Deepest Desires of a Wicked Duke(66)

The thought was sickening, but Portia knew about violence. She had seen it in the stews.

Rutledge suddenly leapt to his feet. He waved wildly at the window. “We scoured this island for a criminal and found nothing. What are you saying, Sinclair? That one of us has murdered three peers of the realm? What are you going to do next—accuse me?”

“I wouldn’t blindly accuse anyone. I want proof. For a start, did any of you hear Sadie scream?”

Several guests nodded their heads. “Was anyone off alone during that time?” he asked.

Sinclair naturally took charge, Portia saw. And all seemed to accept his authority.

“Georgiana was with me,” Rutledge said. And he shot a triumphant look toward Saxonby.

It turned out that all of the guests had been within sight of another guest. No one had been alone and unaccounted for.

“There is the possibility someone else is hiding in this house,” Sinclair said. “Given what’s happened—”

“I suggest we all search,” snapped Rutledge. “Shite, I don’t care if I have to tear the house apart stone by stone. We need to hunt this bastard down.”

“Language,” Saxonby warned. “In front of the ladies.”

The earl sneered. “These women aren’t ladies.”

“Rescind that insult, man.” Saxonby was on his feet, but Sinclair stepped between them.

“Enough. We need to direct our energies to figure out what is going on.”

“I meant most of these women aren’t ladies,” Rutledge said sulkily. “My fair Georgiana is a goddess. I wouldn’t imply anything less, Sax.” He turned to Sinclair, glowering. “Maybe it’s time we accused you, Sinclair. Three men have died and I know you had reasons to want each one dead.”

Startled, Portia met Sinclair’s dark brown eyes. He looked as if hit in the face. “What are you talking about?” he demanded.

“You were overheard shouting at Crayle. I was Willoughby’s second when you faced him at Chalk Farm to duel, when he shot you. And I know you were angered by Sandhurst’s attention to your masked mistress. If there’s a murderer amongst us, it’s likely you.”

“It is not, damn it.”

But Portia saw the guests all stare at Sinclair, eyes narrowed with suspicion.

Before she’d had a moment of doubt. Did she now? No—because Sinclair had been angered by the Cruel Marquis’s treatment of Sadie.

She believed him innocent.

“I assure you I did not kill anyone,” Sinclair said. “I’ve had ample time to seek revenge on Willoughby if I’d wanted. As for the marquis, if I wanted retribution from him for what he did to Sadie, I wouldn’t kill him. A flirtation with my mistress is not a reason to kill a man.” He looked around. “Do the rest of you believe this?”

“Of course not.” Portia stood. “You could never have done such things. To think it is madness. You are not that kind of gentleman, Your Grace. And if you are going to search the house, I wish to go too. To help.”

“Absolutely not.”

Of course he would say that. “I could go on my own, the moment you are gone. I think it would make far more sense to work together.”

* * *

Portia stayed with Sinclair and Saxonby as they searched the house. The two gentlemen were extremely intelligent, but needed a woman’s touch when it came to assessing a house for its hiding places, she quickly realized.

She knew where children would choose to hide—either for games or to escape punishment for pranks. She set out the search agenda. Up to the attics first, then working down through the house. They looked in every room, every wardrobe, behind curtains, under beds. Any place someone could hide.

The Earl of Rutledge helped with the attic search for a half hour, then grunted that he needed a drink and disappeared. Blute did not join them at all. He remained in the drawing room with the other women, who had elected to stay there. Together. As she, Sinclair, and Saxonby passed the drawing room, Portia saw all the other guests seated inside. Tea had been served, but no one was touching it. They all had liquor in their hands.

Sinclair paused just beyond door, and Portia realized he was listening to hear what was being said.

“We’ll only drink from fresh bottles,” Rutledge muttered. “Heard Sinclair say he thought Sandhurst had been poisoned. As long as we open sealed bottles and drink in front of each other, we’ve got nothing to fear.”

The others answered in muted, emotionless voices. The tones of people in shock. No one was touching or having sex. They all sat grim-faced, watching each other.

Then Portia found herself dragged away from the drawing room by Sinclair. He stopped with his hand on her low back to confer with Saxonby. His touch made her think of the most inappropriate things. Such as the wonderful, thrilling way he’d made her climax—