But how did he throw the killer off guard. How did he take control of this?
An idea occurred to him. A way to confuse the killer. But he would need help for his plan. He couldn’t reveal it to Portia. But he could trust Sax—
“Sin. Sin, I’ve got to talk to you.”
It was Sax, who looked like he’d seen a ghost. Sin came out of the shadows, just as Portia left Nellie. They both hurried toward Sax, and somehow Sin knew, before his friend even said a word, what had happened.
He could see it in Sax’s eyes. He knew that look—he’d worn it years ago, when he was young.
It was lost hopelessness.
* * *
Saxonby came toward them and Portia hurried forward, laying her hand on the forearm of Sinclair’s friend. She’d never seen a man look in so much pain as Saxonby. “What has happened?”
Sinclair was right behind her. In a raw voice, he asked, “Sax, what in hell is it?”
In the gray daylight falling into the corridor, Saxonby looked as if his heart had been torn out by vicious hands. “It’s Georgiana. She has been killed. Poisoned, I think.”
Portia felt her knees weaken. Four murders in mere hours—or mere minutes, really. How was it possible?
A spasm of pain passed over Sinclair’s face. “I’m sorry. Damned sorry.” Then, in a low growl, “How did it happen?”
“She had a decanter of sherry in her room. Took a drink even though I’d warned her not to touch anything. I found her lying on the bed, neatly arranged. With a damn pink ribbon lying on her breast.”
The Duke of Saxonby was lifting a glass to his lips. Portia gasped, and said, “Don’t touch that,” but Sinclair had already knocked it out of his friend’s hands.
“What the—? This was a fresh bottle placed in my room. I opened the seal, Sin. You didn’t need to break my damn glass. I need a drink. I can’t believe this happened to Georgiana. God, she was lovely. I was already half in love with her and falling fast the rest of the way. I could have happily married her—if I could marry, she would have been the girl for me.”
If he could marry? Portia noted those words, but saw nothing in Saxonby’s grieving expression of what he meant by those words. And what did it matter now, when he had lost the woman he loved?
“What do you mean the sealed bottle was placed in your room, Sax?” Sinclair asked, frowning.
“There was one left in my bedchamber this morning. A bottle, with the original seal in place, and a note that stated this was a fresh bottle, that it would be ungentlemanly to poison a man’s brandy when he would soon need it. At the time, I had no idea what the note meant. It was signed by Genvere.”
“You shouldn’t be drinking it. Hell, Sax, it was likely tampered with.”
“After I found Georgiana’s body, I didn’t give a damn if the stuff was poisoned. Since I’m still alive, I assume it was not. Or it will kill me later. But I guess that was Genvere’s idea. He knew I would need a drink once I learned about Georgiana. I intend to drink the whole blasted bottle and either end up plastered or dead.”
“We can’t get drunk, Sax. We have to keep our wits to survive.” Sinclair rested his hand on his friend’s broad shoulder. “The butler, maid, and footman have also been murdered. But I’m so sorry for your loss, Sax. I know how much this must hurt you.”
“Do you? I’m in damned agony. There was a letter with that fucking ribbon.”
Portia flinched at his language.
“A fucking letter that claimed she’d paid for her sins. God, I want to find this bastard and throttle the life out of him. I want to rip him limb from limb, then tear out his heart. I want him to die in the most painful way possible.”
“You won’t have to do that. I will,” Sinclair said gruffly. “I don’t have much to live for, Sax. You have your life ahead of you. I’ll get vengeance. Don’t worry.”
“What do you mean that you don’t have much to live for?” Portia breathed. She didn’t understand.
But Saxonby broke in, “I’ll get my own fucking revenge.”
“No, you’re my friend. You’ve been one of the best friends I ever had. You were there for me at Eton when . . . suffice to say you know more about me than anyone. I never could explain it to you, Sax, but you helped me in ways you don’t even know about. You saved my life. If it weren’t for you . . . I would have been dead before I was fifteen years of age. You indeed my wretched bloody life. I was the one who fucked it up years later, but I still owe you.”
Portia gaped at him, mystified.
“Have you been drinking, Sin? I don’t know what in blazes you’re talking about,” Saxonby said.