Lord of Sin

by Boyd, Heather

  “I have,” he promised. “I never break my word.”

  “It’s one of your most endearing qualities,” Lady Windermere murmured approvingly.

  He took it to her—but startled when a loud knock sounded behind him.

  The lady sagged in apparent relief as she quickly glanced at the painting and then gestured behind her. “Good, put it behind that door over there. Quickly, and then come and sit down next to me and do not contradict me.”

  Confused by her demand, Julian did as asked.

  And not a moment too soon. There was a tap at the door, and her husband joined them, followed by Lord Montrose.

  The duke scowled when he noticed Julian sitting in the room.

  Julian greeted Lord Windermere with a cool nod. “Good morning, my lord,”

  His eyes narrowed. “Is it morning still?”

  “I would say so,” Julian confirmed.

  Lord Windermere appeared unusually harried. He looked between Lord Montrose and Julian with a question in his eyes.

  “We are acquainted,” Lord Montrose informed him in repressive tones.

  “School,” Julian apologized.

  “Ah, I see.” Windermere gestured for the duke to take a chair.

  Lady Windermere smiled. “Would you care for tea, your grace?”

  “No, thank you,” Montrose said, declining.

  Lady Windermere called for tea anyway and, while she waited, began to discuss the weather. Julian added an opinion when required but spent his time watching Montrose’s face grow steadily darker.

  When the tea arrived, she poured for herself and for Julian, but ignored her husband.

  When she offered cake to everyone but him too, Montrose glared. “This is not a social call. I was led to believe we were to talk. Alone. It is a business matter, after all.”

  “Oh, there’s no need for that sort of talk now, your grace.”

  “There is every reason. Do not misunderstand the situation, or your choices,” Montrose warned. “They are quite limited.”

  Lady Windermere smiled prettily at Montrose. “Oh, I am afraid you will find the situation has resolved itself without your assistance, your grace. There will be no scandal or shame involved here.”

  Montrose spared Julian a brief glance. “I do not agree. You would be wise not to doubt me on this matter.”

  “Agree or not, we really do have no business left to discuss.” The countess blew to cool her tea and took a dainty sip. Julian could see the smirk on her face and knew she was definitely enjoying herself.

  Had Montrose threatened the Windermeres, too? He seemed to be making a habit of upsetting quite a few.

  Montrose glanced in Julian’s direction again, and Julian schooled his features to show little understanding when their eyes met before leaning forward a little. “What business could you possibly have with this beautiful lady?”

  Montrose’s jaw clenched, and his eyes narrowed. He shook his head and stood abruptly. “None that concerns someone like you.”

  He strode out of the room…and Lord Windermere collapsed. “We are ruined.”

  “Nonsense. We are saved, no thanks to you.”

  The pair exchanged a long glance, and then Lady Windermere turned his way. “Lord Wade, would you mind setting my husband at ease that the situation is as promised?”

  “Only too happy to,” Julian murmured as he quickly retrieved the painting.

  He uncovered it and showed the earl.

  The earl pressed his hand over his heart. “My darling. You look just the same!”

  Lady Windermere giggled. “I only wish.” She schooled her features, appearing suddenly cross as she looked at her husband. “You can go.”

  “But Esme…”

  “You lied to me, and Lord Wade too. You never had any intention of keeping that promise,” she argued.

  “I did,” Windermere protested. “Yes, I fished it out of the flames and cleaned it off. It was only a little singed at the business end. I had planned to keep it as a private amusement. Then I saw him strut into Wilmot’s dining room like he owned the place, heard him belittle Lady Sanderson’s hospitality at her last ball, and other hostesses too. Your friends. Even Lady Birch was criticized. I sent a servant to fetch it by the time the dinner was half over.”

  Julian nodded. “Sounds like he hasn’t changed.”

  Lord Windermere crossed to sit beside his wife. “Montrose claimed to have the painting in his possession. Bastard was positively smug that I’d have to give in to his demands and exchange it for the land he wanted. Otherwise he was going to auction you off to the highest bidder.”

  “As charming as ever,” Julian murmured in disgust.

  “However did you get it?”

  “I’ve always been able to rely on my friends for assistance.” She gestured to Julian. “You owe Lord Wade an apology for breaking our arrangement. At least he kept his word.”

  Windermere stood. “I’m sorry.”

  “You owe me, Windermere,” Julian warned. “I will come back to claim a favor from one day soon.”

  “Anything to have that painting hanging over my bed tonight.”

  Lady Windermere kissed her husband’s cheek. “We’ll nail it to the wall, too, just in case you start to wander about again.”

  “Probably a good idea.”

  Lord Windermere kissed her, and Julian turned away to prop the painting safely against a chair. When he turned back, the couple were still kissing. Although he cleared his throat a few times, Lady Windermere and her husband were too swept up in their passions to notice they still had company.

  Julian backed from the room and let the door shut quietly behind him. The pair were worse than newlyweds. He hoped that never changed.

  “I wouldn’t go in there,” he warned the butler as he arrived with Julian’s hat.

  “I wasn’t planning to, my lord. Not till called in.” The young man grinned. “Lord Montrose requests a word with you, my lord. He’s waiting outside.”

  Julian glanced out the window and saw the duke’s carriage drawn up before the house. He set his hat on his head at a jaunty angle and took his own sweet time readying himself to leave. The bastard was probably stewing in his own juices by now. He expected at least threats, probably worse. Julian did not care to be beaten to a pulp for helping a friend, but he had no choice. He was not a coward.

  When suitably prepared, he descended to the street and stopped before the carriage. “What do you want, Montrose?”

  A groom opened the door to Julian. “His grace wishes a private conversation.”

  “Does he now?”

  He peered into the dark interior and stepped closer, keeping an eye on the duke’s servants in case they moved in around him. “I cannot imagine what you could have to say.”

  “You know what happens when people cross me.”

  “Well, you used to run to your three friends and set them to beat me while you watched. You always hated to get your hands dirty. Two of them are dead, and the other is probably drunk in a gutter somewhere. What will you do now? Glower at me some more?”

  Montrose curled his fingers into a fist. “You should not have interfered with my business with Windermere.”

  “I have no idea what game you’re playing, but my friendship with the Windermeres has nothing at all to do with you. In fact, I haven’t a clue what your business is with them, and little do I care to know. If I got in your way, it was entirely by chance…or was it providence for the ill you do to others?”

  Montrose’s expression darkened. “I’ll enjoy ruining you, Wade. Oh wait, I can’t do that. You already have pockets to let.”

  He had already lost Portia, not that Montrose would imagine he had any chance with her. He’d been labeled a fortune hunter almost from the moment he’d met Portia’s father.

  “Enjoy your day, too, your grace,” Julian muttered as insultingly as possible, and then turned his back on the angry man.

  Chapter 18

  Lord Wade was dancing
with Miss Waters again, and to Portia’s keen eye, he looked to be enjoying himself, too. She felt a pang of envy that she wasn’t enjoying herself just as much. Wade was smiling and laughing and obviously getting along famously with the pretty debutante.

  Portia glanced sideways at her betrothed, who had finally put in a late appearance, and heaved a sigh. Montrose had promised to meet them here hours ago, and she’d left room on her card to dance with him earlier in the night. Because she had left space, and he’d arrived late, Portia had missed several opportunities to dance with her friends.

  She stood beside Montrose now and desperately wished to be anywhere else.

  Portia grew very still. If she felt this way now, what hope did she have for a happy marriage? He kept secrets from her, and she did from him, too. That did not bode well at all.

  She cleared her throat. “Where were you earlier tonight?”

  Montrose glanced down at her briefly. “With friends.”

  Montrose almost always answered her questions with breathtakingly clipped responses. She had at first assumed he disliked talking about himself, but she now suspected that his brevity was something else entirely, although she hoped to be mistaken. “Doing what?”

  “Talking. You wouldn’t be interested in the topics we covered.”

  “I could have been,” she said under her breath. “Your grace, I have been patient but if I am to be your duchess, I must know who you trust. How can I plan dinners if I do not know who I may invite?”

  “I seldom entertain, and never in London.”

  Portia blinked. “Are you telling me that out of all of London’s residents, you have not one friend here?”

  “My interests lie outside the metropolis. I hardly ever come here if I can help it.”

  Portia did not like how that sounded. She’d been looking forward to spending time here during the season, and she had assumed her husband would, too. Apparently a great many things had been assumed and were not to be.

  “I should like to take a turn about the room, your grace.”

  “Of course.” Lord Montrose held out his arm and they moved off at a stately pace.

  “Will we stay in London long after we are married?”

  “I see no reason to.”

  “And when will we return next season?”

  “I have no need to return to the capital next year. I usually handle matters of parliament by mail or by proxy.”

  Portia licked her lips and glanced around at the happy, smiling faces. Those both dear and unfamiliar to her had no idea of her inner turmoil. She kept her voice low, so their conversation did not travel to other ears. “I have a sister who I am very close to. It was my hope to use my influence as your duchess to help Lavinia make a suitable match.”

  He sighed deeply. “You should not let others presume on your generosity.”

  “My family will do nothing of the sort,” she promised him. She loved her sister, even if she wanted to strangle her occasionally. That was the way of sisters everywhere.

  They walked on in silence a few more steps, and Portia chafed at the slow pace and Montrose’s lack of communication. They were getting nowhere, and the wedding day was fast approaching. Given all she had learned of Montrose, and the few confidences he’d shared, she was just as quickly coming to realize there was little to recommend him but his title and wealth. “Tell me of Sherringford.”

  “I’ve told you before.”

  He had. She knew the acreage of the Sherringford Estate, the size of the house, number of rooms and windows, he might even have grumbled about taxes once. But it was bare facts without any feeling. She could not imagine living there. “Tell me what you love about your home.”

  “My ancestors built the place,” he told her.

  Again, bare facts and no substance. She tried once more. “But that is not why you love it.”

  “It is mine,” he said shortly. They were at the end of the room, distant from her parents but not far from Lord Wade, she saw. “It is the one place I feel at ease.”

  “Well, that is good to know,” she said, smiling when Lord Wade glanced her way. She looked up at Montrose. “Do you have any particular room that you spend the most time in?”

  He looked at her sideways, a question in his eyes. “The bedchambers.”

  Portia’s cheeks pinked and she looked down, gulping. “My sister likes to read. Do you have a large library of books?”

  “Naturally.”

  “And your cousin’s widow lives there, too. I suppose she is a great reader?”

  “I wouldn’t know.”

  Sherringford had not been described as a place so vast that one could become lost in it. Surely he knew, but why would he not say? “I look forward to meeting her. Her name is Ophelia, isn’t it? Perhaps we will become friends.”

  “Mrs. Shaw acts as housekeeper and is kept quite busy.”

  “I see.” Placing a cousin’s wife into service was done, of course, but Portia hoped the woman was treated better than a mere servant. “And your other relatives? Where are they living?”

  He shook his head. “I have a male cousin in Brighton and another married female cousin living in the north.”

  Well, that was something. “How often do they come to the estate?

  “They know better than to pester me every year. You will not have to entertain them very often.”

  “And what of your nearest neighbors?”

  He stopped and turned around. “We should go back to your mother.”

  “But we were just starting to know each other,” she protested.

  “You know enough. The rest you will learn after we are married and away from this wretched place.”

  Several people nearby looked at them sharply. Montrose’s criticism must have carried to their ears. Portia winced and fumed silently as they started back to rejoin her mother. She looked up and found Lord Wade coming toward them.

  He stepped to one side to allow her to pass, but she felt his touch upon her hand, and then it was gone.

  Portia glanced over her shoulder, wishing she could have stopped to talk to him.

  They returned to her mother and stood around several more minutes until a waltz was called. “Ah, I believe this is our dance.”

  Portia looked up at him in shock. It was not their dance. She was meant to dance with Sir John next.

  Montrose claimed her hand and drew Portia firmly onto the dance floor before she could protest.

  Sir John stood to one side, squinting at her in confusion.

  Portia couldn’t even convey any sort of apology with her eyes that he would see or understand.

  The duke caught her up in his arms and Portia stumbled. Montrose uttered a curse about clumsiness and forced her to dance with him, holding her fingers tightly.

  She did her best under the circumstances to hide her shock, as she was almost brutishly manhandled around the dance floor by her future husband. Portia’s eyes flew to the nearest exit, and she gulped.

  She wanted to run.

  And Portia had never once, not even on her earliest outings in society, been cowed by a gentleman’s manner the way she was now.

  She had always stood up for herself, made men treat her as their equal. Montrose had the manners of an ox.

  Her mouth grew dry and she swallowed. Could she really marry such a man?

  Montrose cleared his throat, and she looked up at him slowly. What possibly passed for a smile crossed his lips, and he raised one brow in question. Portia forced a smile but her thoughts were far from pleasing. She had aspired to marry a gentleman of position and wealth, someone she wanted to admire. Lord Montrose had a title, his own wealth, though his esteem in society seemed less than the best. He was handsome, and any lady might be glad to have won his proposal. Portia could go through with the marriage and become a duchess.

  Her parents might disown her if she didn’t.

  Her legs felt wooden after their dance as she walked the length of the ballroom to her mother’s side. She spoke
automatically. “Thank you for the dance, your grace.”

  “Happy to oblige, Miss Hayes.”

  Portia bit her tongue hard as Mother babbled about how well they danced together. Clearly Mother needed to wear glasses as much as Sir John did. She looked for him quickly and found him with Lord Wade, not far away. The pair talked in whispers, and Sir John was nodding.

  When he left Lord Wade’s side, Sir John never looked back.

  Portia shivered and wrapped her arm across her chest to hug herself.

  Your grace.

  Miss Hayes.

  Two hard kisses and no conversation. They were a week away from the wedding and they were strangers to each other still. She felt closer to Lord Wade than to the man she would welcome to her bed.

  Portia nearly sobbed at the thought of what was to come. She looked at Lord Montrose…and realized with shock that he repulsed her.

  She’d made a horrible mistake in accepting him before getting to know who he really was.

  Portia heard him apologize that he must leave them to speak with an old acquaintance, and she was relieved when he was gone.

  Mother smiled, seeing nothing wrong at all. “Such lovely manners.”

  Polite now, but she’d seen a glimpse of his temper, and that frightened her. She rubbed her fingers to her brow and Mother saw the gesture. “What is it?”

  “A sudden headache,” she murmured.

  “But you never suffer headaches.”

  “I know that,” Portia snapped. “Forgive me. I think I am in need of some air.”

  “We’ll go together. Indeed it is warm tonight.”

  Mother caught up her arm and led her through the nearest set of open doors. It was just as muggy outside as in, and Portia beat her fan before her face, looking up at the cloud-filled sky. “I just need a moment.”

  She felt as if she couldn’t breathe properly. How could she pass up the opportunity to be a duchess? She rubbed her brow again and nearly cried in frustration. For two years, she’d been working toward marrying well, above her station, to improve the lot of her family. To make sure Lavinia could marry whomever she pleased.