The Duke's Night of Sin (7 page)

Sebastian started after them but turned back to Redbane for one last question. “The woman with them, a Sinclair as well?”

Redbane shrugged. “I confess, I did not see her, but there are several sisters and brothers. Seven, all told, I’ve heard. Don’t know for certain though.”

Sebastian lobbed a parting scowl at Redbane, then headed for the doorway.

Redbane trotted behind uninvited, chattering on, as Sebastian passed quickly through Egyptian
Hall. Footmen busily collected plates, crystal, and cutlery from the deserted tables. Redbane’s breath was becoming ragged. “I h-hope you don’t have it in your mind to woo one of the Sinclair misses. They are true noblewomen. Not of your ilk, chap. Give up the thought.”

Liveried footmen opened the outer door, and Sebastian stepped into the night, stopping to scan the line of carriages on the road for the Sinclairs. They could be inside any of them, even three yards away, and he’d miss them.

Suddenly, Redbane, who evidently had not noticed that Sebastian had stilled, careened into his back.

“Waiting for me, are you? I knew you would eventually see the truth of me words,” Redbane prattled on.

Sebastian turned around and glared.
“Do
leave me alone, Redbane.”

“Why? I can help you. I know London, if nothing else. If you fancy a skirt, we can head on down to Hooker Street. No complications. Unlike
these
ladies, none of the Maryannes on the street expect a bloody ring for quick poke of her quim.”

Sebastian thrust his palm against Redbane’s chest, meaning only to prevent him from coming
closer. Instead, the force knocked him back a step. “I am serious; go, before I make sure you cannot follow me.”

Redbane threw a punch, pulling it back at the last moment and laughing.

Sebastian took a step forward, scowling.

Sudden panic widened Redbane’s eyes, and he scuffled backward. “Here now. See, we are more alike than you admit. You’re just a common rough-and-tumble scoundrel like me—and your father.”

Priscilla lowered the cab window as the Sinclair family’s hired carriage drew away from Mansion House. Something had caught her interest. “Siusan, look there. Quickly!”

Siusan had just closed her eyes and was leaning against the leather squab. “What is it now?”

“Only the most gorgeous man I have ever seen!” Priscilla tugged at her sister’s arm but did not remove her gaze from the men on the pavers.
“And
he’s about to throttle some red-haired fellow. Who do you think he is, Siusan? Do you know?”

Killian pulled Priscilla away from the window and leaned out himself. “He’s got some size on him. The ginger hasn’t a chance. What say you, Grant?”

Grant waited for Killian to slide away, then he rose and peered out the window. “Ginger’s got a lower center, canna discount that—but aye, a pounder on the tall lad.”

He looked back inside the cab. “What, no takers?”

Siusan opened her eyes only to glare at her brother. “The money belongs to all of us, Grant. What good would wagering against each other do?”

This climbing about the cab to peer out of the window was all quite ridiculous to Siusan’s way of thinking. Still, the night’s event had been so numbingly dull that any diversion was welcome. “Move aside please, let me see.” By time she poked her head through the open window, it was too late. She could see nothing but the muscular silhouette of a large man reaching down to help a squat fellow up from the ground. “Humph.”

“Och, I suppose I should take a look as weel.” Lachlan had imbibed quite a lot of the wine served that night and was moving very slowly.

“Nay, you needn’t bother yourself.” Siusan leaned back against the seat cushion and closed her eyes. “The tall man is the victor.”

I
t was still quite crisp for the noon hour, but the sun felt warm on Sebastian’s back as he stood before the door of the Sinclair residence. No, he hadn’t had many confirmations, if any, that the shapely miss he’d known in the library was indeed a Sinclair. Still, something in his gut assured him that he was standing before the correct house.

He did not hesitate in slamming the brass door knocker to its rest three times in rapid succession. He heard footsteps, but the door did not open. He knocked again. And then a third time.

His toes fidgeted inside his boots, and his fingers twitched.
Be patient. Wait a minute more.

But he couldn’t wait any longer. Damn it all, he’d been waiting here for more than a handful of moments and was growing more than a little impatient.

Someone was at home and bloody well knew he was at the door. He glanced at the windows above. The curtains on the second floor had fluttered suspiciously each time he knocked though he could see that the window was not open to the breeze.

No, he would not leave until the door was answered and his assumption that his lady lived here was either confirmed or laid to rest.

Gritting his teeth, Sebastian slammed down the brass knocker upon its rest twice more, then stepped back and gazed upward at the window to await the peeper above. But this time the curtain didn’t flutter. Instead, he heard the click of the lock being released and, within a moment, a small, balding servant opened the door. The little man blinked in the bright afternoon sun. “Yes, my lord?”

“I have come to call upon the Sinclair family.” Sebastian waited for the man to reply in some manner, but he didn’t. Only peered up at him, his countenance drawn in confusion. “Are they at home this day?”

“Aye, my lord, they are.” The little man turned to the sound of hurried footfall behind him and a flurry of hushed whispers. He stepped forward and closed the door a little as if to conceal whatever might be going on inside. “Though it is only just past twelve of the clock, and I regret to inform you that the Sinclair family does not accept callers until four in the afternoon.”

Sebastian exhaled and turned his head up to the window again before looking back to the butler. “And you are—?”

“Poplin, my lord.” His watering blue eyes were almost slits now as he stepped completely into the sun.

“I am greatly saddened then, for I shall be unable to return something that one of the ladies left behind at the gala held in my honor a few days ago.” He reached into his pocket and absently caressed the smooth stocking ribbon he’d found in his grandmother’s library.

The door opened slightly at that moment and Poplin ducked his head inside as though he were
listening to someone speaking softly from the other side of the door.

“V-very well, then. Perhaps another day.” Something damned odd was going on inside. Sebastian certainly wasn’t about to leave, and yet it occurred to him that pretending he was might coax whoever was hiding behind the door into the light. He sighed loudly to convey disappointment, then turned and started down the steps toward his carriage, waiting on the street below.

“Uh … oh dear … one moment, please, my lord.” Poplin scurried out the door and down two steps. “Who shall I say has called?”

Sebastian concealed a smile before he turned around. “You needn’t, Poplin, for I shall simply call another day. No need to bother the family with a caller who was not polite enough to send a card announcing his intended visit.” He nodded to the man. “Shan’t happen again, I assure you.” He peered up at the window and grinned, then tipped his hat and turned for the carriage.

“Please, my lord,” pleaded a lilting feminine voice as sweet as Highland heather. “My brother and I will receive you.”

The woman in the doorway was tall and lithe, her dark hair swept up on each side with pearl-
tipped pins, while the rest tumbled down her back in loose waves.

There was a tall, broadly built man standing just behind her, with auburn hair. His coat was finely cut but certainly meant for evening, though his riding boots, also of the highest quality, suggested a casual outing might be planned. Still, Sebastian knew him at once. He was one of the men he’d seen at the Lord Mayor’s dinner the night before.

The gentleman beckoned him. “Do come inside, lad.” He shot Sebastian a wink then. “As long as you dinna have another scuffle in mind—as ye did outside Mansion House. I’ve only just risen, ye ken. Wouldn’t be fair.”

Sebastian grinned. So, they had seen him at the Lord Mayor’s dinner, and outside as well. Interesting.

Sebastian quickly took the steps. “Please forgive my impertinence. We have not been introduced formally, and I fear there is no remedy, though I can tell you that our paths have crossed more than once. And therefore, because my time in London is abbreviated, I beg that you forgive my lack of manners and accept my introduction.” His words shot forth as rapidly and impatiently as his knocks had upon the door.

The gentleman raised his eyebrows expectantly, then, squinting against the sunlight, peered past him to the Exeter carriage waiting on the street below.

“I am—” Sebastian began.

“The Duke of Exeter,” the gentleman interjected. “Damn me,” he added beneath his breath.

A tiny squeal escaped the girl’s lips, and she went rigid, glancing worriedly at her brother. His visage, however, displayed no hint of surprise. “Duke,” he said calmly, “since, as you say, your time is short, and we have no other remedy, allow me to introduce myself. I am Lord Grant Sinclair, younger son of the Duke of Sinclair. And may I present to you my sister?”

“I shall be honored. Please do.” Sebastian turned to fully face the young woman.

“Lady Priscilla Sinclair, daughter of the Duke of Sinclair.” Lord Grant nodded to his sister.

The miss honored him with a deep curtsy though she flashed a coquettish glance as she arose. “Duke.”

“Duke, will ye come this way? I vow the parlor is far superior for entertaining than the doorstep.”

Sebastian bowed and followed the Sinclairs into the graciously outfitted parlor. Lady Priscilla
primly took her place before the tea table, where her brother joined her, while Sebastian was directed to a tufted chair nearby.

Poplin hurried into the room and quickly set the tea service, while a round-faced older woman laid a plate of cakes nearest Lady Priscilla, who took the role of hostess and silently began to serve the tea.

“What handsome set of circumstance has brought you to our door this fine day, Duke?” Lord Grant asked.

“Nothing but a very small act of chivalry, I assure you.” Sebastian gazed intently upon Lady Priscilla, looking for any sort of a reaction. Yes, her hair was lustrous ebony, and her skin was white as the moon, but it wasn’t
her.
Worse still, he couldn’t pin down what it was about Lady Priscilla that made him sure she was not the woman who had shared a wholly passionate encounter with him in the library. He just
knew.
She simply could not have been the one.

“Duke, I have noticed your study of my sister,” Lord Grant said most casually. At first, Sebastian thought to protest the assertion, but before he could fashion an appropriate reply, Lord Grant continued. “Dinna fash yourself over it. She is a beautiful woman and snares the eye of many.” A
mischievous look crept into his eyes. “Though, if you are thinking to offer for her, I fear you will have to take your position in a long queue of admirers.”

“Grant!” Lady Priscilla’s hand jerked, and tea sloshed from the cup in her hand. She righted the cup just in time to avoid scalding her brother’s lap with steaming tea. She turned her stunning blue eyes to him. “My brother jests, Duke.” Her gaze shifted, and she narrowed her eyes at Lord Grant, but the expression had vanished in a blink, leaving Sebastian to wonder if he had imagined it. “If you would like to court me, I am
sure
my brother has no reservations.”

A laugh burst forth, along with a sprinkling of tea, from Grant’s mouth. He dabbed a napkin to his lips, but he could not seem to wipe away the smile despite his prolonged attempt to do so. “Do forgive my sister, Duke. Since her sister Ivy wed, she has convinced herself that she must as well—as soon as possible. I’ve thought to take out an advertisement in
The Morning Post
to warn off all unmarried gentlemen of the
ton.
What do you think of my idea, Duke? Too much? A town crier might be more effective, come to think of it, though certainly more expensive.”

“Grant.” She narrowed her eyes as she spoke.
“There is nothing wrong with a woman wishing to marry. It is a noble institution and one I wish to observe myself. Even my sister Ivy is married, Duke—and her hair is practically the color of an orange! Why should I, with no visible imperfections such as red hair to impede me, not marry? Wait too long, and every desirable gentleman will be plucked off the market.” She smiled prettily at him.

Sebastian glanced down at his tea, hoping that the rising steam might mask the disappointment that surely was visible upon his face. He had been so very wrong. Lady Priscilla clearly was not the woman he sought. Had she been, she would have tracked him down and promptly forced him before a minister for leg-shackling. He sighed inwardly as he raised the dish of tea to his mouth and sipped.

Lord Grant rolled his eyes, then promptly attempted to change the subject. “Duke, you mentioned your visit this day was a matter of chivalry.” He leaned forward over his knees expectantly.

“Ah, yes.” He plunged his hand into his pocket to collect the stocking ribbon, but stilled.

Lady Priscilla’s eyes went wide and slowly rose and clasped her hands just beneath her chin.
“What have you there, Duke? A betrothal ring perhaps?”

The ribbon did not belong to Lady Priscilla, this he knew, and yet, he was now compelled to show it to her. Reluctantly, he withdrew the ribbon from his pocket and dangled it in the air. “I suppose I am on a fairy-tale mission to find the woman who lost this ribbon during my grandmother’s gala celebration.” He heard a stirring in the passage just then, and, expecting someone to enter the parlor, he turned his head toward the door. No one was there. He waited a moment longer but, finally deciding he hadn’t heard anything at all, returned to his host and hostess.