She thought of the Cruel Marquis dressed in such a way. Given his vicious behavior to Sadie, the image she conjured was not flattering. Wrinkled skin, paunchy stomach, white hair, then filmy lace. “Oh dear.”
Sinclair took the corset she held and put it back in the drawer.
“Er, yes, thank you. I’d rather not be touching that.” She looked up into his dark brown eyes. “But why?”
He lifted his brow wryly. “Everyone has their deepest, hidden-most fantasies.”
“I guess yours are all the naughty things you’ve done,” she said. “I don’t have any.”
“My deepest fantasy is something I’ve never done before, Portia. And you have to have hidden fantasies. Everyone does.”
“I do not.”
“Not even two men making love to you?” he asked softly. Saxonby had moved on to the next room. Sinclair came close to her, enveloping her in his scent—sandalwood and the warm, sensual scent of his skin.
No, she didn’t really want two men like the Wanton Widow. All she wanted was Sin. Sinclair, she meant. But she couldn’t admit that.
“We should look through Willoughby’s bedroom,” she said crisply. In the hall, they discovered Saxonby was searching the bedroom belonging to the Old Madam, and they went to the viscount’s room.
No frilly, pretty undergarments graced his drawers. But when Portia checked the drawer in the bedside table, there atop an assortment of riding crops and ropes sat a piece of pink ribbon.
She lifted it out. “Ribbon again!”
Hands settled on her shoulders, making her gasp. Not with fear, with a sudden rush of awareness. It was Sinclair of course. “Portia, you shouldn’t be looking at those things. You’re innocent—”
“Never mind those. It’s the ribbon that’s important.”
“The ribbon?” Sinclair stared like he couldn’t believe what he’d heard.
“I found pink ribbon on the floor near Viscount Sandhurst’s body. And there was a piece on the bed in the room where the marquis . . . died. The cook had a piece too—she found it in her room.”
He frowned. “You think the ribbon was a warning?”
“I don’t know. We didn’t have any in our room. I found the ribbon on the floor near Sandhurst, not in his room. Perhaps it fell out of his pocket. It must mean something.”
Sinclair took it and she watched his fingers stroke it. “It’s a girl’s hair ribbon, isn’t it?”
“It could belong to one of the women here,” Portia began. “But this would be for a younger girl—”
“Some women dress up as young girls to arouse certain men. You think one of the women committed these murders and left hair ribbons?” Sinclair’s brow rose.
Could a woman have done it? “I suppose it seems impossible for a woman to have lifted Crayle.”
“Agreed.”
Did that mean it was the mysterious Lord Genvere? A thought struck and she gasped out a little “Oh!”
Sinclair looked at her in surprise.
Why had she not thought of this before? She used false names in the stews to get access to places where she feared she might not. She’d even used disguises—dressing up as old ladies or servants.
“Maybe there is no Genvere at all. There is just us. And a killer.” At his questioning look, she explained, “Perhaps one of the guests brought us all here, creating invitations with a false name. I’ve yet to find anyone who has met Lord Genvere. Not even the servants.”
A grin spread over his handsome face. “Brilliant, Portia.”
That smile, those words sent a warm glow through her, despite the chilling thought she’d had.
“When we found no sign of anyone on the island, it seemed logical the killer has to be one of us. I hadn’t discounted Genvere altogether, but you’re correct. As far as I’ve been told, no one has ever met him. But there are sections of the cliffs I haven’t checked. I want to be positive there is no one hiding on the island. When the weather clears, I’m going to search for caves again. I’ll rappel down the cliffs and search.”
Her glow vanished. “You are going to do what?”
“Take a rope, lower myself down, look for caves—”
“Suspended over the rocks and sea? You could be killed.”
“Not if I use stout rope. And Sax will be on hand to help.”
“It’s too dangerous,” she cried. He could be killed. She couldn’t face that. Couldn’t. “You’re utterly mad. You cannot take such a risk.”
“I’m trying to stop a murderer. And find the bastard who kidnapped you.”