Lord Ruin (30 page)

“Yes.” Hickenson had bought Anne a very expensive silk shawl. A birthday gift that sent no particular message, declared no particular fondness. A nice, safe gift that would not do at all. He glanced at the wall clock. Twenty past six.

“Miss Emily Sinclair is quite a beautiful woman.” Abruptly, Thrale left his chair to stand stiffly with his back to the fireplace, hands clasped behind him. “I assure you I hold her in the highest esteem.”

“I’m sure you do.”

“Mrs. Willcott, too, of course. A great beauty in her own way, though to be frank, I am partial to blondes. Did you know that damned woman, Mrs. Willcott, nearly sent me head first into the Thames the other day?” He shuddered at the recollection. “Might have been the end of me. Wouldn’t know it to watch her, but she’s quite intelligent. Keeps her admirers too busy watching out for their heads to notice.”

“All the Sinclair women are intelligent.”

Thrale gave him a sidelong glance. “It’s your wife, you know, who beats them all. Never met a cleverer woman. A great beauty in her own singular way.”

“I married the best of the lot.”

“To be honest, I’d not thought you the sort to appreciate her. Not your style at all. Forgive me if I am blunt, Cynssyr. Surely, you are aware more than one gentleman would champion her if she were made unhappy.”

“Including yourself?”

His eyebrows lifted. “Yes,” he said. “In fact, I would. After all, you just turned up married to her amid whispers that you had to. Through no fault of hers.” Thrale’s eyes turned dark.“ ‘Tis said you and Bracebridge are at odds over her, which is easy enough to credit.”

“How so?”

“Plainly, he loves her, and she’s no small affection for him. It’s commonly believed Bracebridge wanted to marry her and would have had you not. . . intervened.” He shrugged. “Seeing the two of you together, though, I daresay there’s more to your marriage than necessity.”

“She is a necessity to me.”

He nodded once. “Is it true she’s expecting?”

“We hope.”

“Congratulations.” He exhaled. “I was engaged to be married once. Two years ago by now. But then my father died and when, over the course of the months following, her parents got wind of how much damage had been done to the family fortune ...” He lifted his Madeira, admiring the sun filtering through amber liquid. “The wedding never came off. She married some fellow from Italy, a count or some such, and I have never seen her since.”

Curious, Ruan cradled his own wine and said, “You’ve been nursing a broken heart?”

“No time for such nonsense.” He put down his untouched glass. “Too busy pulling myself out of the mess my father left me in. I am not the sort of man who easily lives in debt. It grates on my soul to live beyond my means. A tendency, I assure you, that drove my father to distraction. I never would gamble with him. Nor drink. Had I been a wastrel, he might have had a better affection for me.”

“And have you put things right?”

“Yes. I have. Nearly, anyway. At least to the point where I can consider making a marriage for any reason but money.”

“I am not here, Thrale, to interrogate you about your suitability to marry a Sinclair sister.”

The granite eyes flashed with temper. “Then why have you come?”

“Do you own a signet ring?”

The marquess went still for two heartbeats. “You are here to question me about those women. Even after it was proved I had nothing to do with the Leander girl?”

“Have you a signet ring?”

He examined the back of his hand. “It’s disappeared. Had to let one of my footmen go over the incident. Still not sure whether he stole it, but I don’t know who else could have. I caught him in my rooms where he had no business. Of what possible importance is that? Ah. I see. You found the ring under circumstances that connect it to those unfortunate women.”

“Yes.”

“You’d know it for mine the moment you saw it.”

“Yes.”

“If it were I, I assure you I would not be stupid enough to leave behind such evidence. Credit me with more native intelligence than that.”

“There is more.” Ruan dug the button from his pocket. “Miss Dancy turned this over to my wife. She claims to have torn it from the coat of one of the men who attacked her.”

“Mine,” he said slowly. “I don’t deny that. Nor can I explain how Miss Dancy could have come into possession of it.”

Ruan stood. “Either you are a monster guilty of murder and worse, or someone is out to make me think you are.”

Thrale took the accusation with remarkable aplomb. “Murder?”

“Miss Dancy has died.”

“Dear God. I am sorry to hear that.”

“Her child with her.”

Thrale sucked in a breath. “Were her injuries so severe?”

“A suicide.”

“May God have mercy on her soul. She did not deserve what happened to her.” He offered a grim smile. “There is a reason I am not now married to Miss Dancy, Cynssyr.”

“I should like to hear it.”

“I am a magistrate in my home parish. On the day Miss Dancy was abducted, I sent a man, a friend, to the gallows for murdering his lover. Indeed, I delayed my return to London long enough to see the sentence carried out. By the time I got to town, Miss Dancy had just been found.”

“Easy enough to confirm.”

“Nor,” he added, “was I in town when Mrs. Withers was taken.”

“Have you dismissed any servants recently?”

“A footman. Before that, my valet.”

“Perhaps you’ll give me their names.”

“Clancy Jones and Ned Arrowman. I gave neither a character.” Thrale sat down heavily. “It’s John. It must be. Punishing me for being the elder. And legitimate.”

“How did he get your ring? Your coat?”

“I’ve no idea.”

“If I were you, I’d watch my back.”

A wealth of emotion flickered behind Thrale’s eyes. Then, he nodded curtly. “I appreciate the warning.”

Ruan prayed he hadn’t miscalculated, for if he had he’d just put another woman’s life at risk.

Ruan’s carriage, with its distinctive ducal crest and motto, drew up when he stepped onto the curb outside Thrale’s home. Distracted by his conversation with the marquess, he said nothing when he climbed in. Only his coachman’s second query caught his attention.

“Portman Square, your grace?”

“Not yet,” he replied. Dusk had long since fallen to dark. From the coach window, street lamps flickered over the cobbles. “Jermyn Street first.”

“Aye, your grace.”

At his destination he threw a half crown to a ragged boy delighted to have the task of standing guard. Ruan pounded on the door. The proprietor of the shop was ten minutes responding to the summons. As it was, he merely raised his window and peered distrustfully down. “What is the meaning of this infernal noise?” Behind him, a light flared, throwing shadows that danced on the glass.

“Open your store, if you would be so kind.”

“In the dead of night?”

“I am Cynssyr.”

“I don’t care if you’re the prince regent. Off with you. We’re having our supper.” The man made a shooing gesture. Shadows swirled behind him, then settled. His wife appeared next to him, her cap askew. Would there be a day when he and Anne were so quaint a married couple? Ruan stood with his palms outstretched. This was the shop where Hickenson made the purchases with which Ruan had charged him over the years.

“Cynssyr?” the woman repeated, staring down to the street. “Insincere Cynssyr!” She whispered to her husband, but not low enough to prevent Ruan from overhearing. “Lord Ruin himself,” the good wife said. “As I live and breathe.” She gave her husband a push. “Don’t keep him waiting. Go on down.”

Ruan stepped into the shop while the jeweler’s wife brought in tea and crumpets. He wasn’t the least hungry, but he ate a crumpet, not half bad, and drank some excellent tea while the jeweler, Mr. Cowperth, brought out his wares.

“Gift, did you say?”

“Something extravagant.” Ruan thought of how Anne had tried to match her ballgown to his eyes. How she’d turned down emeralds because their green was not the right shade. He looked through the jewels Cowperth set before him. Citrine. Topaz. Aquamarine beads. He had all the money in the world, enough to buy every piece he looked at and never feel the pinch. Sapphires, rubies, emeralds. Nothing seemed exactly what he was looking for until he saw the box Cowperth set aside in his search for something truly spectacular.

“That.”

“But, your grace!”

“It’s precisely what I want.”

When he arrived at Portman Square, Anne was nowhere to be found. And neither
was Devon. The Bohemian, Laszlo Patok, played an exquisitely lovely tune. He’d
heard a storm of talk about a composition for Anne. The tones of the violin were
untouchable. Perfect. Likely another piece in her honor, since he did not
recognize the music. Thomas Sinclair had bestirred himself to attend his
daughter’s birthday and even to lose his usual scowl. Ruan knew several of the
guests. Lady Prescott. A minister of the Exchequer whose name escaped him at the
moment. Lord Sather. Mirthless Thrale, who might or might not be a murderer.
Kuan’s mother. Julian Durling, of all people. Emily, Lucy and Mary. All were in
the parlor. But not Anne or Devon.

“Cynssyr.” Mary came to him with a rustle of silk and the scent of fragrant rose. She took both his hands in hers. “I’m so pleased you’re here.”

“Where’s Anne?”

“Somewhere.” She looked over her shoulder. “I’m afraid you’ve missed supper.”

He thought of the crumpet he’d eaten. “I’ve dined, thank you.”

“We were just about to start opening gifts, so she can’t have gone far.”

“I’m glad I haven’t missed that.” He followed Mary into the room.

She frowned, not seeing her sister. “Where is she? She was with Devon last I saw her.”

“I’ll find her. Do excuse me, Mary.” He moved into the room, the recipient of several surprised stares, most notably one from Benjamin that turned to a smug smile and, honestly, one or two glares. Emily was easy to find. She was, as always, surrounded by a crowd of men even at a party in honor of her sister. Not Thrale though. The marquess sat at the pianoforte, turning pages for Lucy. Emily’s lovely eyes opened wide when she saw Ruan. He was used to parting crowds, so he had no trouble making his way to her. She bent a knee. “Your grace.”

“Miss Sinclair.”

She exuded polite disdain. “Whatever brings you here? Did you lose your way?”

“Why,” he said, with all the innocence he could muster, “it is my wife’s birthday.” He gave her his arm, and she took it. “Your pardon, gentlemen, my lords, but I must have a word with my sister-in-law.”

“Well,” Emily said when they’d gone a few feet. “I’ll say this for you, you got me away from those awful bores.”

With a mock bow, he quipped, “I seek only to serve.” He guided her near a window where they might have a modicum of privacy.

She tapped her foot. “What happy accident brings you here?” she asked caustically. “Or was Mrs. Forrest otherwise engaged tonight?”

“You presume too much and know too little.”

“Not so. Else I would have done something to prevent you marrying Anne.”

“You might have claimed precedence,” he said wryly.

It took her a moment to understand, and when she did, she snapped, “If I thought it might have worked, yes.”

“Well, thank God it didn’t occur to you.”

Emily looked at him through narrowed eyes, not at all bothered by the insult. The thought of being married to Emily gave him a case of the frights almost as bad as thinking of Anne married to Devon instead of to him. Emily apparently didn’t feel much different.

“You might have come a bit earlier and saved her the humiliation of having to explain why her husband couldn’t be bothered to attend the celebration.”

“I’m sure she made me an excellent excuse.”

“As a matter of fact, she did. And you were not at all deserving of her kindness.”

He frowned, too irritated to hold his tongue. “You know, Emily, your sister is a duchess. Her life is not a complete hardship. She will never want for anything.” But his heart was not in the rejoinder, and Emily, sensing it, moved in for the kill.

“I don’t see that my sister is better off for it, your grace.” He knew she was angry because of the insolent way she pronounced the honorific. “You’ve spent nothing on her for which Mary, Lucy or I haven’t been responsible, and I won’t count all those clothes nor the diamonds either, for you gave them to her for the sake of your reputation, not for her. You’ve given her nothing, you ungrateful wretch. Yet, I’ll wager Cyrwthorn has never run better since Anne came. Your life has improved immeasurably since Anne. Deny it. Hah. You can’t. So, your grace, don’t look at me with that holier-than-thou expression.”

“If you know the secret to getting her to spend my money, do tell it, for I should like to know. God knows I’ve tried. She won’t.”

“Of course she won’t. She feels too guilty.” He nodded because he knew exactly what Emily meant. But Emily was a woman incapable of leaving well enough alone. She crossed her arms over her chest. “You don’t deserve her.”

“No,” he agreed gently. “But I thank God every day that I have her.” In return for the admission, he had the rare pleasure of seeing Emily Sinclair at a loss for a retort. “I am here to find Anne, not listen to a tedious lecture I’ve already had from Aldreth and Bracebridge both. Where is she?”

“I shouldn’t tell you anything at all. You only make her miserable. I know you mistreat her.”

“Watch what you say, Miss Sinclair.”

“I’ve only to look at her to see it’s true. Since she married, she’s lost weight. She’s pale and tired. You’ve drained her of her strength. I know she was unhappy before, tied to Papa like that, but now—Now it’s worse, for she’s miserable.”

“She’s to give me a child.”

Emily gaped at him.

“You’re a spoiled little brat, Emily Sinclair, and I hope to God one day some man takes you over his knee and soundly beats you. Now, where is Anne? Oh, hell, never mind. I’ll find her myself.”

“Wait.” She caught his sleeve, tugging urgently. “She’s with Bracebridge.”

His pulse leapt in alarm. “Did they leave together?”

“Not gone. Just out of the room. She was upset.” The defiant lift of her chin told him who she thought the likely culprit. She pointed to a door a few steps along the hall. “They went in there.” Shrugging, she gave him a look. “That parlor’s so small, no one ever uses it.”

A few feet from the parlor Emily indicated which, if Ruan correctly remembered, overlooked the back of the house, he realized she’d followed him. He stopped. “Thank you, Emily. Go back to the party. You’ll have been missed by now.” The door was open, so he had nothing to fear from his wife’s decision to absent herself with Devon in so private a manner.

“What am I going to do?” he heard Anne say. “I do not think I have ever been so unhappy in all my life. She loves him. She loves him, and I think he loves her, too. I cannot bear it.” Her voice broke. “I can’t. Devon, help me. Please, help me.”

Stricken by the catch in her voice Ruan took only a step or two inside. Devon sat on a chair that, should he happen to turn his head to the right, would give him a view of the door. And of Ruan. Anne sat on the floor at Devon’s feet, her head and arms cradled on his knees while Dev leaned forward, stroking her cheek, a slow and tender caress.

“Darling Anne,” Devon said softly, finger gliding along the upper line of her cheek. “If you want to leave him, I will help you.” After a moment of silence, he took her hands. “Even if your answer is no, we are not finished, you and I.” His voice turned low and sensual. “For now, for another while yet, I will be to you whatever you want. Friend. Polite acquaintance. Enemy. Even lover.” His voice dropped another notch to shivery whisper. “Especially that. Be warned, Anne, that when he has his heir from you, I will do anything. Anything at all. Even betray him.”

Ruan fully appreciated the moment. His best friend in all the world intended to break his marriage, leaving Ruan with no choice but to trust a woman who had no earthly reason to keep her wedding vows.

“I will protect you. Never fear that I won’t.” His voice was raw, emotion at the forefront. “Let me love you, Anne. I will give you the happiness you deserve. Whatever the cost.”

Ruan heard a sound behind him and turned. Foolishly, he had assumed Emily would do as he told her. Of course, she had not. She stood a step behind him, looking every bit as heartsick as Devon and Anne. Her mouth quivered, and tears pooled in her blue eyes.

Ruan acted quickly. He grabbed Emily by the elbow and pushed her out, walking her halfway down the hall before stopping. “Listen to me,” he said harshly. “You’re being a damn fool.”

That got her attention. She gave him a look of loathing. “How could you just leave them together? Didn’t you hear him?”

“You’re not a stupid woman. If you have a tantrum over this, you will destroy any hope of making Devon see you as anything but the brat you are.”

“Oh, God.” That her reaction was despair rather than a cutting rebuke told him Emily’s case was near fatal. As bad or worse than his own.

“Even if Anne does love him—” His heart thudded against his ribs. My God, he thought, what if Anne loved Devon? “—she will honor her wedding vows.” Which she would do whatever the sacrifice. He had no fear on that score. Nor could he think of anything worse than spending the rest of his life knowing Anne loved someone else.