Closer To Sin (36 page)

Liliane was aghast. She stumbled back a step. His words recoiled through her, shattering her like shards of fine china. Their impact ripped the breath from her lungs and her throat closed tight, denying her the ability to speak. She began to tremble, barely able to remain upright. Not everything had been a lie. Some things had been so real that it was a shock he couldn’t reach out and feel how tangible the connection between them had been.

She sought to find the words, she opened her mouth to try to explain, but he was shut off from her.

‘No, Liliane, you need to wake up and start acting like an adult because right now you are behaving like a petulant child.’

***

Sinclair drew in great ragged breaths. He was appalled at what he had just said to her, that he had put voice to the hurt he’d been trying so valiantly to mask. Hurt at her deception, hurt that she could so blithely choose to walk away from him now. He had found her lack of guile refreshing. During those days in France, he had been warmed by her unconditional faith in him. He had felt humbled by her unfailing conviction that he would honour her wishes and treat her with respect. The realisation that she was not who he had supposed her to be cut deep, deeper than the betrayal Carolyn had laid upon him. But that didn’t excuse the words he had levelled at her then.

Acid burnt the back of his throat as he looked at the devastation written upon her face. Her body had shrunk into itself as she tried to stem the pain. Pain he had caused her. He took a step towards her, held out his hand in a gesture of comfort, but she flinched away.

He deserved that, but it cut to the core. He felt he had just lost something significant, something precious that he couldn’t put a name to.

She looked up at him, her sapphire eyes large with unshed tears. He reached towards her again. ‘Liliane—’

A blast rent the air and bark exploded from the tree above Liliane’s left shoulder. Sinclair dove for her, driving her into the ground and covering her body with his own. She squirmed, trying to free herself to see what was happening. He motioned for her to be still. A flash of movement not more than thirty yards away caught his attention. He registered the merest glimpse of black boots, a long coat. ‘Quick, we have to move.’

He rolled off her and dragged her to her feet. ‘This way, we need to get to the gates. Keep low.’

‘What about the—’

‘Leave it. It’s not important.’

He pulled her to him as they ran, wrapping an arm about her. Shielding her with his size, forcing her to keep pace with him.

‘What was that?’ she gasped.

‘A pistol shot.’

‘Here, in the park? But who would—’

‘There’s no time for questions, just keep up with me.’ He grasped her tight as she stumbled. ‘You’re doing well, hold onto me, you’ll be fine,’ he urged as she stumbled again.

As Sinclair pulled Liliane behind a tree, he could feel the tremors in her body as her panic built. He held a finger against her lips and listened for their attacker. Nothing. He motioned her to move to the other side of the tree and grabbed her tight at the noise of footsteps crashing through the undergrowth. The movements stopped, started to retreat and then reversed again.

Sinclair grabbed Liliane’s hand and hauled her in a new direction. ‘If we head this way, we should hit the main carriage path very shortly.’

He picked up the pace, not daring to give their assailant a stationary target. Another pistol shot sounded, the bullet exploded into the ground to the right of them. He heard Lilian struggle to breathe. They changed direction again. Liliane tripped, stumbled and fell outstretched to the ground.

Sinclair heard the whoosh of air burst from her lungs and his heart lodged in his throat. He stooped down and dragged her back to her feet. With one arm wrapped about her waist and the other holding the arm closest to him, he half pulled, half carried her towards the carriage path. ‘Don’t stop now, sweetheart, we’re nearly there. Please, don’t give up on me.’

Each breath he took blazed a burning trail through his chest to his lungs. He was beginning to tire, but there was no way he would let Liliane down. Up ahead he could see the carriage path, maybe twenty yards at the most.

‘Sin, over there,’ Liliane gasped. ‘It’s Hughes.’

He looked towards where she was pointing. The blighter had probably never even left the park. Thank the fates for disobedient servants. He turned Liliane towards where the barouche was parked beside the grass. ‘Hughes, at the ready,’ he yelled.

Sinclair saw Hughes look to where he and Liliane emerged from the trees. The expression on the groom’s face told Sinclair their assailant was close. They were in the open with nowhere to hide. Only ten yards to go. This was too bloody close for comfort. He risked a glance over his shoulder, turning back in time to see Hughes lean forward and withdraw a pistol from under the box seat.

Hughes, holding the reins in one hand, turned towards the trees, levelled the pistol and fired. Around them, screaming nursemaids and governesses reached for their charges and raced for the park exit.

Sinclair grabbed Liliane by the waist and all but threw her to the floor of the barouche. He had barely placed one foot on the step and secured a grip on the side of the vehicle when Hughes sprung the horses. As Marthe assisted Liliane upright, Sinclair vaulted into the vehicle to seat himself beside her. Without shifting his eyes from the road, Hughes passed the pistol back to Sin.

‘Not sure what’s going on here, my Lord, but you may wish to hold on to this.’

‘Did you get him Hughes?’

‘I don’t think so, my Lord, looked like he ducked behind a tree. Did get a bit of a look at him, though.’

Martinbury is about to lose a damn fine servant, Sinclair decided. Good men like Hughes only came along once every so often. He turned and peered out the back of the barouche, but he could see no sign of their would-be assassin.

‘Take us back to Martinbury House, Hughes. We’ll discuss this later.’ Sinclair looked to Marthe and then Liliane. ‘You’re both alright?’

Marthe, shaken but otherwise unharmed, nodded her head. Liliane sat pale faced beside him on the seat of the barouche, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. Her cheek was smeared with a streak of mud and her gown was torn and grass stained, but she was unharmed. He slid a hand across and enfolded it over both of hers, and breathed a sigh of relief as she leaned her body into him. Once they were out of the park he closed his eyes and lent his head against the back of the seat, silently drawing strength from the feel of her warmth against him.

As soon as the barouche pulled up outside Martinbury House, Sinclair quickly ushered Liliane inside. ‘Marthe, take Miss Desailly upstairs and assist her to change. Liliane, I’ll see you in Martinbury’s office once you’re done.’

‘I’m fine.’ They were the first words she’d spoken since the incident. She sounded flat and emotionless, her voice barely a jagged whisper.

Sinclair took in her pale face and dilated eyes. Not fine, but typically she was not prepared to give in to the fright she had received. She’d shown the same determination today as when she had faced down De Bois on the dock that fateful night. He moved to pull her into his embrace when he recalled Everett standing behind them. ‘Go upstairs, I’ll wait for you.’ He watched as she studied his face, trying to read him.

‘No, I’m a part of this. My dress can wait.’ Already she was starting to regain her colour.

He clenched his jaw, reluctant to have an argument. ‘Everett, is Martinbury in his study?’

Nonplussed, the butler nodded. ‘Yes, my Lord. Burrows is—’

‘Good. See we’re not disturbed.’

Sinclair burst through the study door, a swift glance around the room satisfied him that other than Nate, its only other occupant was his steward. ‘Burrows, we need a few moments with his Grace, if you would be so kind.’

Burrows abruptly stood, looking to Nate for confirmation. Nate nodded curtly. ‘Tend to those items we discussed and we’ll pick up where we left off tomorrow morning.’

At the click of the door closing behind Burrows, Nate turned his attention to Sinclair and Liliane, looking them up and down and taking in their dishevelled state. ‘Very well, Esselton, given you’re not usually one for hysterics, appease my curiosity.’

Sinclair flicked a glance at Liliane and then raised his eyebrows in question to Nate. Nate stood and walked around his desk until he was standing before Liliane. He gripped her chin in his hand and turned her face to examine the smear of mud before he gently lifted her hands, turning them palm up and studied the cuts and abrasions that marked her delicate skin. He gave a resigned sigh. ‘I hardly see how we cannot include her, Sin. I think, for her own safety she needs to know.’

Damn, this was not how he had intended to break the news to her, but matters had accelerated much faster than either he, Martinbury or Sir Avery had predicted.

Liliane looked between Sinclair and her uncle, alert to the silent communication that flowed between the two of them. ‘I’m fine, Sin. What do I need to know?’

She wasn’t going to like what he had to tell her. What he and Nate had refrained from telling her. If he didn’t, though, she risked getting hurt, or he risked her taking matters into her own hands. He swore under his breath; it wasn’t as if she hadn’t done that before.

He moved to the sideboard. ‘Mind if I pour a drink, Martinbury? It’s been one hell of an afternoon.’

‘You’ve never felt the need to ask before. Make it two, something tells me I may be in need of one.’

‘Make it three, if you please.’ Both men turned to look at Liliane in surprise. She simply shrugged.

Sinclair grimaced. Her stance did not bode well for them. Nate’s look of impatience boded even less well. ‘While picnicking in Kensington Gardens we had the misfortune—’

‘Somebody shot at us,’ Liliane baldly stated. ‘Twice.’

Sinclair looked at his glass and drained it. Well, that’s one way to continue to infuriate her uncle. ‘Nate, it’s far too early for details yet. We only have the barest facts, but it certainly warrants further investigation, certainly in light of last night’s concerns. Fortunately, your groom—Hughes—managed to fire a shot away before springing those greys of yours. Nice steppers, by the way. Ah, and be warned, I’ve been looking about for a head groom, might have just found the man for the job.’

‘Find your own bloody staff,’ Nate scowled at him. He stood and walked to his desk to retrieve a piece of paper from a locked draw. ‘A missive arrived from Sir Avery about an hour ago.’ He flicked a look at Sinclair. ‘I’ll discuss the rest of it with you later, but it seems our concerns are justified. There’s a strong reason to believe that the both of you have been traced back to England.’

Liliane gasped. ‘But how? How on earth could anyone have learnt who we are?’

Nate indicated for Liliane to be patient before he continued. ‘The gossips are reporting that there’s been
some foreigner
sniffing around these past couple of days. No one’s sure of his identity and there’s no firm description, but the timing is certainly cause for consideration.’

‘Hughes was able to get a look at the fellow. We’ll get him in here shortly to tell us what he saw.’

Nate nodded thoughtfully. ‘That’s all well and good, but meanwhile, how do we go about ensuring not just the welfare of you and Liliane, but other family members as well? It’s the height of the Season and we have invitations to attend everything from some bloody opera in the park to your sister Georgina’s Venetian breakfast, and every ball, soiree and literary evening in between.’

‘If this is really about us,’ Liliane observed, ‘we would present a prime target at every one of those events. Particularly the outdoor activities and the larger balls. Once they’re underway, it would be easy for anyone to sneak in.’ Her words hung suspended in the air.

Liliane’s glass dropped to the Aubusson rug at her feet, the liquid spilling out across the fine carpet. She dragged her legs up under herself, wrapped her arms around them and curled up into a tight ball. ‘Oh, God. I feel sick.’ She looked from her uncle then back to Sinclair. ‘Last night, in the garden. I could hear something moving about and I felt like someone was watching me. I thought it must have been a cat—but it wasn’t, was it? It was connected to today’s attack, wasn’t it?’

Sinclair sucked back a deep breath as his blood turned to ice. ‘Why didn’t you mention this to me last night?’

‘Because you were angry at me, and I thought I was just being silly. But you knew there was a risk, didn’t you? That’s why you left so early. Where did you go?’

Sinclair gouged his hand through his hair for what seemed like the one hundredth time that day. Any second now, Liliane was going to connect the dots. And then there would be hell to pay. But she deserved to know. ‘We went to visit Sir Avery. While I was in France he was working with Martinbury to discover what the local émigré community knew. He, for want of a better description, coordinates our activities and reports to the Prime Minister. We paid him a visit last night to see if he had received any news lately.’

‘And the person who’s followed us back from France, it’s De Bois, isn’t it?’

Sinclair sat watching her intently. Once again she surprised him as she straightened herself up and retrieved her glass from the floor.

He nodded in response to her question.

‘There’s only one answer to this,’ she addressed them both. ‘We shall have to adjourn to the country. A house party would be a good enough excuse.’

‘House party?’ Nate questioned. ‘It would take us several days to get to Somerset, with even less guarantee of being able to keep you safe.’

Sinclair felt a surge of dread at the determined look upon her face.

‘That’s not necessary,’ she explained. ‘Hertfordshire and Charlcroft Parke are much closer.’

Damn, just when he thought he’d broken whatever tenuous link that seemed to tie them together, she surprised him. Sinclair stood and walked to the window. Despite her earlier hurt at his cruel assessment, she still trusted him enough to put her safety in his hands. Something shifted, deep within, and an inexplicable warmth spread throughout his body. Turning back to the room’s occupants, he nodded. ‘The idea has merit, on several levels.’