“Good morning, gentlemen,” he drawled, and with liberal handholds on shoulders and coats, made it to the vacant seat beside Kingsfeld. The annoyed looks from his peers were knowing rather than surprised, so Kilcairn had been tending to his task.
“Did I miss anything?” he asked Kingsfeld, and was immediately shushed by his nearest seatmates.
“Only a taxation speech,” Kingsfeld murmured. “What happened to you, Sin?”
“Well, thanks to you, Vixen thinks I only married her because of Marley,” he whispered back, real anger touching his voice. The story helped his ruse, but his fingers still curled with the desire to hit Astin. The earl had already destroyed his past with Thomas, and now was ruining any chance he had at a happy future—because that future had to include Victoria. He didn’t want a future without her.
“Oh, dear. We were only jesting. I didn’t think she would take me seriously.”
“Well, she did, and now she’s gone.”
“Shh!”
“Gone? Gone where?”
Sinclair blew out his lips. “Who knows? I told her I was going to finish this today, but she just glared at me and said she was leaving.” He leaned closer. “You haven’t seen Marley, have you?”
“No. You have no idea where your wife ran off to?”
Sweet Lucifer, Kingsfeld really did intend her harm. Sinclair clenched his jaw and fixed a perturbed look on his face. “She didn’t say, and I didn’t ask. I really don’t wish to discuss it.”
“I understand, lad. Of course. So you’re going ahead with Marley’s arrest?”
“I’m certainly not going to leave that bastard on the loose when I don’t know where my wife is.” Despite his barely checked fury, the conversation was going well; better than he’d anticipated. With a quick breath he decided to continue: they couldn’t count on Kingsfeld following him home for luncheon. “I meant to ask you last night,” he continued, making certain the earl got a good whiff of the whiskey liberally soaked into his cravat, “you don’t have the rest of that letter somewhere, do you? With just a few words here and there, I don’t want any damned solicitor saying it’s really a letter to Marley’s dear sick aunt.”
“I don’t know where it would be, if I did,” Kingsfeld whispered back. “But I did find the first piece. Perhaps I used the rest of it in the library, as well.”
“It would be very helpful.”
“Lord Althorpe!”
With a start, Sinclair looked down at the floor of the House. The Earl of Liverpool stood glaring at him, hands on his hips and his lips pressed thinly together in obvious annoyance. “My lord?”
The prime minister took a step closer. “We are discussing matters of taxation. Do you have anything of importance to add to the debate?”
No one had spoken to him like that since he was a schoolboy. As Crispin pointed out on numerous occasions, though, he would do anything for the sake of the mission. He gave a lopsided grin. “That depends. What are we taxing? Oh, let me guess. Whatever it is, it’s meant to pay off more of Prinny’s debts.”
A low, rumbling roar began at the more conservative end of the House, and by the time it reached those around Sinclair, it had become a full-blown shouting match. Liverpool was yelling at him, but in the din it took a moment for him to decipher what the prime minister was saying.
“We will not tolerate your drunken interruptions here! This is a serious place of law, not a brothel!”
Sinclair stood. “You could have fooled me,” he said and stumbled back down the risers. “Good day, gentlemen,” he said, grinning, and strolled for the door. As he left, he glanced back to see Kingsfeld looking at his pocket watch, and, farther down the row, Lord Kilcairn apparently taking a nap, despite the glinting slit of a gaze aimed in his direction.
That was one step taken care of. And now for Marley.
“All right. For the sake of argument, let’s say Sin is sending you away because you quarreled.” Kit sat on the backward-facing side of the coach, his scowl growing deeper with each passing mile. “If that’s true, though, why did the big oaf insist that Grandmama and I go with you? We didn’t argue with him.”
Victoria leaned her cheek against the windowsill, trying to catch some air on her face. She hadn’t meant to discuss her departure at all, but Christopher had his brother’s persistence. Neither of her companions knew precisely what was going on, and she didn’t want to be the one to enlighten them. On the other hand, her limited tolerance for lying had several hours ago reached its fill.
“He’s just trying to protect you,” she said, shutting her eyes and then quickly opening them again when the rocking of the coach threatened to make her ill.
“Protect us from what?” Kit retorted. “The London Season? I was supposed to go on a picnic with Miss Porter tomorrow.”
“My, Hampshire is such lovely country,” Augusta broke in. “I have always been very fond of it.”
Hampshire. Victoria straightened. “Where in Hampshire are we?”
“The road passes through the southeast section on its way toward Althorpe.” Christopher’s scowl darkened further. “I really would like to know what Sin thinks we need protecting for. This is ridiculous. I haven’t—we haven’t—seen him for five years, and now he decides he’s had enough of us?”
She heard and understood the hurt in his voice; she felt it herself. It would be so much easier if Sinclair didn’t blame himself for what had happened to Thomas; he felt so responsible that it seemed he would rather risk losing the love and understanding of his family than even consider them being hurt.
Victoria blinked. He was willing to risk everything. Did that include her?
She sat up very straight. Things had fallen rather conveniently into place yesterday. Circumstances in Sinclair’s vicinity seemed to have a way of doing that. And she’d fallen right in with his plans. Sending Kingsfeld to insult her seemed far-fetched, but Sin wasn’t likely to explain things, or to let an opportunity go by unused. She was not some timid miss to be banished to the country at her husband’s convenience, however. Not without getting some answers first.
“Stop the coach,” she said, grabbing onto the windowsill.
“We’re just a mile or two from the next inn,” Augusta said. “We can rest there.”
“No. Stop it now, or I’m going to be ill.”
“Damnation.” Kit lurched to his feet. “Driver, stop the coach!” he bellowed, knocking on the roof with his fist.
Slowly they rolled to a halt. Kit flung open the door and vaulted to the ground so he could hand Victoria down. As soon as her feet touched the rutted track her stomach settled, but her mind continued careening in every direction.
For several minutes she strode up and down the road while Christopher kept pace beside her and Augusta leaned out the coach’s doorway to watch them. Soon the second carriage with their servants and luggage came up behind them and stopped.
“Better?” Kit asked.
“I think so.” For appearance sake she continued to clutch her stomach and make occasional groaning sounds. How much of what Sinclair had said to her had been lies, and how much had been the truth? Was he trying to protect her, or did he really, truly wish to be rid of her?
“Are you ready to continue?” Kit asked.
She couldn’t keep tramping along the roadside forever. With a nod, Victoria turned back to the coach again—and stopped so quickly that Christopher ran into her from behind.
“Damn,” he mumbled, grabbing her elbow. “My apologies. You’re not going to faint, are you?”
“I might.”
The coach’s driver sat facing away from her, a big, crooked hand blocking his countenance from her view. The hand, though, was as recognizable as the face, as was the driver’s short stature. For a brief moment Victoria wanted to burst into song. Just as quickly, though, she stifled the urge. Simply because Sinclair had sent Roman to drive them all to Althorpe didn’t mean he’d had motives other than the one he’d stated for sending her away.
“Driver,” she called, “I require a word with you.”
Roman jumped, glancing at her, and then faced away again.
“Driver!”
“Yes, my lady,” he muttered, climbing slowly and reluctantly to the ground.
“Vixen, do you—”
“Excuse me, Kit,” she interrupted. “I’ll just be a moment.” She stalked up to Roman. “What are you doing here?” she demanded.
“I’m driving the coach, my lady. And if you would be so kind as to return to your seat, we’ll continue on to the Red Lion Inn, just up the road.”
The Red Lion. A plan began forming in her mind. First, though, she had a few more questions. “If Sinclair was tired of my presence, why didn’t he send me to my parents’ house?”
The valet cleared his throat. “I wouldn’t know, my lady.”
“And why did he banish his family along with me, and place us under your protection?”
“I wouldn’t—”
“I’m going back. Turn the coach around.”
It was a bold move, but it paid off. Roman blanched—which comforted her more than all of his stumbling denials. Something was going on; and the most important realization was that perhaps Sinclair hadn’t tired of her after all.
“I’m not taking you back to London,” he said firmly. “I have my orders.”
Victoria rubbed her chin, surveying the pretty countryside. Augusta and Christopher complicated the plot; if she returned to London, they would go with her. She couldn’t place them in danger, not just because she had a hunch, and not when Sinclair had gone to such efforts to remove them all from harm.
Taking a deep breath, Victoria made her decision. She couldn’t allow Sinclair to decide her life, or her place in his. A night of sleepless tension and stress made bursting into tears easy. Sobbing, she returned to the carriage.
“Whatever is wrong, my dear?” Augusta exclaimed, helping her up into the vehicle.
“Nothing, really. I’m just…I’m just so tired.”
“Of course you are.”
“You know, we’re very close to my old finishing school.”
“Miss Grenville’s Academy?” A slight furrow appeared between Augusta’s eyebrows.
“Yes. My…my good friend Emma is headmistress there.” She clutched Augusta’s hand, not having to pretend the worry and tension running through her. “I would really like to visit her for a few days, if you…don’t mind. I’ll follow you to Althorpe at the end of the week.”
“Absolutely not, child! If you wish to visit your friend, we’ll all go.”
Leaning into the coach from his position on the bottom step, Kit nodded his agreement. “We’re not going to abandon you—especially after Sin was such a cad.”
Real tears coursed down Victoria’s cheeks. Nothing was going to happen to these people. Nothing. “Thank you, but it’s not like that. Really. I just need a day or two…alone.” At Kit’s hurt look, she smiled. “Besides, it’s a girls’ school. No men allowed.”
Augusta looked at her for a long moment. “I hope this isn’t because of Sinclair’s behavior,” she finally said in a low voice. “I think he cares very much for you.”
Victoria sniffled. “I hope so.”
“Very well. Christopher, inform the driver that he is to take us to Miss Grenville’s Academy at once.”
“Yes, Grandmama.”
Tracking down Marley took longer than Sinclair anticipated. After questioning the viscount’s butler and then searching half the gentlemen’s clubs along Pall Mall, he reasoned that his quarry might very well have departed London for his estate in the country.
And if he couldn’t arrest Marley, then Kingsfeld would have no reason to feel easier about his own involvement, and Vixen would continue to remain in danger.
Just as Sinclair decided to return to Madsen House and pummel the butler until he gave up his employer’s location, he spied Marley’s bay gelding at the border of Hyde Park.
“Thank God,” he murmured and kicked Diable into a gallop.
He’d wanted a public setting for the arrest, and it seemed he was going to get his wish. The afternoon crowds had already begun to fill the park’s paths, while vendors offered flavored ice and pastries on the green.
Galloping in Hyde Park was strictly forbidden, in addition to being nearly impossible, but Sinclair wasn’t about to risk losing sight of Marley now. Touching his heels to Diable’s ribs, he sent the black soaring over a park bench and around a crowd of picnickers.
Ignoring the resulting chorus of “You there” and “It’s that damned Althorpe,” he closed the distance between himself and Marley. After this was over he was going to owe the viscount one hell of an apology, but he’d do his best to make Marley come out a hero. As for himself, he didn’t care as long as he didn’t lose Victoria.
“Marley!” he bellowed as he pulled even.
The viscount gave him a startled look and had time for nothing else as Sinclair launched off Diable at him. They both tumbled to the ground in a whirling leaf-and-grass-covered pile. Sinclair got to his feet first and yanked Marley up by his lapels.
“What…is the meaning of this?” Marley sputtered, jerking himself free and shoving Sinclair backward.
“You really didn’t think you’d get away with killing my brother, did you?” Sinclair spat and pulled out his pistol.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about!”
“Don’t you?” Grabbing the viscount again, Sinclair elbowed him hard in the ribs. Marley doubled over, and Sin leaned down beside him. “Go along with this,” he hissed. “I’ll explain later.”
“I will not!” Marley sputtered.
Sin jammed the pistol in his ear. “I wasn’t asking.”
“You’re…you’re mad, Althorpe!” the viscount sputtered, his expression of fear unmistakably real.
“We’ll see about that, you murderer!”
“What’s all this?” shouted a voice.
Finally! A group of Bow Street Runners pounded up the path toward them, their own weapons drawn. Sinclair waited until they were close enough to intercept Marley if he tried to flee, then lowered his pistol.
“This man killed my brother,” he stated. “I want him arrested.”
“You’re mad! I didn’t kill anyone!”
“We’ll sort this out soon enough,” the largest of the Runners grunted, pulling Marley back upright. “Both of you gentlemen will have to come to Old Bailey with us to swear out a statement,” their captain said, urging Marley back toward his horse.
“You’re insane, Althorpe! I didn’t kill your brother!” Whether Marley was acting or not, he was doing a damned fine job.
A very small part of Sinclair regretted putting the viscount through this, but Marley had attempted to convince Victoria to begin an affair.
“Save your denials for someone who’ll believe them,” Sin retorted, noting the rapt attention of the gathered crowd. Kingsfeld should hear about this in no time at all. “Justice will be done,” he added for good measure.
“He’s drunk!” Marley pleaded with the Runners on his either side. “You can smell the whiskey from here!”
“We’ll see this straightened out soon enough, my lord. Come along, now.”
Still breathing hard, Sinclair reclaimed Diable and swung up onto the stallion’s back. The captain stood about for another minute, informing the crowd that there was nothing to see. With a grim smile, Sin turned to follow the parade of Runners. He would have to agree with the captain; the real fun would begin when he and Kingsfeld next met.
Chapter 17
“Vixen?” With a warm, delighted smile, Emma Grenville swooped into her office and pulled Victoria into a tight hug. “You are the very last person I expected to see in Hampshire. What are you doing here?”
In response, Victoria burst into tears for the sixth or seventh time that day. She’d become such a watering pot that she’d lost count. “I need your assistance,” she blurted.
Em
ma gestured her to a chair and sat in the one opposite her. “You have it,” she stated in her usual comforting, practical tone. “I’m just sorry I was away earlier and you had to wait so long.”
“That’s all right. I needed time to think.”
The headmistress gazed at her. “Molly said you arrived in the company of a young gentleman and an older lady, but they left without you.”
“Yes, Sinclair’s relations. They continued on to Althorpe.”
“Without you, and with your Lord Althorpe nowhere to be seen, apparently.”
Astuteness had never been something that Emma had lacked. “It’s a long story, and I’m not certain how much time I have to tell it.”
“Then you’d best tell it quickly.” Emma rose again, taking Victoria’s hand and pulling her to her feet, as well. “Over dinner, I think. You’re pale. My girls will enjoy meeting you, anyway. You’re notorious, you know.”
Victoria managed a chuckle. “You’re just trying to make me feel better.” She took a breath. As nice and comforting as it was to be able to pour her troubles out to practical Emma, solving hers and Sinclair’s dilemma was more urgent. “I promise to tell you the entire tale soon, but right now I need a carriage, or a horse, or a hack. I’m going back to London.”
Emma hesitated. “And why is that?”
“Sinclair and I quarreled, and he sent me away. I have been considering his motives, though, and I think he was concerned over my safety and wanted to remove me from danger.”
“Danger,” the headmistress repeated. “Then perhaps you should do as he says, Vixen.”
Victoria shook her head. “I am concerned over his safety.” Her voice shook, but at least she seemed to have run out of tears for the moment. “I will not abandon him just because he thinks he knows what’s best for me. Ha. I don’t even know what’s best for me—but I do know it’s not being sent away to the country so he can risk his own life.”
Her bright hazel eyes sympathetic, Emma squeezed Victoria’s fingers. “I would like to meet your Lord Sin some day,” she said softly. “I never thought to see the Vixen lose her heart.”
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