Deepest Desires of a Wicked Duke(82)

Rubbing his chin, he walked back to the door. “Now Georgiana’s room. Sax, would you come with me? I need to ask you . . . uh, something about this morning. And, Portia, I need you to stay in our bedchamber. Where you will be safe.”

She sputtered, but Saxonby said, “Do as he asks, Miss Love. He only wants to protect you.”

So she agreed to wait in the room, but only because it would upset poor Saxonby if she had an argument with Sinclair. The men waited while she locked her door; then she heard their footsteps recede as they went away together to Lady Linley’s room.

What was it Sinclair wanted to do that he did not want her to see? Why had he gone to look at Willoughby again?

She’d thought they were partners in this. So why was he being so secretive?

* * *

Portia had almost worn a hole in the floor from pacing. It had been two hours since Sinclair and Saxonby had gone off. Had something happened to them? Her stomach plunged to her toes; then she heard loud voices outside her door.

“Of the remaining guests, you have the wit and strength to carry this out. You’re the only one capable. I know you have lost women in your life, Sax. You could want revenge. These people could have hurt someone you love.”

Was that Sinclair? Shocked, she hastened to the door and yanked it open.

Saxonby looked stunned. “What in hell are you saying, Sin? We’ve been friends since Eton. You can’t seriously think me responsible for this.”

Both men stood outside the door. Sinclair wore such a ruthless expression, she felt chills.

“It’s the only damn solution,” he said. “You’re the only one with the brains for this. I don’t know your motive, but I know no one else could be capable of such brilliance.”

“And I’d kill Georgiana?”

“Love can turn to hate easily enough. We both know that. Georgiana had sex with other men here.”

“So what are you planning to do about this mad accusation?”

Portia felt disorientated, as if she’d walked in on the middle of a play. This all felt surreal. These men were friends. What had happened between them? Why did Sinclair think it was Saxonby? What had he discovered? Could he be right?

“I have to stop you, Sax. I challenge you to a duel. Pistols. On the lawn by the terrace.”

“A duel?” Portia heard her voice rise to a screech. “You can’t do this!”

But Sinclair’s dark eyes burned with a wild fury. “You’ve done this, Sax. You’re mad and I am going to stop you.”





17

It wasn’t dawn, but Sin’s thoughts kept going back to the only duels he’d ever had. One had been Willoughby, over the innocent young lady Will had ruined. The duel before that had been when he was sixteen. His brother’s wife, Estella, had revealed to his brother than she’d been sleeping with Sin since he was a boy of twelve. Sin had known it was wrong, but somehow he couldn’t say no to her. Estella used to threaten him to get what she wanted. At fifteen, he’d refused to sleep with her anymore. He found the courage to say no. She told his older brother about the affair out of spite.

And at sixteen, Sin had faced the hellish choice of shooting his own brother on a dueling field or letting himself be killed....

Christ, he had to keep focused.

“Take your position,” he growled to Saxonby. His good friend. They’d been boys together at Eton—boys with dark pasts, with secrets they wanted to keep hidden. They’d met two other boys who also had secrets to hide: Grey, now the Duke of Greybrooke, and Cary, the Duke of Caradon.

Fog wreathed around he and Sax, like ghosts ready to welcome one of them to hell. Cold, damp air clung to the back of his neck, left a film of water on his face.

They had taken a position on the grass beyond the terrace, halfway between the flagstones and the edge of the cliff. It was close enough for them to be seen by people in the house.

He heard Sax puff out a long, harsh breath.

Sin stole a glance at the house—in the cold light he could only see reflections of the iron-gray clouds on the window panes. Was anyone watching them?

The remaining guests had to be.

Sax was a damn good shot. He knew it. But Sin was also an excellent shot. Even as a young man, he’d been good enough to deliberately miss his brother. His brother hadn’t missed him, however....

Focus, damn it.

The terrace door shut with a bang. Through the mist he could see a dress of ivory, thick auburn hair. Portia had come out on the terrace. Damn, he’d told her to keep away from this.

“We’ll count off twenty paces,” he growled. Sax’s shoulders bumped against his as they stood back-to-back. “On the count of three, we fire.”