“All right. What we will do is search the grass for clues.”
“And if I were the murderer,” barked Crayle, “wouldn’t I pocket any incriminating clues?”
“I think it was someone from outside. Not one of the guests.”
“Could be the bleeding footman,” Crayle snapped. The footman had moved off to scour the ground for clues. “Willoughby could have suggested some sport with the footman’s arse and the lad took objection.”
“Possible,” Sin agreed. “I’m watching him, to see if he hides anything.”
“Eh, you won’t be able to watch him every second. Let’s get this blasted island scoured. Then I can get back to fucking.”
Sin jerked. It figured the marquis was still thinking of that after Will had his head cleaved in. Once he would have been like that. Strangely, he wasn’t anymore. The main thing on his mind—Portia.
As a group, they searched the grass. Sin walked around, eyes on the ground. There—footprints. Several, evenly spaced in a stretch of mud, as if two people walked together, side by side. Did they belong to Willoughby and his attacker? Or had the attacker followed Willoughby? Sin crouched and studied the prints. Both appeared to be made by a man’s boot. One set larger than the other.
“Interesting,” he muttered.
“What did you find?” Sax asked.
“Footprints. Apparently made by two men.” He straightened and continued his search, to see if he would find anything else.
The island itself wasn’t large and was mainly rock and scrub grass. There were few trees and none provided a hiding place. With the weather improving, Sin tried rappelling down the safer parts of the cliff, hunting for caves, for steps, for rock shelves where a man could hide.
Sax and Rutledge helped haul him up after his last descent. They had taken turns, exploring all the accessible areas of the cliffs. Sin wanted to rappel down the riskier spots, but Sax shook his head. “Too risky. And if we’re afraid to go down there, who else would do it? How could they get back up?”
“There could be caves there. There could be safe ways to ascend the cliff, using rope, that we can’t see from here.”
Sax shook his head. “It’s too wet. And I think unnecessary.”
“But it means we’ve combed the island and found nothing except two sets of footprints,” Sin pointed out. “No sign of anyone else on the island. If that’s true, it has to be someone in the house.”
12
Curiosity was driving her mad. But Portia tried to appear blasé, tossing her curls and sipping the sherry handed to her by the Incognita. Syrupy sweet sherry. Gasp. It burned like sin going down, but she held in the splutter she almost made.
“What do you wish to tell me about Sin? I’m sure it’s nothing I don’t already know.”
The Incognita smiled. A wicked smile. It only made the woman look even sultrier. “So you’ve done that shocking thing that he likes best?” Clarissa continued.
“Oh—er.”
“I had never done anything so naughty in my life. How did he want you to do it? What position?”
Oh ack. This was maddening. She had to play along, but what was she going to be claiming she’d done? What was the thing Sinclair liked best?
She was so curious, but also afraid to find out.
The Incognita nudged her. “You must tell me how he wanted you to do it. I thought I’d gag. It was far too huge of course.”
Gag? Huge? Did she mean taking Sin’s erection in her mouth? Portia had taken him in her hand. On the night they got engaged.
“And then with the rope,” continued the Incognita. “I mean, really.”
Rope? “Oh, er, yes.”
“And then, involving the hounds. Utterly shocking.”
“The hounds?” Her sherry tipped over and spilled on her skirt.
The Incognita took Portia by the arm and led her toward the windows. “You have no idea what I’m talking about, do you?”
“Of course I do,” Portia insisted, but knew it was a losing battle.
“I made all that up, darling. But I’ve never known Sin to want an innocent. He likes his women tremendously experienced. He liked punishment, as I said. Whips, spanking paddles, riding crops. Even blades. I’ve seen him endure all kinds of cuts. I would be sick with pain and fear, but he was aroused. His cock was harder than I’d ever seen it. And then he climaxed with so much force, he broke the chair he was sitting on.”
“Oh God,” Portia muttered.
“Would you be willing to share him with other women? What about other men?”
“Other men? I don’t understand what you mean—”