Tempting a Sinner (12 page)

“That will be fine.”

“Then I will see you tomorrow.”

Benedict nodded at the earl and headed for the door. “Is Jack around at the moment?”

“No, he’s out.”

“Then I’ll take advantage of his absence and talk to my staff.” He closed the door behind him and walked down the backstairs and through the maze of the servants’ quarters to his office.

Maddon appeared almost instantly and offered him refreshments, which he accepted. After the butler departed with a new set of instructions, Benedict sat at his desk and studied the pile of correspondence that had accumulated in his absence. He needed to employ a secretary, but he’d never been able to trust anyone sufficiently to offer them the job.

He never trusted anyone.

He put his head in his hands and stared blindly down at the blotter on his desk. Why had Malinda come back? How much did she know about what really happened during the ambush? He’d believed her when she’d insisted she just wanted a home for her family, but was there more to it than that? Despite his smiling assurances of restraint to the Earl and Countess of Westbrook, he wanted to grab hold of her and shake some answers out of her. He felt like his eighteen-year-old self again, full of hope for the future with his chosen bride only to be told that she’d left him.

Damnation, he couldn’t allow himself to feel that hurt again. Hadn’t he learned anything? He let out a long, slow breath. From this moment he’d be on his guard at all times. Part of him yearned to tell her what the earl had told him, but there was too much at stake. This was the time for him to use his skills to keep her alive until the issue was resolved one way or another.

He groaned. He had no idea what his father was up to either. Had he really wanted to keep Malinda out of the country just to stop her reconnecting with his son, or was there more to it?

He picked up his pen and took out a sheet of writing paper. He’d attend to his correspondence first. Hadn’t Adam made a list of several possible secretaries for him and left it on his desk somewhere? He’d read through it and ask some of them in for an interview. Moving a pile of letters, he spied something written in Adam’s hand at the bottom and drew the single sheet of paper toward him. Maybe the task would deaden his passions sufficiently so that he lost the urge to put his stubborn wife over his knee and spank her until her teeth rattled.

M
alinda ate her way through the enormous breakfast Jenny brought up for her and Benedict and steadfastly ignored his empty chair. He hadn’t come back for supper last night. When she’d heard footsteps in the hall, she’d taken one of his pistols and peered through a crack in the door, only to see a strange man setting a chair out on the landing and sitting on it. When she’d emerged brandishing the pistol, he hadn’t turned a hair, just politely informed her that he was from the Sinners, and that he would be guarding her door all night so she wasn’t to worry about a thing.

She had to assume that Benedict had sent him. It had only dawned on her much later, when she had to wiggle out of her corset by herself, that he wasn’t coming back at all. Her bad mood had worsened overnight and she’d woken up with all-too-familiar stomach cramps and the beginning of her menses. Relief at their appearance after her foolhardy risk-taking with Benedict had dissipated her concern over his whereabouts until now.

It took her a while to get dressed by herself and don the new morning dress Benedict had purchased for her. It was a soft green that complimented her unfortunate red hair and softened the hard lines of her sharp features. Once she was dressed, she went to check on her guard and found that he was still there, a plate of Jenny’s finest cooking balanced on one knee.

He looked up as Malinda approached and smiled.

“Morning, my lady.”

“Good morning.” She paused. “What is your name?”

“It’s Niall, my lady.”

“Well, then, Niall. If I wish to leave the house, are you supposed to stop me, or accompany me?”

“His lordship said I was to be your shadow, so I reckon if you want to go out, I’ll go with you. If you want to stay in, then I’ll stay right here.”

His accent held a slight hint of Ireland, which reminded her forcibly of her father.

“I might want to go out later. I’ll let you know.”

“Very good, my lady.”

Malinda went back inside and considered what to do next. Her gaze caught on her old saddlebags, which she’d stuffed with a change of clothes and other personal items suitable for the journey on horseback with Benedict down to London. She had nothing of value in them, only her mother’s journal, and the wedding ring her father had given his now-deceased wife.

If she was to continue with her plan, she should at least consider where to hide the journal. Benedict’s father knew she was in London, and she would have to be more careful. After deliberating for several minutes, she placed the saddlebags in the corner cupboard, and then slid the slim journal inside the pages of a volume of parliamentary papers about the current composition of the army. She put the book back on the shelf in the living room and wondered why on earth Benedict bothered to read such things. But then, he would one day take his seat in the House of Lords, so perhaps he considered such dull, worthy tomes a good preparation.

Damn him for making her stay in London at his beck and call. What made matters worse was that now, thanks to his warnings,
she
didn’t feel safe when he wasn’t with her. If she’d used her wits at Alford Park before leaving, she could’ve brought something to pawn or barter so she could afford a ticket on the stage back to Lincolnshire for herself. But Benedict had supervised her hurried packing and given her little time to do anything.

She glanced doubtfully down at her beautiful new dress and smoothed the skirt. She could sell the gown and wear her old riding habit, but that would necessitate a visit to a moneylender. She had to assume Niall would be reporting her movements back to someone at the Sinners, and that any suspicious activity would swiftly result in her not being allowed out at all.

She considered the furniture in the apartment and then delved deeper into the contents of the drawers and cupboards. To her disappointment, there was almost nothing of value to “borrow.” Benedict didn’t seem to keep a single pair of cuff links or a gold watch chain anywhere. Frustrated, she opened the chest of drawers next to the bed and smiled.

“What have we here?”

She drew out several elaborate oriental-style boxes and placed them carefully on the bed. Did Benedict collect porcelain? It seemed unlikely. She opened the lid of the first box and studied the contents. Four beautifully carved jade phalluses of varying thicknesses and lengths were pillowed in red satin.

“Oh my,” Malinda breathed.

A knock on the outer door had her shutting the lid and guiltily cramming all the boxes back into the drawers. She rushed back through into the living room and found herself confronting a stylishly dressed older woman with light brown hair and very blue eyes.

“You must be Malinda.” The elegant woman held out her gloved hand. Malinda reckoned she was in her late thirties or forties. “I’m Faith, the Countess of Westbrook.”

Malinda took the proffered hand and shook it. “Benedict mentioned you might be coming to see me.”

“He is concerned that you will have nothing to do while he is busy solving the affairs of the nation.”

“He is
concerned
that I might get up to mischief.”

“And will you?”

“I haven’t decided yet.” She eyed the smiling woman in front of her. “You aren’t how I pictured you at all.”

“Good Lord.” The countess raised her eyebrows. “What on earth did Benedict say about me?”

“That you had his devotion, and that you were extraordinary.”

“That makes me sound far more impressive than I could ever be.”

“I’m not sure. Any woman who cofounded a club for sinners
is
quite extraordinary.”

“It was the only thing my husband could think of to get me to agree to marry him. I refused to be a conventional wife, and I insisted that we had to be partners in all things.” She paused. “He had the good sense to realize I meant what I said, and came up with a plan that allowed us to be together.”

“How romantic.”

“It was, rather.” The countess looked around the small room. “You must be bored witless sitting here by yourself.”

“Oh, I am allowed to go out, if I take Niall with me.” Malinda gestured at the chair closest to the fire. “Won’t you sit down? I’ll ask Jenny for some tea.”

“That would be delightful.”

Malinda saw Jason coming up the stairs and he frowned at her. “You don’t have to come down. Mum said to ask you if you’d be wanting some refreshments.”

“Your mother is a treasure. Yes, please.”

He stomped back down and she returned to the apartment. She had to remember that behind her instant liking for the countess lurked other more serious matters. If Benedict was
truly
busy and not just avoiding her, Lady Westbrook was simply another watchdog like Niall—if a somewhat more engaging one.

She took the chair opposite the countess and watched as her guest unbuttoned her coat, took off her bonnet, and made herself at home.

“You are an intelligent woman, Malinda. We can sit here and talk about society and modistes and the latest scandal, or we can, as my husband would say, take the gloves off and have an honest conversation about the situation you face.”

“You are remarkably direct.”

The countess made a face. “I’ve never been very good at small talk. I’d rather we didn’t waste our precious time fencing with each other, and simply got on with asking what we want to know.”

Malinda’s respect for the countess grew. “Then I’ll start. Have you seen Benedict this morning, Lady Westbrook?”

The countess nodded. “Please call me Faith, I’d much prefer it. Benedict is at the Sinners. He was at his desk and busy with a mountain of correspondence that I am certain will give him a headache. He wasn’t in a very
communicative
mood.”

“Did you tell him you were coming to see me?”

“He arranged it himself yesterday, so there was no need to bother him.” She paused. “Why? Did you need to speak to him urgently?”

“Oh no, not if he has the headache. He’d only snap at me.”

“Benedict never snaps.”

“Yes, he does. You simply have to know how to annoy him. I’m very good at it.”

“He has seemed a trifle out of sorts since you returned.”

“Good.”

Jenny appeared with the tea tray and set it on the table beside Malinda, who thanked her. At the countess’s nod, she poured a cup of tea and handed it to her.

“Thank you.”

“You are welcome.” Despite her large breakfast, Malinda helped herself to a piece of shortbread. “Did Benedict tell you that we met with his father?”

“I was aware of that.”

“He thinks the marquis gave in too quickly, which is why he won’t let me go back to Lincolnshire without him. He seems to forget that I am quite capable of looking after myself.”

“I’m sure you are. You did shoot him, after all. Life traveling behind an army must breed resilience.”

“And I am from peasant stock, which means my constitution is more suited to deprivation than your average aristocrat.”

The countess smiled. “Are you trying to shock me into going away? It won’t work, you know. I’m well aware of your background. You haven’t spent your entire life trudging behind an army wagon. I believe you and your half sister were schooled at a French nunnery.”

“None of which is your business,” Malinda snapped.

“That depends on how you look at it.”

“I pose no threat to this nation.”

“But you are associated with a man who holds many of the secrets of that nation.”

“I don’t
want
to be associated with him. I want to go home. He is the one insisting I stay in London.”

“Because he cares about you, and wants to keep you safe.”

“It’s not that simple. Benedict does what benefits him first, and the nation second. I am merely a small cog in some gigantic creation of his worst imaginings.” She held up her hand. “I don’t want to be involved. I want him to forget about me.”

Even as she said the words, she wondered if she still meant them. Imagining a future without him suddenly seemed drab and pointless. He was the only person in the world who made her feel alive and passionate and . . .

“He feels responsible for you.”

“He’s a romantic fool. He always has been.” Malinda sighed.

“That’s why he married me in the first place, although his father soon put a stop to that.”

“So Benedict said. Do you no longer consider him your husband, then?”

“I was told the marriage was incestuous.” She smiled. “I knew Benedict was his father’s heir, but it never seemed important until the marquis spelled out exactly how I would ruin his son’s life if I persisted in hanging on to him. I was seventeen and in love, and even then I knew I could never have him—that I’d never be considered good enough.”

“So you didn’t fight to stay with him.”

“After his father told me he was my father too? No, that was enough to break me completely. Leaving him seemed the only fair thing to do because I knew he
would
fight to keep me, and that I was weak enough to let him.”

“You were both very young.”

“And easy to manipulate.” Malinda drank her tea. “And this is all very much in the past, and not relevant to the situation today.”

“I wonder if that’s ever true? In my experience, the past always rises up when you least expect it.”

“As poor Benedict discovered when I shot him.”

“May I ask you something else?”

“Why not?” She wasn’t telling Faith anything that Benedict didn’t already know.

“Benedict asked me to take you out in society a little and present you as his wife. Would that distress you?”

“He says it will keep me safe—that as a peer’s wife I’d be much more visible and harder to kill.”

“He does have a point. But I refuse to do something you’ll hate.”

“If spending two weeks pretending to be Benedict’s wife will allay his fears about his father, and allow me to go home at the end of it, then I suppose it’s worth it.”

It would also give her the opportunity to follow up on some investigations of her own.

Faith clapped her hands together. “Excellent. Now perhaps it’s time to turn our attention to those fripperies I mentioned. Would you like to come out and visit my modiste?”

Benedict unclenched his fingers and rubbed his right wrist to try to ease the cramp. He’d been writing letters for at least four hours, and he wasn’t even halfway through his correspondence. His concentration was scattered as he wondered how Malinda was fairing with Lady Westbrook and whether she’d missed his presence in her bed. He’d missed her, had woken far too many times and reached for her only to discover he was alone.

But he had to stop thinking with his cock and use his brain. A knock on the door made him look up as Maddon came into the room.

“I have a Mr. Maclean here to see you, my lord. Do you wish to speak with him?”

“Yes, please, send him in.”

“I also have a message from Mr. Fisher. He would like you to meet him at the Queen’s Head in Holborn.”

“When?”

“Whenever it is convenient.”

“Which usually means immediately,” Benedict muttered. He stretched his shoulders. “I’ll walk over there after I’ve finished with Mr. Maclean. If anyone asks for me, I’ll return within an hour or so.”

“Yes, my lord.” Maddon bowed.

He came back within minutes with a tall man with auburn hair who instantly reminded Benedict of Malinda. Despite his comparative youth, his visitor walked with a cane, and had a pronounced limp.

“Lord Keyes.”

Benedict gestured at the chair in front of his desk. “Good morning, Mr. Maclean, and thank you for replying to my letter so promptly. Please sit down.”

“Thank you, my lord. I hoped that a man seeking a secretary would appreciate being attended to promptly.”

There was a hint of Scotland in Mr. Maclean’s low-pitched voice, as well as an edge of good humor.

“You were recommended to me by Mr. Adam Fisher. How do you know him?”

“Mr. Fisher is a . . . friend of my younger brother, Harry. I believe they were at school together.”

There was a slight hesitation in Mr. Maclean’s reply that Benedict couldn’t fail to notice.