Deepest Desires of a Wicked Duke(72)

“I think I want to make love.” Then she added, hastily, awkwardly, “With you.”

“No, Portia, love. We are not going to do that. I won’t ruin you.”

“You have orgies. How can you be noble?”

But he lifted her to her feet once more, and she knew, gritting her teeth in frustration, red with embarrassment, that he could be noble.

To cover up the flaring humiliation, she babbled. “What do you think the pink ribbons mean? I think it must be something to do with a girl. But a young girl—only a very young girl would use such a color. Unless Sadie does, but I’ve never seen her in pink. Do you think—one of the women here could have a child? There is the old madam. And the Incognita. Sadie could be old enough. I don’t think the maid, Ellie, is old enough. Unless the child were very young. And there’s the cook—but cooks are never married. They are called “Mrs.” That’s to accord them respect. But when they work in a house, they aren’t married.”

Sinclair sighed. “Angel, slow down.”

They’d reached the terrace doors. “You’re going to rappel down the cliff faces, aren’t you?” she asked. “What about the rain? Won’t you slip?”

“I’ll tie the rope around my waist and use a couple of lines. Sadie doesn’t know the marquis is dead. I’d like you there when I tell her.”

“Oh. Of course.” It meant there would be no money for Sadie from the marquis to ease the horror of her injuries. The girl would be angry and upset.

They passed the drawing room, now empty. Went upstairs. Portia rapped gently on Sadie’s bedroom door, then turned the key in the lock and opened it. “Sadie?”

No answer. She saw the girl’s form under the sheets. She quietly approached.

Stopped dead. Her stomach plunged. Sadie lay on her back, the sheets tucked up just beneath her chin. But her eyes were wide open. Large, blue, and staring blankly at the canopy above.

Portia froze. She had to grab the bed column. Sadie was dead. It couldn’t be—

Gathering her wits, Portia hurried to the bed. Was Sadie dead because of her wounds? Surely not. Sadie wasn’t that badly wounded.

Then she saw it.

The ring of bruises around the young woman’s neck. Marks that looked like fingermarks on her throat.

Portia stepped back. Something crunched beneath her foot and she jumped. She looked down, afraid to discover what she’d stepped on.

It was crumbs on the floor. It looked like a biscuit.

Then, as she looked up again, as Sinclair went to Sadie’s prostrate body, she saw a tiny piece of pink ribbon sticking out from beneath the pillow.





15

He expected Portia to be horrified. Frozen with shock and fear. Sin didn’t expect her to cry out, “Crumbs! That’s it! There are two clues, don’t you see?” she went on, breathlessly. The piece of hair ribbon and the crumbs.”

She pulled out of his arms. Sin wanted to soothe her, but she was gone—and his arms felt empty. Then he spotted the crumbs. A stretch of them strewn over the carpet. Bending down to them, he was about to ask Portia why she believed they were so important, when he heard the click of the door latch.

She could move like a streak of lightning when she was doing something he intended to expressly forbid. When he reached the corridor, she’d gone. Damn it.

He caught movement of the baize door at the end of the corridor—the servants’ door.

If crumbs had set her off like that, and she’d gone to the servants’ stair, she had to be going down to the kitchens.

He followed. Drawn to her. And not just to protect her.

He’d had women in every way possible. On top of him, riding him while pinching their own nipples for his delectation or squashing full breasts in his face. Below him, with legs wrapped around his neck so he could pound deep. Two women, three women. One time six women, while he lay on a large bed. One woman riding his prick. One fingering his anus, sliding three fingers inside. One sitting on his face, so he could lick her pussy. Two using his fingers for pleasure, in their cunts and asses, and the last one to slip her hand in between all the bodies to fondle him. He’d even had women strap on false cocks to penetrate him while he made love to another woman.

But he’d never known the pure agony of wanting a woman he couldn’t have except with Portia. He’d never wanted any other woman like he wanted her.

Focusing on the baize door, he almost crashed into a figure who emerged from a bedroom. His chest almost collided with a protruding bosom and he caught himself just in time.

It was the Old Madam. Mrs. Barker, who he now thought of by Portia’s nickname.

“What is it? Where are you running off to, Your Grace?” she cried.