Lord of Sin (21 page)

“But so little is really known about her,” Nash said, accepting a glass from an attentive waiter. “Her parents and husband spent nearly all their time on the Continent.”

“But blood will tell,” Breakspear said, “and Lady Orwell has never proven herself to be anything
but
a lady. Isn’t that so, Melbyrne?”

The boy shrugged. “I have never witnessed anything improper in Lady Orwell, but I have been mistaken before.”

“It would not be the first time that a woman has set herself up as something other than she is,” Nash said. “In fact, I remember—”

“I thought it was a gentleman’s part never to speak ill of a lady in public,” Sinjin said with a pleasant smile. “Or have I been mistaken my judgment of you,
gentlemen?
”

Melbyrne’s shoulders went up in a defensive posture. Breakspear resembled a boy caught out with his hand on the biscuit tray. Nash lifted his glass to Sinjin.

“It is no secret,” Nash said. “All of the club has heard the tale by now.”

“From you?”

Nash frowned. “No. I merely—”

“It is rubbish,” Sinjin said between his teeth, “as Breakspear said.”

“Indeed,” Breakspear murmured. He eyed Sinjin with a distinct air of caution. “The tattle will soon be proved false, I have no doubt.”

“While Lady Orwell suffers the gossip you are so assiduously spreading.”

“We did not spread it!” Melbyrne burst out. “It was Ferrer who showed us the paper. He was the one who—”

Sinjin caught Melbyrne neatly by his lapels, half lifting him from his feet. “You disappoint me, boy,” he said softly.

“Sin, I—”

“Did you ask her to marry you?”

Dumbfounded, Nash and Breakspear stared at Melbyrne. He twitched in Sinjin’s grip.

“She refused me,” he said in a strangled whisper. “And now I have every reason to be grateful.”

Sinjin let him drop, not gently. Melbyrne staggered and righted himself, jerking at his collar. Sinjin stared him down.

“You insult a woman you professed to love,” he said. “I should like to find a suitable stable and horsewhip you.”

Melbyrne went white. “But Sinjin, I—”

Turning his back on the boy, Sinjin strode out of the room, leaving a ripple of stunned whispers in his wake.

It was no good. He could do nothing for Lady Orwell. Oh, he might find Ferrer and give him a good thrashing, but it was too late to ameliorate the dam
age. Lady Orwell must suffer the humiliation of hearing her peers speculate as to the circumstances of her birth, knowing that even Melbyrne had betrayed her.

But Nuala would be by the girl’s side. And
he
could defy the ghost and prove himself her friend by standing at hers…until he found the courage to tell her what he had seen.

If she truly meant to steal his soul, best to learn sooner rather than later.

T
HE UNASSUMING YOUNG MAN
stood in the yard, cap in hand, speaking to Booth in hushed and urgent tones.

Ioan Davies. Nuala recognized him at once, though she could not begin to imagine why he was in Belgravia. She drew back from the window and hurried down to the servants’ area.

Booth turned in surprise as Nuala entered the yard. She curtseyed and glanced at the young man, who bowed as prettily as a gentleman in spite of his well-worn workman’s clothing.

“Your ladyship,” Booth said nervously, “this man has come looking for Lady Orwell. I have told him she is not at home.”

Nuala gestured for Booth to return to the servants’ hall and confronted the young man. “Mr. Davies,” she said. “This is quite a surprise.”

“Yes, your ladyship.” He met her gaze steadily. “I did not mean to intrude.”

“Why do you wish to see Lady Orwell?”

If the boy were taken aback by her brusqueness, his calm expression didn’t reveal it. “I beg your
pardon, your ladyship,” he said. “I will not trouble you further.”

“Wait!” She reached for him as he began to turn away. He stopped, giving her a view of his grim profile, and faced her again.

“Perhaps you were not aware that I live here with Lady Orwell,” she said.

He bowed again. “I did not, your ladyship, but I know you are Lady Orwell’s friend.”

“And you have come to see her.”

“Aye, madam. But if she is not at home…”

Nuala was not about to let him escape, given the odd circumstances of the young man’s visit. Why in the world would he wish to speak to Deborah, and come so far out of his way to do so? He had defended her in Whitechapel, to be sure…

And did not Frances say that he helped her again when I was away from London?

Every one of Nuala’s well-honed instincts were on high alert. What had she been missing?

“Please, come into the house,” Nuala said. She paused to make sure that he was following and led the way into the kitchen. He glanced around at the scrubbed worktables and cupboards, unease apparent beneath his dispassionate demeanor.

He would, Nuala decided, be even more ill at ease if she asked him into the drawing room. “Will you be seated, Mr. Davies?” She took her own seat at the large table in the center of the kitchen and waited for him to do the same. “I do not wish to invade your privacy, Mr. Davies, but it is quite important that I
know why you have come.” When he didn’t answer at once, she prodded him. “Might it be because of the newspaper article?”

A man such as Mr. Davies would not be one to reveal undue emotion, but he flinched, and his mouth tightened in anger. “It is all lies, madam. I only wished…I hoped to…”

“Lady Orwell is not here, Mr. Davies. She has run away.”

His chair scraped the floor as he shot up from the table. “That is not…If I had only…I must find her at once!”

Nuala closed her eyes.
How could I have been so blind? So terribly blind about so many things?

“Compose yourself, Mr. Davies,” she said, taking firm hold of her own emotions. “You must answer me honestly. Have you and Lady Orwell been seeing each other?”

“No.” He flushed. “Yes, but you must not think—”

“I don’t doubt your honor, Mr. Davies, or Deborah’s. Do you love her?”

His astonishment was manifest. “I…I am only a common man, Lady Charles, hardly worthy of—”

“Do you love her?”

His chin came up. “Yes.”

“And she loves you?”

“If she did, she would not have run away.”

The pain in his voice cut Nuala to the quick. “I do not believe that even love could have stopped her. In fact, I think it was her love for her friends that sent her away.”

“But I would never judge her, even if the things
they wrote…” A dangerous look flared in his eyes. “No one has the right.”

“I agree, Mr. Davies. That is why I must know everything you know.”

He gazed at her from under dark brows, weighing her sincerity, wondering if she could be trusted with something as precious as his feelings for Deborah—feelings of which she might very well disapprove. But as she met his gaze, something fell into place between them, a sudden and powerful bond of trust that required no magic or spoken vows.

“Did you know,” he began slowly, “that Debo—Lady Orwell had been threatened?” he asked.

Nuala wanted to cry out at her stupidity. “How, Mr. Davies?”

“By the same man who accosted her when your ladyship was present in Whitechapel.” He proceeded to explain the sequence of events that had occurred on Deborah’s last visit to the rookeries. “I deceived her, madam,” he said, his voice cracking. “I told Lady Orwell that I could not find any evidence that Bray was telling the truth about her supposed parentage. I thought I had silenced the bas—” He cleared his throat. “I did not expect he would ever dare go so far.”

A fierce, hot anger sparked in Nuala’s blood. “What was his motive? What did he hope to gain?”

“I do not know, your ladyship. Such men are generally in need of money.”

Blackmail
. Had Bray attempted to extort money from Deborah in exchange for maintaining his silence? Had she refused?

“I failed her,” Davies said, clenching his fist on the table. “Now it is too late.”

“Not too late,” Nuala said. “I have sent word to friends who are discreetly making inquiries about her departure and possible destination. We shall find her, Mr. Davies. And we shall protect her from anyone who seeks to do her further harm.”

They gazed at each other, in perfect accord. “There is still Bray to deal with,” Ioan said. “I could not find him.”

He didn’t need to say what he would have done had he located the man. Nuala was glad he hadn’t. She wanted to be there when the blackguard faced his just punishment.

“You know Bray’s haunts,” she said, “where he might be found?”

“Yes, madam. If he has not run away.”

“Then I suggest we make another attempt to locate him.”

Unexpectedly, Ioan Davies smiled. It was not a pretty expression. “I have not had the privilege of knowing your ladyship long,” he said, “but I count the acquaintance a great honor.” He sobered. “I will, of course, leave London once Lady Orwell is found.”

“To preserve her reputation?” She leaned across the table, touching his hand. “If you hope to reassure me, Mr. Davies, you are going about it the wrong way. I care nothing for the difference in your stations or fortunes. If you love her, and she loves you…nothing in this world matters more.”

“Your ladyship…” He swallowed. “You are very kind.”

“I am not kind at all.” She rose, and he quickly followed suit. “I shall be ten minutes, and then we will leave for Whitechapel.”

“But madam…a lady such as yourself should not enter the places I must go.”

“Rubbish. Mr. Davies, I have been looking after myself for far longer than you have been alive.”

The quizzical lift of his dark brow told her that he didn’t believe her. “Nevertheless…”

“It will do you no good to argue. You may wait for me in the mews.” She returned to the house, sent Jacques to summon Bremner, and asked Booth to help her change into more appropriate dress. Ioan was pacing beside the coupé when she emerged from the house, while Bremner and the footmen looked on in bemusement.

Nuala wasted no time in instructing the coachman as to their destination. The carriage was just pulling into the street when someone shouted for Bremner to stop. Nuala stiffened as Sinjin’s face appeared in the window. He was in the carriage before she could think to prevent him.

He cast a bemused glance at Ioan, who touched the brim of his cap, and sat beside Nuala.

“I must speak with you,” he said.

She shivered at the furnace heat of his body. “I am otherwise engaged, Lord Donnington.”

“With this gentleman?”

The sharpness of his tone might have seemed like
jealousy in another man. “Lord Donnington,” she said coolly, “may I present Mr. Ioan Davies. Mr. Davies, Lord Donnington.”

Sinjin took the younger man’s measure with a searing stare. Mr. Davies met his gaze without humility.

“Mr. Davies and I are on our way to Whitechapel,” Nuala said, withdrawing as far from Sinjin as she could without becoming too obvious in her desire to escape him.

“To Whitechapel?” Sinjin echoed. “Why?”

“I do not see that it is any of your business, Lord Donnington. If you would be so kind—”

“It has something to do with Lady Orwell.”

“Why should you believe that, Lord Donnington? Have you information you did not share before?”

His expression tightened. “None.”

Nuala signaled that Bremner should stop the carriage. “If you would be so kind as to leave us.”

“Not until I know what you’re up to.”

Ioan straightened. “Lady Charles,” he said, “do you require assistance?”

“No, Mr. Davies.” She caught Sinjin’s glare. “We intend to find the man who has done his best to ruin Lady Orwell.”

“I know him,” Sinjin growled. “His name is Ferrer, and he resides here in Belgravia.”

“Mr. Ferrer, your good friend?”

“No friend of mine. He has been spreading rumors—”

“Whatever Mr. Ferrer may have done, he is not the one we seek.”

“Who, then?”

“A man called Bray,” Ioan said. “He is responsible for giving the story to the newspaper.”

“I know nothing of this man. Why would he wish to hurt Lady Orwell?”

In brief, clipped phrases Nuala relayed what Ioan had told her, omitting any mention of his relationship to Deborah. By the end, Sinjin’s outrage was unmistakable.

“By God,” he said. “You are not going without me.”

Sinjin’s anger seemed quite genuine. It was as if he had come to regret his cruelty with regard to Lady Orwell and wished to make up for it.

Was that enough? Hope flared again, unwelcome and frightening. Could she trust him? There seemed little chance of dissuading him, and the time it would take to do so would impede her purpose and delay her pursuit of Bray.

“If you come with us,” she said, “you must not interfere.”

His eyes narrowed. “What do you intend to do?”

“Whatever is necessary to be certain that this man will never injure Deborah again.”

“In that case, you will require my assistance.”

“We will not, Lord Donnington,” Ioan said in a low voice.

“You’ve no say in the matter, boy.”

Ioan began to rise. “I have every—”

“That is enough, both of you,” Nuala said. “Lord Donnington, you will either defer to me in this matter or leave.”

He nodded curtly, though his eyes burned black. The three of them maintained a tense silence all the way to Whitechapel.

Sinjin was first out of the carriage, followed by Mr. Davies. Both men offered their hands to Nuala at once. She took Ioan’s. She instructed Bremner to wait in a relatively secure location, and gestured for Ioan to take the lead.

Bray was not in any of the taverns or similar low dives Ioan recommended. The calculating smirks on the faces of the men who saw Nuala, a fine lady encroaching on their territory, quickly faded when they caught sight of Lord Donnington. Ioan looked like a panther about to spring.

But even had they not been with her, Nuala would have been perfectly safe. She felt the magic flowing through her body along with her blood, sparked into life as if it had never abandoned her. The wall that had held it captive had crumbled. Perhaps it was her conflict with Sinjin that had set the magic free. Perhaps it was her outrage over what Deborah had suffered. But it was with her, within her, and she knew it would answer her will, no matter what she required of it. Even the rough rookery denizens, blind to the unseen, felt her power and cringed when she turned to stare.