The Sinner (7 page)

"The blacksmith! Have you gone mad?" Hughe completely forgot his gloves and thumped his fist down on the desk. "You cannot allow that.
I
cannot allow it."

"It's not my choice, my lord, but hers!" Slade protested. "The blacksmith is a strong fellow who runs a strict house. Cat accepts the need for a firm, husbandly hand. Indeed, I've discussed it with her and she is amenable. The smith will know better than me how to keep a woman like Cat in her place."

Hughe was so shocked he didn't know where to start. He simply stared at Slade, expecting him to burst out laughing and admit that it was a joke. He did not laugh.

"She won't be marrying the blacksmith," Hughe said, managing to sound light when all he wanted to do was thump some sense into the fool. "I'll give her a cottage and an income until such time as she finds a
suitable
husband. I'll ride to Slade Hall as soon as it's settled in a week or two. In the meantime, you are not to mention it to Lady Slade. Understand me? Not even a whisper should reach her ears."

Slade held up his hands. "Of course. But, my lord, are you quite sure? What if she gets too comfortable living off your income and in your cottage? What if she decides it's better than marriage?"

Hughe shrugged. "Then so be it."

"My lord, you cannot be in earnest!"

"I am. What is it to you? You don't care for her. You said yourself you cannot afford her. I can."

"What do you expect in return?"

An easing of his conscience. "Nothing. Oh, a little gratitude and a prayer for me when she remembers. My soul might yet be saved."

"I'm not sure this is a good idea." Slade leaned forward again, and seemed to be preparing a speech of utmost importance. Hughe silently groaned and wondered how long he had to listen to him. "Women
need
to be married, my lord. It's the only way to keep them in check. Particularly ones like Cat. She's too headstrong." He lowered his voice. "She has
opinions
."

Hughe pulled a face. "Good lord, no." He gasped. "Not
opinions
." He needed to employ every ounce of his acting skills not to laugh.

Slade seemed satisfied that Hughe understood him. He sat back and gave an emphatic nod. Behind Hughe, a swish of skirts announced the arrival of a woman. Cat? Even so, it didn't divert Slade from his topic. "Let them do as they please and they become lazy, spiteful creatures," he went on. "Women of strong mind need a strong husband with a heavy hand. They ought to know their place or all mankind suffer the consequences."

Spoken like a prick who knew women not at all. Hughe curled his fingers around the chair arm to stop himself slapping some sense into Slade. "They ought to know their place," he said, summoning every foppish thought he could muster. If he were to deflect Lady Slade's desires, he needed her to think him a fool. He gave a tinkling laugh for good measure. "I agree with you there. But I think their place ought to be in their husband's bed."

He had the satisfaction of seeing Slade's face turn bright red. Behind him, the skirts shushed gently. He wondered if Cat was blushing too.

"A woman's sole purpose ought to be to please her husband in
every
way." He winked at Slade.

"What about obedience?"

"Of course. Surely wives are not that very different to dogs. I may not have a wife, but my kennels are full. That makes me an expert."

The shushing drew closer and stopped right behind him. He turned around and smiled up into the flushed face of Cat, standing with hands on hips. Her eyes flashed, their shade a remarkable violet-blue. His smile broadened.

"Good afternoon, Lady Slade. What a pleasure to see you again. Are you well?"

"I am well," she spat. "For a dog."

"Ah. You heard that." He turned back to Slade. "I don't know why they always get so upset when I mention dogs. I'm very fond of them."

Cat couldn't believe what she was hearing. She'd been merely passing by when she overheard Slade lamenting women having opinions. She'd known he was referring to her and had wanted to hear Oxley's protest on the subject. But he had agreed with her brother-in-law. This was not the same Lord Oxley who'd rescued her and kissed her. This was some boorish buffoon who'd taken over his body and said the most idiotic things. She wasn't sure whether to ignore him or retaliate on behalf of all womankind. Actually, she was sure. Comments like that couldn't be left unchallenged.

"My lord, it's so good of you to visit us," she said, sickly sweet. If she was going to fight with him, she needed to do it on his terms.

"I know," he drawled.

"Tell me, does your future wife know that she'll be kept in a kennel?"

He studied her from beneath lazy, half-lowered lids. "You're mistaken, dear lady. I have no plans to wed yet."

"No? But an earl must breed! If a wife's duty is to her husband, then surely a man's duty is to beget heirs upon his wife. Dozens of them. After all, what else is he put on this Earth for? He has little other purpose except prancing about in elaborate costume, turning a fine leg. Of course every gentleman should present himself in the best light for the sake of his good name, but there
must
be more to it, don't you think? We've all been put on this Earth for a reason, my lord, you included. I do wonder, however, what is
your
purpose if not to strengthen the Oxley line? Hmmm?"

"I do plan on marrying, dear lady. All in good time."

"You are how old, my lord?" She swept her gaze over him, taking in the bright blue cape, the velvet shoes with silver buckles, so inappropriate for outdoors, and the rings on his fingers. But his face held a different story. The fine lines crinkled around his pale, intelligent eyes and she could swear his lips were curved at the edges ever so slightly. Was he laughing at her? At himself? She did not understand him one bit. He was a mystery that she dearly wanted to solve. "Nearing five and thirty, I'd wager," she went on.

"Cat!" Slade snapped. "Enough of this."

Oxley pouted. "I am not yet thirty."

"Really?" Cat said. "Dear me. You ought to spend less time in the sun. It's not good for the skin."

"Indeed, my skin does not feel as silken as your own, dear lady."

Her next insult turned to ash in her mouth. How could a man be so rude and yet so flattering at the same time? "You have not touched my skin."

"I assisted you last night."

"We both wore gloves."

"Assisted her with what?" Slade asked.

"It is a guess," Oxley said, ignoring him. "I can tell your skin would be a delight to touch."

"Ha!" She crossed her arms and refused to look at the too-handsome face with the dancing eyes and teasing mouth. It was no wonder he had women falling over themselves to become his next mistress. For a moment she'd wondered how such a fop had gotten so many beautiful women into his bed, but she had to concede that he could be utterly charming, foppishness notwithstanding.

The landlady had assured her that Oxley was a well-known breaker of hearts, the most recent being a woman by the name of Lady Fitzwilliam who was apparently both furious and distraught in equal measure at being cast aside on this very visit to London. Cat tended to believe the landlady's account since she housed so many lesser nobles when the court was at Whitehall and gossip was, after all, the currency of many.

"Excuse me, gentlemen," Cat said, backing toward the door. It was time to retreat. She was losing the exchange rather badly and she did not like the insulting tone in her own voice. It was not how she wanted to fight her battles.

Oxley stood and bowed to her. "Good afternoon, Lady Slade. I hope we meet again."

"I doubt we will," she said. "We're leaving in the morning and I have no plans to attend court tonight."

He bowed again. When he straightened, he had an odd smile on his face. A knowing, secret smile. What was he up to?

***

Lord Slade couldn't believe his luck. Not only was he finally home again after suffering through an interminable visit to filthy London, but he'd almost secured an agreement with Lord Marchment. A very lucrative agreement. All that ass-licking—quite literally—had gotten results. Having Cat taken off his hands was an advantage he'd not anticipated, although he'd only believe it when he saw Oxley riding through the gatehouse, money in hand. He had a suspicion that the earl would change his mind, or simply forget having made the offer three weeks ago. He seemed the fickle sort.

On the other hand, there were a great number of things that didn't make sense where Oxley was concerned. For one thing, according to Cat, he'd saved her life. Added to which, there was intelligence in Oxley's eyes that could not be masked by a loose twist of the hand or a colorful hat. Oxley's duality had got Slade thinking. He took his thoughts to Hislop, a man with a keen eye for people.

"What do you think of Lord Oxley?" he asked Hislop as they finished their daily briefing. Hislop was useful for getting things done, not only with the estate, but with the household servants too. They now worked doubly hard for less pay. Slade assumed he'd threatened them with bodily harm. He didn't care. They were replaceable, and Slade Hall was in no position to be generous thanks to his clod of a brother.

Hislop put one booted foot on the edge of the desk and leaned back in his chair. Slade eyed the muddy sole, but said nothing. One did not tell a man like Hislop to lower his boot. He was a tall fellow and thickly muscled. A menacing gleam in his eye and the white scar slicing through his beard were usually enough of a deterrent to anyone who considered defying Slade's authority when Hislop was by his side. For those for whom it wasn't, his blade and fists were. Despite his tendency to use violence to solve everything, there was something alluring about Hislop too. Or perhaps it was the quick temper that made him so. Slade was as drawn to him as a moth to a flame. He knew Hislop might prove dangerous one day, but at the moment, he didn't care.

"He's hiding something," Hislop said in that no-nonsense manner of his. He didn't give his opinion unless asked, but when he did speak, it was always to the point. "I've thought it ever since you pointed him out to me. No man with that much physical presence can be so ridiculous."

"I agree. I also think he's hiding something interesting and of particular importance to me. "

Hislop narrowed his yellow eyes. "You think he's the assassin, don't you?"

Slade's heartbeat quickened, but whether from hearing it voiced aloud or from Hislop's intense stare, he couldn't fathom. Perhaps a little of both. "I don't know. He could be. Cat told me he asked some questions about Stephen's death, but that could have been curiosity. That's why I devised a little test, that day he came to me in London. I asked if he'd been to Slade Hall and he mentioned being in the woods two years ago. I asked if that was before or after the flood and he said before March Ninety-seven. But he couldn't have come then. There was indeed a flood, but I lied about the date. It came at the end of Ninety-six. The entire area was under water for the first four months of Ninety-seven."

"Perhaps he was mistaken about the timing of his visit."

Slade stroked his chin. "Perhaps. He did seem a little distracted during the conversation. There's something else that I find interesting. He's bloody rich."

Hislop shrugged. "He's an earl."

"That doesn't entitle him to wealth. Of course, you wouldn't understand."

A muscle high in Hislop's jaw bunched. Slade swallowed. Perhaps he shouldn't have been so condescending.

"I know for a fact that Oxley has been granted no exclusive licenses," Slade went on. "Admittedly he has extensive land holdings, but…" He shook his head. "I do wonder if he has another income source."

"Perhaps that's why he's sniffing around your sister-in-law," Hislop said. "If he is the assassin, he might have learned something that raised his suspicions about your brother's guilt."

"How could he? Stephen killed Crabb in cold blood. I made sure he did, just like I made sure there were enough clues for the assassin to find that out for himself."

"True, but by all accounts, the Assassin's Guild do not like anonymous clients."

"Then accounts must be wrong, because they cannot know it was us. No one has accused us."

"Not us, Slade. You." Hislop's smile turned predatory. The man ought to be careful. If Slade was uncovered as the person who commissioned Stephen's death, then he would make sure Hislop was found guilty too.

Slade tore his gaze away from that handsome, dangerous face with its scars and eyes that burrowed into a man's soul. "We need to find out whether Oxley is the assassin or not."

"And if he is, whether he suspects he was manipulated into killing your brother by none other than yourself."

Slade swallowed. He didn't like to hear it put so baldly. Of course Stephen had deserved to die. He was ruining the estate and the Slade name with his gambling obsession and neglect. Their father would have understood the need for action. No heir had been produced and neither Cat nor Stephen grew younger. If Slade had waited then time would have run out. This way he was still young enough to fix the estate problems, wed and produce his own heirs.

But if Oxley turned out to be the assassin and he suspected he'd been manipulated into killing a man, everything could have been for naught. The Assassins Guild was ruthless when it came to dispensing justice. "What did you do with the money the mayor gave you?" he asked Hislop. Money the assassin had anonymously stipulated was meant for Cat, no doubt to ease his conscience. But Cat hadn't needed it as much as Slade. After all, a woman would only waste it on frivolities. He'd made sure Hislop intercepted the purse and sent the mayor on his way with assurances that it would reach Cat. The mayor had either been too frightened of Hislop or too lazy to find out whether his errand had been dispatched according to the wishes of the fellow who'd given him the purse.

"Paid your debts, like you asked."

"Good. Good. But I do wonder if we should have given some of it to Cat. Perhaps Oxley wouldn't be coming after us now if we had."