Lord of Sin

by Madeline Hunter

  “I suppose he was not out on the town all night after all,” Mary said.

  Anne blinked. She frowned, as if that fact should matter, but she could not remember why.

  “Perhaps you should address the matter with him right now,” Joan said to Bride.

  Bride had no enthusiasm for a conversation with Lyndale this morning. Her sleepless night had not been spent on Anne’s rebuke, but on warm, wistful memories of a man driving her to delirium.

  Her sisters looked at her, waiting.

  Trying to appear the tower of strength that they expected her to be, she rose and left the chamber.

  CHAPTER

  SEVENTEEN

  Lyndale was in the main drawing room, just as Jilly had said. He stood at an eastern window in front of a pedestal table. The drapes had been pulled back and bright light flooded his face.

  He gazed out the window, but his true vision was turned inward. He appeared more thoughtful than Bride had ever seen him. She realized how much his good humor transformed his face. Contemplation revealed its hard angles now, and hinted at whole worlds inside him that she did not know.

  She silently approached over the carpet, wondering how to broach the subject of the day. She also worried about what she would see in those eyes when she beckoned his attention.

  Triumph? She could counter that with pride.

  Lewd expectation? She would dismiss that with rejection.

  Indifference?

  She admitted that was the only reaction she truly feared, the only one that would humiliate her.

  His profile captivated her. So still he stood, so contained. What thoughts had distracted him?

  His head turned as she neared. In the instant when he became aware of her, Bride saw two things. The first was the expression that entered his eyes.

  Not triumphant and not lewd. Hardly indifferent. He looked at her with a warmth and welcome that touched her heart. It sent her mind into the clouds. Suddenly she was not walking on carpet, but floating in a mist.

  She saw something else, just barely. It was a mere blur in the corner of her vision.

  She saw his hand closing the boards of a folio atop the table.

  The image of what she glimpsed during that gesture flashed in her mind again and again as she moved toward him. Even as her brain muddled under Lyndale’s attention, even as she drifted to the arm he extended to her, she kept seeing that hand move and that board lower.

  There had been two small papers atop the others in that folio. They had looked like engraved prints.

  Actually, they had looked like two banknotes.

  Alarm righted her senses in time. She did not allow him to enfold her in the embrace his arm implied. Instead she extended her own arm. He took her hand and kissed it.

  “I am grateful that you chanced upon me,” he said.

  “I did not chance upon you. I sought you out.”

  “Then I am doubly grateful.”

  “You are up and about early this day. I am told you rarely rise until afternoon.”

  “I have been hoping to see you this morning. I have something to say to you.”

  She had something to say to him, too. Something important and vital that could not be delayed. If she had just seen what she thought, however, she was not sure it should be said now.

  She glanced to the folio. Had there actually been two banknotes? Brought here, to the raking light? Had he been studying them? Doing a comparison? If he knew there were forgeries, or even suspected, she wanted to know.

  She gestured to the thin leather-clad folio. “New acquisitions?”

  He dismissed them with a glance. “Hardly. Those are my government papers for a meeting later today.”

  A different daze engulfed her. A light-headed, dizzying panic.

  He knew.

  He was taking those notes to someone in the government. He had spotted one of the bad notes.

  Or maybe he had been sent some to assess. A connoisseur of engravings would be useful in such an investigation. His practiced eye had been the reason she wanted to maintain his distance from their lives.

  Maybe he was even actively looking for the forgers.

  “You appear unsettled, Bride. I told you last night that you should not feel embarrassed with me.”

  “Unsettled” did not begin to describe the sickening confusion raging in her.

  If she made good on the plan to quit this house, she would not be able to determine what Lyndale knew and what he did about it.

  If she stayed, he might one day discover that the women he harbored in his own home were the source of the forged plates.

  “I am not embarrassed,” she said. That was a lie. Memories of last night made her face warm. Considering this new catastrophe, however, her loss of control on that sofa seemed quite insignificant now.

  “I am glad, because I want to ask your help in something.”

  He turned to the table. She watched, horrified, as his hand lit on the folio. He slid it aside, however, to reveal the volume containing “I Modi.”

  “I have been examining it,” he said. “I think you may be correct. I believe it may not be original to the sixteenth century. I think a forger may have produced the plates quite recently.”

  She had never swooned in her life, but she almost did now. It required real effort to keep the world steady.

  “You give me too much credit,” she said. “You should not question your own judgment so quickly.”

  “The excitement of the hunt may have obscured my better judgment. When these became available last year, others wanted them. Winning them became the goal. I think now that all of us were blinded by the prize and did not question all that we should.”

  Last year. The thieves had used the art plates soon after the theft, then.

  “I need to know for certain now. You know how collectors are.”

  “There may be no way to know for certain.” She hoped not.

  “Whoever forged these knew Vasari’s description. He knew of the French copies of fragments of the series that can be found. Those are woodcuts, not engravings, but the compositions were preserved in them. And he knew Raimondi’s technique. He is not a common engraver, but knowledgeable, skilled, and possibly educated. We will not be without clues in tracking him down.”

  “We?”

  “You will help me, won’t you? After all, it was your eye that spotted the flaws.”

  “I could be wrong. You could be wrong.”

  A bit of vexation entered her head and voice. If Lyndale had not come upon her last night and flustered her with those touches, she never would have blurted suspicions regarding the series in order to distract him.

  Doing so had not even made him pause on that sofa, so it was most unfair of him to decide now to develop suspicions himself.

  “They may be good. In fact, I am more than half convinced they are,” she added.

  “And I am now almost half convinced they are not. I must find out one way or the other. As I see it, our first questions must be put to the auction house that sold them, don’t you agree?”

  She looked at the little volume. She looked at Lyndale. She glanced at the leather folio.

  Maybe she had not seen banknotes atop those papers. Even if she had, he may have put them there for some benign reason, such as making a payment somewhere today. It appeared the only forgeries that concerned him were the erotic ones.

  Unfortunately, the same forgers probably had all of her father’s stolen plates, and an investigation of “I Modi” could lead to more dangerous information.

  She had come to this drawing room to be done with this man. She could not afford to retreat from him completely now. She either needed to convince him his “I Modi” were genuine, or learn what he discovered as he tracked down the people who had printed them.

  “Will you help?” he asked. “Together I am sure we can get to the bottom of it.”

  She wondered how she was going to explain to her sisters that she had changed her mind yet ag
ain, and that they dare not use the banknote plates that they still possessed.

  “Are they leaving?”

  Michael asked the question as he gave Ewan’s boot a final buff.

  Ewan set his one foot down and raised the other boot to the stool for attention. “It appears not.”

  “Makes one wonder what they were talking about in that bedroom, then, doesn’t it? The door was locked and there was quite a Gaelic buzz.”

  Ewan suspected the sisters had indeed been discussing their departure. When he saw Bride approaching him in the drawing room, she had looked ready to express regrets and farewells. No doubt, after reflecting on last night, she had decided she needed to leave.

  He had anticipated that. He had been ready. She would not leave now. The chance to uncover the mystery of his “I Modi” would be too compelling. In this they were alike, and he had known she could not resist.

  He saw her again, crossing that large room. So formidable at first. But in an instant she had softened, beautifully. The woman who had extended her hand to his had been vulnerable and shy.

  And the man who watched her approach had been so joyed to see her, so hungry for her presence, it had left him dumb.

  He laughed at himself while he checked his pocket watch. He had told her she must learn the pleasure of waiting. He had forgotten about that himself, it appeared.

  He turned his thoughts to that little volume of “I Modi,” now tucked back in its cabinet. Of course they were good. He did not really doubt that. But as he pretended to pursue information on them, he could learn what he needed for the real investigation.

  And he would have Bride by his side. She had a sharp mind and sharper eyes, and she might notice things he missed.

  She would also be conveniently available for other pursuits and other investigations.

  He did not know what he would learn about forgers, but he intended to learn everything about Bride Cameron, every inch of her body and every nuance of her pleasure, in the days ahead.

  “You have been receiving a lot of acceptances regarding the party,” Michael said, interrupting his thoughts.

  “Party?”

  “Your ‘grand night of decadence,’ you called it. Remember? You told me two weeks ago to make the arrangements. You even gave me the guest list. As you put it, you will pick up the reins of your old life and announce to society that the title has not reformed you, et cetera, et cetera.”

  Ewan had completely forgotten his plans for that party. The invasion of the Cameron sisters, and his investigation, had distracted him from it.

  “You made sure you indicated that the classical theme would be Roman, I hope. I do not want the men to think it will be Greek. I could not bear the disappointment a few men would have if that were misunderstood, nor the concerns it would raise for most others.”

  “From what you have told me about those Greeks, I would not remain in your employ if your parties went that far. Where I come from—”

  “Yes, yes. Have no fear; before you die, this whole country will be as strict as where you came from. A glorious era of pleasure is ending even as we speak, so we must make hell while we can.”

  Michael picked up the leather folio. “Will you be wanting this?”

  Ewan tucked it under his arm. He had requested a meeting with Althorp today, and the contents of this folio would be its subject.

  Last night after Bride left him, he had studied that stack of banknotes he had carried home from the gaming hall. He had found a forgery among them.

  Not a fifty pound note, as it happened. This bad note had been for a hundred pounds.

  Althorp would probably suffer an apoplexy when he learned of it.

  Lyndale wanted to visit the auction house in the afternoon, and Bride could not think of a way to delay it. She prepared for an outing in his company.

  She chose her most severe dress from her new wardrobe. The rose hue, while fashionable, did not especially flatter her.

  She made no attempt to improve her hair, and covered it with her simplest new hat. She covered herself in a dark rose mantle that closed up to her chin and obscured her bodice and gigot sleeves in its voluminous drape.

  Then she arranged to take the best armor she could find. She invited Anne to join her on the excursion.

  Anne’s displeasure with the delay in using their special plates had turned her dreamy and distracted in the worst way. She refused to don one of her new dresses, because she said they were all selling their souls.

  “I still think we should go forward,” Anne repeated yet again as they descended the stairs to meet Lyndale. “Even if the earl is looking for banknote forgers, even if the government is searching, I still say that right is right and duty is duty.”

  “Anne, it is one thing to dare fate, and another to hand our executioners a rope.”

  “I do not see how discovering what he knows will prevent their finding their own rope. If we are doomed, we are doomed. Let us make good use of the time we have left.”

  Anne’s calm acceptance of inevitable capture unnerved Bride. “You may want to be a martyr, but I do not. If I know someone is preparing the rope, I intend to find a way to cut it.”

  She had no idea how to do that, but she had to try. In the least, she wanted to know when capture was imminent. Then maybe she could make arrangements to save her sisters by directing all the blame to herself.

  The hard part would be discouraging Lyndale’s interest in her while she remained close enough to learn what he was doing.

  Lyndale did not treat Anne’s presence as at all displeasing. He handed them both into his coach and sat across from them.

  “It appears that I will be hosting a party the night after next,” he said abruptly. “I had forgotten about it.”

  “Will this be a big reception to welcome good society to your new home?” Bride asked.

  “This party has a limited guest list. Very selective. It consists of my oldest friends, not new ones.”

  “Lord Lyndale, are you informing us of this party merely to point out we are not invited?”

  “It is a point that requires some pointing,” he said, pointedly. “Furthermore, you and your sisters are to retire immediately after the evening meal and not leave the upper floors until morning.”

  It was going to be one of those parties. Bride could not resist taunting him. “Is there a particular reason for these instructions?”

  Lyndale turned his attention to removing his gloves and setting them aside. “The only reason is my preference, and the fact that some of these guests are not suitable friends for young ladies. I asked if Lady Mardenford would accept you all as her guests for the night, to avoid any awkwardness, but she is leaving town today for a fortnight. Therefore, these other arrangements will have to suffice.” He speared her with a commanding look. “None of you are to set foot on the first floor.”

  “I understand.”

  “Good. See that your sisters do, too.”

  Satisfied that his command had been heard, his pose and face relaxed. “Allow me to explain my plans today. The prints were bought at Bonham’s a little over a year ago. The seller was not named, unfortunately. Today we will visit the viewing currently being held, and I will cajole the proprietors to divulge the seller’s identity.”

  “Perhaps the seller used a false name,” Bride said.

  “Bonham’s has a reputation to ensure. For such a rarity, they required some assurance of authenticity. They would not take the word of a complete stranger who had no home or references.”

  Anne had retreated into her head almost upon entering the coach. She did not show any reaction to Lyndale’s orders about the party, nor now to his explanation about the auction house.

  He noticed, and nodded in her direction. “Does she even hear others when she gets like that?”

  Anne’s complete lack of acknowledgment proved she did not.

  “My mother was the same way. It is quite normal.” Bride wanted to thwart any concerns for Anne’s mental
stability, even if she had wondered about that on occasion herself.

  “I am not implying otherwise. I have met men who are so absorbed in their thoughts that the world did not exist for them. I was merely curious if she is as lost to us as it appears.” He angled his head to eye her more directly. “She looks very young when in that trance. Younger than Mary, who must be ten years her junior.”

  Bride gazed at her sister. Anne did look young for her twenty-six years. She never seemed to age. It was as if her dreams did not count against time. Right now, despite the light streaming onto her face through the window, she appeared girlish and delicate and a little unreal.

  A warmth on Bride’s hand demanded her attention. She looked down to see Lyndale leaning forward, holding her hand in his palm.

  “My sister may be lost to us, but I am not sure we are lost to her,” she said quietly.

  “I am convinced we are.” His thumb rubbed her hand through her glove. “I thought about you all night. I could not sleep at all. My mind barely attended to my meeting today with Lord Althorp.”

  His expression told her just what thoughts had preoccupied him. His piercing gaze insisted she remember, too.

  She did, vividly. Not the acts, but the sensations. And the intimacy. There could be no true distance after what they had shared. This man was starkly real to her, as if their passion had made her more susceptible to his vitality.

  His gaze fell to her glove. He turned her hand and carefully unfastened the row of buttons near her wrist. Each tiny release, each inch of freedom, drew another long breath out of her. He might have been unfastening her dress or stays.

  He separated the kidskin and gazed at the flesh the gap revealed. He bent and kissed her pulse, then raised his head until his face was inches from hers.

  “Is there another man, Bride?”

  The unexpected question astonished her.

  “A man whom you love, I mean.”

  He so flustered her she could not think. She just looked at him helplessly.

  He dipped and kissed her naked wrist again. “Is there a man to whom you feel obligated, because of what you shared with him?”