She turned to Saxonby. “You saved my life. I . . . thank you. I would be dead now if not for you. My foolish shot missed. Your shot actually hurt the fiend.”
She was relieved. And in agony. Saxonby wasn’t the murderer, obviously. Which meant Sinclair had thrown his life away for nothing.
“I am no hero, Miss Love,” Saxonby muttered. “I ignored your request and instead took steps to protect you. But I was not the one—I mean, my shot unfortunately did not kill him. Why did you do this foolish thing? Make yourself a target. Do you know who the killer is?”
She shook her head. Sagged against the wall. “No, I thought I would make the killer come after me, and if I was armed, I would put an end to this. If you had not been there, I would have been dead. I feel Sinclair is dead because of me. He was so determined to protect me that he acted on impulse, in desperation. It was my fault and I wanted to stop this madness.”
“I won’t tolerate you taking more foolish risks, Miss Love,” Saxonby said. “If Sin knew, he’d kill me. Damn it.” With a sweep of his hand, he pushed back his longish silver-blond hair. “I don’t know what in Hades I should do. I want you to go to your bedchamber. We’ll search it to ensure it’s safe. Then you are to lock yourself in there. I’ll come for you soon. There is something I have to do.”
* * *
Sin paced his room, the room in which he was supposed to be lying dead. Using his key, Sax had slipped in to confront him about firing that shot—the one that had saved Portia—and poured two glasses of brandy. Sin tossed back both of them, leaving Sax to pour himself another.
The brandy seared as it went down, but it didn’t warm his heart.
Sax eyed him with disapproval. “You took a hell of a risk making that shot, Sin,” he growled. “You could have been caught.”
He stalked to the brandy decanter. Picked it up, then set it down. To try to warm his frozen heart and soul, he would end up pickling his brain. He needed his wits. But he was so cold with fear. And with something else—something that felt damn close to despair.
He turned on his friend. “What in hell was I going to do, Sax, stand by when she was in danger?”
“Obviously not, but—”
“So I have to tell her the truth. I have to let her know I’m not dead. Portia could have gotten herself killed. This is something I never expected. I’ve never had anyone care about me before.”
“She cared, when she first agreed to marry you. Why shouldn’t she care now?—you’ve devoted yourself to her safety here.”
“I didn’t think that was enough to make up for how badly I hurt her.”
“We also care,” Sax said gruffly. “The Wicked Dukes. We are your friends. That means we watch your back. And we give a goddamn if you get yourself killed. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but Grey and Cary are now concerned about whether we’re happy—and believe we should find love, get married, and be happy. And you know I’d watch your back anytime.”
Sax’s words touched his heart, he had to admit.
“I know the three of you are my friends,” he said, “but I don’t have any damn clue how you treat someone you care about. I’ve never had the love of parents. I would have appreciated cold-hearted parents, as opposed to ones who sought to use and abuse me. The fact that they had to feed me made them believe I could be used as a whipping boy, an amusement, a—”
He broke off. Hell, what was he doing? He’d never revealed much about his past. The brandy was affecting him. Making him feel damned empty and lost.
“You don’t have to talk about it, Sin,” Sax said, running his finger around his cravat, looking awkward.
As boys they’d all known they were haunted by their pasts, but no one ever talked about it. And once they’d grown up, become men, they definitely had not talked about it.
Then, in his mind, he heard Portia’s sobs again. Wrenching. Filled with pain. God, he couldn’t stand it. He stalked around the room. Ended up at the fireplace, gripped the mantel with his hands and hung his head.
Behind him, Sax started to say, “I need to remind you, Sin, why we faked your death—”
“You don’t,” he cut in. “I did it so I could investigate while the killer believes me already dead. It meant I was no longer a target. It was also my intention to watch over Portia, protecting her without her knowing I’m alive. I just never thought my death would hurt her so much.”
“Sin, the best way to protect her is to continue with the plan. Think logically.”
His eyes stung. Guilt whipped him. The time he’d broken off their engagement, she had been so strong. So stoic. Just like she was when dealing with the children she rescued. He used to help her gather the children, and he’d been astounded at her courage. He’d never dreamed Portia was capable of crying like that.