food?”
“Or that he drank too much last night.”
He saw her gaze longingly at the food. Sighed. Softly he said, “Even if Sandhurst was poisoned, we think it was likely not in the food. I’ll taste some. Then you can eat if you want.”
He knew it would likely prove nothing for him to test the food, but he guessed she was hungry. And the poisoner last night hadn’t seen fit to try to kill them all.
He put a little food on his plate. She did the same. After he tried it, at the table, and nodded, she ate a little.
The women began to leave the table. “We are retiring to the drawing room,” Clarissa announced.
Portia set down her knife and fork. “I should go too,” she whispered. Then she jumped up and followed.
Sin couldn’t tear his gaze from her, from the sway of her hips beneath silk skirts as she sashayed out. Reluctantly, he knew he had to let her go. Then, on a grunt of frustration, Sin got out of his seat and went to the head of the table.
“Last night, Viscount Willoughby was murdered,” he announced bluntly. “He was attacked and savagely beaten on the terrace outside. I found him dead.”
He glanced at each man—even Sax. A kipper fell out of Blute’s mouth. Rutledge sputtered over his coffee. The marquis looked unmoved. Sax blinked.
Sin mentally assessed the men. Willoughby liked pugilism and was a bruising rider. Will had been strong.
Crayle, the marquis, was over sixty, with a thin build. However, Rutledge, Blute, and Sax had the strength to take Willoughby.
He and Sax had been friends for a long time. Since they had all gone to Eton. They were members of the group of friends called the “Wicked Dukes” by the ton. He doubted Sax would kill anyone, even with strong motivation. But he couldn’t know for certain.
He was considering suspects based on their physical strength. On the other hand, any one of them could have taken Will by surprise, clubbed him over the head first to knock him out, and then beaten him with a weapon. None of the men could be exonerated—including the butler and the footman. And if the killer had taken Will by surprise, the women were suspects as well.
Damn it, he should never have allowed Portia to come downstairs—
“Someone attacked him? You are saying there is a murderer on this island?” barked the marquis. He stood up from the table, tall and straight, his white hair flowing back. “It must have been a footpad who attacked him to rob him. I’d run through any bastard who assaulted me.”
“I doubt that, in a thunderstorm, someone attacked him to rob him,” Sin answered. “I think someone had a motive to want Will dead.”
Sax frowned. “You mean someone in this house. One of us.”
“Unless there is someone else on the island,” Sin said. “I searched as much as I could last night, but that wasn’t particularly effective, in the driving rain.”
“Then we should carry out a thorough search this morning,” Crayle barked. “I will help also. There must be some ruffian on this island. Perhaps several. We will catch them and string them up.”
“String them up?” Sin repeated.
“I had arranged to entertain the lovely Sadie this morning. I came for sexual sport. Having to delay my satisfaction is putting me in a very bad mood,” Crayle snapped.
“If we find this person, we will wait for justice until we can take him back to the mainland. Understood?” Sin said.
He glanced toward the door. He couldn’t go and search now—he’d only allowed Portia to go and speak to the women alone because he was close enough to hear her scream if she was in trouble.
* * *
Portia would never forget what she’d overheard Sin say this morning.
The perverse things I did as a boy. . . .
What did he mean? She knew there was no point in asking. Knew he wouldn’t tell her. She had pretended to be asleep, so he wouldn’t worry that she’d heard.
What could he have done as a boy that was so bad?
But for now, she had to focus on questioning the other women. She sailed into the drawing room, confident she could do this. Determined to find justice.