Deepest Desires of a Wicked Duke(64)

Off she went and she did return quite quickly. “Mrs. Kent was boiling water for tea and it had just boiled when I got there. She let me take it when she knew it was for a wounded girl.”

“Very good of her,” Portia said, rather distractedly, as she took the basin and set it down.

Sin went over. “I’ll help.”

Portia washed the needle and thread she intended to use. “My father always insisted that everything be clean. He had noticed that if it is not, there is always infection.”

Sin intended to help, but there was little for him to do. He held things. Portia was in charge, working swiftly but carefully. As she concentrated, her tongue dabbed her lip in the sweetest way.

Soon she was done. “You should rest, Sadie,” she said.

“Am I ugly now?”

“Of course not. There may be scars, but they won’t be large. We shall have to wait and see.”

“He’s going to pay. Crayle.” Sadie shook with rage. “I want him to pay for what he’s done to me. He gave me nothing but promises, and I won’t accept having my career come to an end with nothing!”

Portia shushed Sadie. Helped her into her bed, where she lay on her side.

As they closed the door, Sin heard Sadie’s sobs.

Hell, he’d never thought much about Sadie before. She came to his orgies because he invited dozens of courtesans. Variety was the point of an orgy—he needed large numbers of willing women. He realized he’d thought of her simply as a creature who could provide sexual favors, and who enjoyed sex.

Watching Portia tend to her had made him see that Sadie was a person. Right now, a frightened one.

Portia’s hand touched his. A flare went through him as he turned to her, outside Sadie’s closed door.

“It must be him,” Portia whispered. “Surely it must be the Cruel Marquis who attacked Willoughby, for some reason. He must have taken Willoughby by surprise.”

“Cruel Marquis?”

She flushed. “I gave them all names in my head. Identities. Sandhurst was the Innocent Viscount. Sadie is the Brash Courtesan. Then there’s the Elegant Incognita, the Cruel Marquis, the Peacock Girl, the Wicked Widow. And the Old Madam.”

“Harriet won’t appreciate that. Sax wouldn’t appreciate Georgiana’s moniker, but it’s apt.” He knew it was a stupid thing to do, but he asked casually, “Do you have one for me?”

“Why would I? I know who you are.”

“You know their names as well.” How did she see him? Heartbreaker? Swine? The Dastardly Duke?

“Their nicknames help me to remember the kind of people they are. I don’t need that for you.”

“Come on, love. You must have thought of one for me.”

She shook her head, and asked, “What should we do? About the Cruel Marquis?”

“We don’t know Crayle is responsible. He’s the type to abuse people weaker than him. A woman like Sadie, yes. I doubt he would attack Willoughby.”

“If he took him by surprise.”

“It’s possible. I’ll find him and question him. I need to make him promise a settlement for Sadie. She won’t heal fully and there will be disfiguring scars. I know you were trying to make her feel better. I intend to find him and make him pay.”

“Sinclair, the scars truly weren’t as bad as I feared. And what do you mean—you intend to make him pay?”

“The way honorable men do.”

Panic flashed in her eyes. “Oh no, you can’t.”

“I can.” On that, he stalked away.

It took him half an hour to locate Crayle. What he didn’t expect was to find the man hanging by his neck in an unused bedchamber.

“Oh my goodness,” Portia said.

Sin whirled to block her view of the sight in the room. The sight of Crayle hanging limply, rotating slowly, his neck broken, his eyes bulged, and his tongue hanging out.

“He hanged himself,” she whispered. “Out of remorse.”

But Sin didn’t believe it. A peer like Crayle believed he would have divine right to do whatever in hell he wanted, including abusing a woman like Sadie. As he turned Portia away, he had the nagging doubt that something was wrong.

There was something wrong—

Could he believe the marquis had tied a rope from a hook in the ceiling of the room—where in hell did he get a rope? And why was there a hook there? He would have brought a chair over, stood on it, positioned the rope around his neck. Would he even have decided to kill himself over whipping Sadie? If he had, he would have tightened the rope, then kicked the chair—

Damn. That was what was wrong.

“There’s no chair in the room.” As he said it, the full impact hit him. “There’s no chair. He didn’t hang himself. He would have needed to climb on something to put the rope around his neck. If he’d kicked the chair away, it would still be in the room. If he’d used any other piece of furniture, it would have been dragged close. I don’t believe he took his own life, Portia.”