Lord of Sin

by Madeline Hunter

  “I will accompany you to the engravers’,” Joan said. “I may be able to find employment, too.”

  “You are also better at dissembling than I am. You can help me try to find out about Walter.”

  Mary turned away as she rolled her eyes. Jilly’s face folded into creases. Joan tried not to look sympathetic.

  “Of course we must look for him. If he came here trying to help us, we must discover what happened to him,” Anne said.

  Bride was determined to do just that. She was also going to find those stolen plates before the forgers were caught and they implicated the Cameron sisters.

  Should she fail, should disaster engulf them, she had another plan that none of her sisters knew about. One that would save the others, she hoped, even if it did not save her.

  “We must keep our eyes and ears open,” she said. “We must visit the establishments that sell prints, and the publishers, and the engraving studios. We did not come to London to live off Lyndale’s charity. We are here to try and find those forgers and those plates, and to discover if Walter came to harm.”

  Everyone nodded.

  “I expect that it will take some time, though,” Mary said, looking around her room possessively. “We could end up living here for weeks. Months.”

  Not if I can help it, Bride thought.

  CHAPTER

  ELEVEN

  Beginning tomorrow, Charlotte, widow of the last Baron Mardenford, will require your attendance.” Lord Lyndale made the unexpected announcement that day at the end of dinner.

  It had been an awkward meal, full of long silences broken only by footmen pacing and cutlery clinking. The luxury of the dining room, with its rich hangings and abundant silver and huge candelabras, had thoroughly cowed Bride.

  It vexed her to be at such a disadvantage, and she blamed Lyndale for the insistence that they all eat here. Joan and Anne also seemed subdued, which meant they were just as uncomfortable as she was.

  Only Mary appeared at ease. She had peppered Lyndale with questions about London. She kept inviting him to offer to spend the next weeks showing them around the city. He had adroitly sidestepped her efforts to corner him.

  Now he had indicated he had made other arrangements for their entertainment. Bride wished he had not.

  “What could a baroness want with us?” Anne asked.

  “She will be taking you to buy new wardrobes.”

  Mary squealed and clapped her hands.

  “We cannot accept such beneficence,” Bride said.

  “Oh, Briiide,” Mary whined.

  “As my guests, you reflect on me. You cannot walk about London and enter my home dressed as you are. You will present yourselves to Lady Mardenford at her convenience. I will see that the coach is made ready accordingly.”

  “My sisters are welcome to the new clothes, but I do not need them. I will stay here with Jilly,” Bride said.

  “Jilly will be going, as well. She is your aunt and chaperone, and must look like one.”

  Jilly’s face went so slack with shock that all the lines disappeared.

  “You are going, too, Miss Cameron. If I am going to have women in my home, they at least are going to be dressed attractively.”

  “I do not think we should be forced to—”

  “If I say you are to spend the next week buying dresses, then by Zeus you are. The evidence indicates that it is necessary.”

  He looked down the table at her sisters, one by one.

  They had all done their best with what they had. They had curled and pinched and laced more the last two hours than the last two years combined.

  It had not helped much. Bride saw her sisters as Lyndale did. Their garments had not seemed so poor in Scotland, but here, even in the candlelight, one could not ignore the truth.

  Finally, those dark eyes came to rest on her.

  His pointed examination made her squirm. The long expanse of the table and the distant placements of the diners left her adrift and vulnerable to his attention, out of reach of support to keep her afloat. Lyndale’s gaze isolated her further.

  His inspection lingered, slowly sliding from her hair to her face, then down shoulders, neck, and bosom. He wore a very different expression from when he had noted her sisters’ poor attire. Possessive severity hardened his face. Male calculation warmed his eyes.

  He did not appear to be taking inventory of her garments. In fact, she felt as though he was seeing her without anything on at all.

  “Such beauty should not be shrouded in old, unfashionable clothes,” he said. “It will give me great pleasure to see you free of them.”

  Bride darted quick glances around the table. No one seemed to realize he only spoke to her. Nor did they notice the double entendre. She felt her face going red. That escaped their detection as well, along with the rigidity she assumed in order to conquer the stupid shivers his concentration provoked.

  The man was shameless. She had miscalculated badly, and it was imperative to rectify the mistake.

  “Bride, it is apparent that Lord Lyndale wants to do this, because he is so good and kind,” Mary said. “I think it would be rude to refuse.”

  Lyndale’s gaze slid to Mary, then back to Bride. See? his smug little smile said.

  “I think Lord Lyndale is being too kind and generous, Mary. It is clear that our presence has created obligations for him that I failed to anticipate. I am concluding that it would be better if we removed ourselves from his home.”

  Mary began pouting. Lyndale’s gaze turned hooded. He examined Bride again, thoughtfully.

  “I must insist that you explain where you will go and how you will live if you intend to leave,” he said. “Perhaps the ladies should retire to the morning room while we discuss that.”

  “I think we should have some say in it,” Mary said.

  “You have no say in anything, young woman,” Lyndale replied. “If I am satisfied, your sister can consult with your aunt and older sisters.”

  Verging on tears, Mary rose and hurried from the room. Joan followed, casting Bride a frown. Even Jilly managed to express with a sigh that she thought Bride had become strangely unpredictable.

  When they were all gone, Lyndale gestured to a footman. A box and decanter appeared, then the servants departed.

  Lyndale opened the box. “Cigar? Port? Now that the ladies have retired, we can indulge.”

  “That is insulting.”

  “I intended it as a compliment to your formidable skills of logic, organization, and persuasion.”

  He settled in with his lit cigar and glass of port. “Move closer, Miss Cameron. We will not have to shout then.”

  She did not budge.

  “Are you afraid of me, Bride?”

  She did not answer.

  “There is no reason to be. I promise to be very good tonight.”

  With a sigh, she moved a little closer.

  “Now, if you quit this house, where will you go?”

  “I have decided it would be best to accept your offer of a leased house. We would pay you back once the funds came through. That way you will not actually be keeping us or giving us charity.”

  He rested his chin in his hand and looked at her. “As always, you have it all worked out. I considered such a solution myself, I will let you know. I even consulted my solicitor today, to find out how best to arrange such a loan.”

  “Then you are agreeable.” She began rising. “I am glad we could come to an understanding so quickly. Now, I will rejoin my sisters and—”

  “I decided, however, that doing that does not suit me.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “It does not suit me.”

  She sat back down. “Why does it not suit you?”

  “I do not know.” He shrugged and appeared genuinely perplexed. “At first I thought it brilliant. It would restore my peace and satisfy your pride about being kept and whatnot. By late afternoon, however, it no longer suited me.”

  “Lord Lyndale, you created a home
devoid of females. You cannot want us to stay.”

  “I will admit that I do not welcome the invasion. However, as the day wore on, I kept seeing more trouble if I put all of you elsewhere. I would still be responsible for you, but—”

  “You would in no way be responsible for us.”

  “Of course I would be, only I would have no way to protect you. Mary, for example, is certain to do something rash if given half the chance. If she is here, men will know to think twice. If she is off alone with you, they will do their worst and I will be the one pacing off at dawn, not you. Your other sisters would be just as vulnerable. So, I concluded that until your situation is more settled, and until I am convinced that you all understand city ways, you should remain here. I assure you that my decision astonished me.”

  No more than it astonished her. He had seemed so eager to be rid of them this morning.

  She thought about her chambers above, and his insinuations when they arrived.

  “Lord Lyndale, are you very sure it was only concern for our well-being that led you to this change of heart?”

  He sat back in his chair. He tapped some ash off his cigar. “Not entirely.”

  She felt her eyes narrowing. “You are the worst scoundrel. If you think that having me stay in this house means that I am going to be agreeable to—”

  “It was the dress,” he said. “Lady Mardenford was wearing a dress that was very lovely. Raw silk, I think, in a color like sea foam.”

  He made no sense. She began mentally counting the glasses of wine he had drunk at dinner.

  “There I was, talking about her brothers and sister and whatnot, and I kept seeing you in that dress instead of her.” He shrugged again, as if that said it all.

  “I do not understand how her sea-foam dress factors into any of this.”

  “I realized I would very much like to see you in such a dress, Bride. If you leave, you will never allow me to buy you one. If you remain here, and I am purchasing wardrobes for all of you out of duty, you will.”

  “You are going to have five guests in your house for weeks or months, because you thought in passing that you would like to see me in a new green dress?”

  “It appears so.”

  “Are you mad?”

  A charming smile greeted her exasperation. “Possibly. However, I should probably explain that after I imagined you in that dress, I then imagined you taking it off. Very slowly.”

  She stood abruptly. “That will only happen in your mind. It is scandalous of you to insist we stay because of any such intentions.”

  “You are absolutely correct.”

  “I am?”

  “Certainly. I cannot deny that scandalous intentions may be diluting my altruistic impulses.” He leaned forward, exuding solicitous concern. “However, here is what I think we should do. You speak with your sisters and Jilly. If they agree with you that you should remove yourselves from this house, I will do it as you wish. We will find a nice little place where they can wear their old dresses and cook their own food and clean their own floors. After all, it is their money you intend to spend, so they should have a say.”

  She had not expected such quick capitulation, but she grabbed it. “I will consult with them at once. You should anticipate our departure as soon as the other house can be let.”

  Bride stood near the table in the morning room, with her sisters arrayed on chairs around her. She explained her new plan to them. “Since we will pay him back, it would not be charity, nor would we be giving him rights to interfere.”

  Everyone looked very thoughtful. Even Anne seemed to be paying attention.

  “I vote we stay,” Mary said. “I want to live here, not in some drafty old house among strangers.”

  “We are among strangers here, too,” Bride said. “We are out of place. This is not our world.”

  “It seems to me we do not have a world anymore,” Mary said, sinking into a sulk. “Lord Lyndale isn’t a stranger, either. Nor is Michael. And if you would stop being so proud, soon a lady would be our friend.”

  “I am not sure I understand your decision, Bride,” Anne said. “We are safe here, and protected.”

  Bride had not expected Anne to object.

  “We are not going,” a voice said from the corner behind Bride.

  Bride pivoted. Jilly had risen to her feet and crossed her arms over her breast.

  “We are not going,” Jilly repeated. “No reason to take on debt for a house if this house welcomes us. Until we can support ourselves, or until the press arrives, this will do fine.”

  Bride did not know what surprised her more: that Jilly had an opinion or that she now voiced it with such authority.

  “Jilly, I truly believe—”

  “I am the chaperone, you said. Well, I say they stay here.”

  “It probably would be best, Bride,” Joan said. “I also confess that the notion of having some new dresses is alluring.”

  “You never wear dresses unless forced to.”

  “Maybe I would if they fit properly and looked pretty.”

  “You are going to go against me because of a new wardrobe?”

  Joan smiled sheepishly.

  Bride threw up her hands. “I am very disappointed in all of you if your loyalty can be bought with a few yards of fabric.”

  “Be disappointed if you like, but we are staying,” Jilly said.

  “I expected more sense from you, Jilly.”

  “Well, I expected more from you. Normally you are measured in your decisions.” Jilly eased herself back down in the chair and reassumed her diminished, gray appearance. “Besides, it has been twenty years since I had a decent new dress, and I’ll be damned if I will let your pride interfere with my getting one now.”

  CHAPTER

  TWELVE

  I do not think any of these will do,” Ewan said.

  He sat at Nichols’ stationery on The Strand, examining the shop’s wares. Samples of ivory and cream papers and cards had been meticulously placed on a velvet cloth as if they were so many large, flat jewels.

  Nichols’ was not the most fashionable shop for stationery, and the arrival of nobility had initiated a flurry of hopeful activity. Mr. Nichols’ eagerness to snag this patron had his eyes glinting more than was seemly.

  “The prime minister uses this one.” Mr. Nichols pointed to a heavy laid cream sheet. He allowed the insinuation to stand that the prime minister purchased said stock from this very store.

  “That does not surprise me,” Ewan said. “Lord Grey is rather dull.”

  Mr. Nichols remained deferential. “We are discussing formal stationery, are we not, my lord?”

  “Indeed. However, I hoped to find something more distinctive. By coming to a different shop, I had hoped to find different choices. Something that says ‘Lyndale’ on immediate view.”

  “We could engrave the coat of arms, of course.”

  Ewan lifted one of the samples and held it toward the light. “The watermark. Now if that were my coat of arms, or something unusual related to me alone, then I might be happier.”

  “Are you saying that you wish to commission private stock?”

  “It is sometimes done, is it not?”

  Nichols pressed the gloved tips of his fingers together. The little chapel in front of his mouth failed to hide his glee. “I would be happy to arrange it for you.”

  “You are sure the papermaker could handle the insignia? I think it would be complicated to get all that detail into the wire screen used to lay down the pulp.”

  That made Nichols pause. “It will require inordinate skill and artistry. This will take some investigation. It has been some time since such a commission was requested. When I was much younger, we used Blake or Twickenham for such things, but Blake has been deceased these ten years now.”

  “And Twickenham?”

  Nichols lowered his voice confidentially. “He makes inferior paper now, I regret to say. On a machine, no less. A wastrel of a son near ruined him, and he
has been forced to resort to wares for shops that cater to the trade for their accounts and such. I hear the young man got in dun up to his eyeballs and it cost Twickenham a fortune.”

  “How sad.”

  Nichols began stacking the paper. “I will look into the matter of your watermark, if you will permit it. I am sure that we can find a satisfactory solution. It may take some time. Perhaps, until then, you would like to order something for current use.”

  Ewan had already procured what he came for, but he gave Nichols a small order all the same.

  Pleased with the day’s success in obtaining an unwitting ally for his investigation, he decided to push fate. After leaving Nichols’ shop, he made his way to Aldersgate Street and the print shop of Mr. Strickland.

  It was a large establishment, and surprisingly busy this day. Patrons flipped through engravings set up in vertical bins. Others perused folios laid down on tables or displayed in a square arrangement of tables with glass-cased tops. Strickland oversaw it all, with the help of his brother.

  Strickland was a young man of modern, artistic appearance. His brown hair waved to his shoulders, and he sported a paisley waistcoat beneath his pinch-waisted black frock coat. Educated and elegant, he conveyed that his expertise meant he was not a typical shopkeeper. The art that he sold elevated him to something higher than a servant to his patrons, in his mind at least.

  Mostly Strickland sold the kind of city scenes, reproductions, and maps that merchants would buy, but several trips per year to the Continent enhanced his offerings. He occasionally obtained rare and handsome old masters.

  He came over to greet Ewan. “I never suspected that when next we met, I would be addressing you as Lord Lyndale.”

  “It is a hell of a thing, isn’t it? Any new acquisitions here?”

  “Quite a few, but not of your standard.”

  Pity. Ewan had hoped to lay down a tidy sum, then get Strickland in the back with some wine, as was usually offered after a significant purchase. “Let me see your veduti of ancient sites. I have cause to educate several young minds.”