The Sinner (10 page)

“Your husband is not a man famous for prudence. Furthermore, these men find it hard to believe that a woman can keep a secret from a husband, or would even want to.”

“Then they do not know much about women.”

“May I give them your promise that you will not breathe one word of this to Mr. Duclairc? That you will resist confiding in him?”

The request startled her. She had returned from France suspicious and discontented. She had demanded this meeting so she could express her displeasure, and now suddenly she found herself on the defensive. Worse, she sensed that if she did not make this promise, the whole Grand Project would unravel.

She had already concluded that she would not inform Dante of these plans until all was in place. It surprised her, then, that giving this promise was harder than she expected. In reality she felt a little uncomfortable keeping things from Dante. Dodging the truth this morning had made her uneasy. It implied a lack of trust. Furthermore, he
was
her husband.

But, not
really
a husband. Not in the normal sense. This was the other half of their arrangement, wasn’t it? He had his life and his lovers, and she did not ask about any of it and was not supposed to mind. In turn, she had her life and her plans, and he was not to question them.

That was how it was supposed to work, at least.

Mr. Siddel awaited her response. Considering that he still wore the marks of Dante’s fist on his face, she doubted she could convince him that her husband’s reputation for recklessness was exaggerated.

“Mr. Siddel, did you agree to see me today so that you can bring my promise back to the investors?”

“I am afraid so. Without it I expect several to remove themselves. We will be set back by months, and going forward may be impossible.”

If the concerns were that extreme she really had no choice. “You have my promise. If my husband should learn of this, it will not be because I told him.”

chapter
9

D
ante rode up to the old manor house in Hampstead. Plaster gleamed between its half timbers, bright white from a recent application of wash. The grasses growing in its clearing had been recently cut. The Chevalier Corbet, whose fencing academy occupied the premises, maintained the property in a way that communicated a tidy, rural, picturesque effect.

Recognizing the three other horses tied to the front posts, Dante cocked his head and listened for evidence of their owners. The sounds of metal biting metal drifted to him.

When Hampton had sent the note suggesting they meet here for some exercise, he had not mentioned that other members of the Dueling Society would join them.

Inside the house, Dante entered the small room used for dressing. Despite the chill in the building, he removed his coats and shirt. The first time he had come here to take lessons he had been his brother’s shadow, a boy still in university awed to be admitted to this fraternity of men of the world. No one had questioned Vergil’s right to include him. In many ways, Vergil was the hub of this wheel, and all of the spokes had been added because of him.

Naked from the waist up, he walked the few steps to the large hall that served as the practice chamber. Inside, two pairs of men sparred with military sabres. They were all in his state of undress, a requirement of the chevalier, who insisted that learning to use a sword while wearing pads meant not learning to use one at all. The result was that most of the bodies displayed a few scars.

The worst one marked the side of Julian Hampton, the solicitor. He had gotten that wound during a practice much like this one, while he sparred with a friend who was now dead. They had been here alone; not even the chevalier had been present. It was not until months later that anyone had seen that scar or known it existed.

Dante watched Hampton conduct his deadly dance with Daniel St. John, thinking about that scar and the private practice that had caused it. No one had ever asked Hampton for the details, although the scar hinted at mysteries in a story everyone thought was completely known. No one ever spoke of the man who had inflicted that wound or about the events surrounding him that had involved every person now gathered in this Hampstead house.

Dante doubted he would be thanked when he broke that silence today.

He had not brought his own sabre, so he took one from the wall near the entrance. The sound of its removal from its scabbard stopped the clashing metal behind him.

The aging chevalier hailed him. “
Bon
, I am glad you are here. Take my place. Adrian is exhausting me. This old man can no longer meet such skill for long.”

“This young man is incapable of meeting such skill for even a minute,” Dante said as he took the chevalier’s place. “Try not to kill me, Burchard. We both know this is not my weapon.”

“From what I hear, your best weapon now is your fist,” Adrian said.

Adrian had no doubt gotten a detailed description of the damage that fist had done at Gordon’s. He was Colin Burchard’s younger brother and the third son of the Earl of Dincaster. Except that everyone knew he really wasn’t the earl’s son and was only Colin’s half brother. His dark, Mediterranean features and hair had branded him as a bastard from the day he was born. Since his marriage last year to the Duchess of Everdon, Adrian had ceased pretending the facts were other than they were.

Not for the first time, Dante thought about the ways in which temperaments forge friendships. Of the two Burchards, he was more likely to spend time with the elder Colin than with Adrian. He was more comfortable with Colin’s carefree manner than with Adrian’s darkly mysterious one.

Perhaps that was because he knew that for all of his elegance and good humor, Adrian Burchard was a dangerous man. Dante was not flattering Adrian in requesting to be spared from damage. Adrian had actually killed men with his sabre, most recently in a duel eighteen months ago.

“Colin probably exaggerated the skill of my fist. It was a small scuffle.”

“Siddel is still wearing the brand on his face and stares daggers at anyone who asks about it.”

“Then I had better practice, in case he intends to send pointed weapons in my direction.”

“Since I have the advantage here, let us go shoot later, where you have learned to excel. It will even the score.”

Dante was in the process of taking his position when that overture came. He proceeded with his salute.

In that moment, however, he realized that the Dueling Society had arranged this. They already knew the questions he would ask and had designated Adrian Burchard as the person to answer them.

Water splashed in basins as the four men washed and dressed. Dante threw aside his towel and reached for his shirt.

Julian Hampton came over to tie his cravat in the mirror tacked to the rustic wall. He appeared oblivious to the rest of the mirror’s reflection. For a handsome man, he displayed no vanity, and no awareness of the way women flirted with him. To Dante’s knowledge, Hampton strolled past the gauntlets the ladies kept throwing, apparently oblivious to the way they littered his path.

“Our barrister sent an appeal to Chancery, arguing against Farthingstone’s right to be involved in the matter of your wife,” he said quietly. “He is rightly raising the whole issue of jurisdiction as well.”

“There is no need to whisper. I am sure that everyone here knows what is happening. St. John certainly does.”

“Not the specifics of my actions. St. John respects my discretion on your behalf, just as he demands it when I act on his.”

Dante looked to where St. John buttoned his waistcoat, and then to where Adrian Burchard loitered by the window. “You all think I seduced her, don’t you?”

“It is forgivable. She is very lovely and, if I may say, very interesting.”

“I prefer hearing that to what you implied during our conversation in the sponging house.”

“You have behaved honorably in marrying her, and that is all that matters to any of us.” He picked up his hat and riding whip. “I must return to the city. I will keep you informed of developments.”

His departure left Adrian and St. John. The latter did not appear ready to follow Hampton out to the horses.

“St. John, Duclairc and I were planning to go shoot before we rode back. Why don’t you join us?” Adrian posed the offer as if it hadn’t been planned.

“Perhaps I will do that.”

“Splendid,” Dante said. He had intended to question all of them. Two would be enough, however.

Dante had not always been good with a pistol. As a young man he had been as indifferent to this weapon as to the sabre. Both had been nothing more than sport to his mind.

Which was why, when the time came when skill mattered, his brother had taken his place in the duel he should have fought.

He fired his fourth shot into the target tacked to the tree deep in the woods behind the chevalier’s house. As he reloaded, his companions took their turns.

St. John had perfect aim, and Adrian’s had improved over the years. Not as much as Dante’s own, however. After that episode, he had never treated this or fencing as mere sport again. For two years he had practiced relentlessly at both. No one in the Dueling Society had ever commented on his new commitment.

“What did Colin tell you about that altercation with Siddel?” he asked Adrian.

St. John busied himself reloading his pistol, but turned so he was part of the conversation.

“That he was insulting your wife and your marriage.”

“I should have called him out, but he was drunk.”

“Colin also indicated that your fist actually flew after Siddel made an allusion to Laclere fighting your duels for you.”

“Did Colin understand the allusion?”

Adrian set his pistol down. “He did not, nor did he even realize it was that comment that set you off. However, you are wondering if any of us have spoken about that day, aren’t you?”

“Someone did.”

“It could have only been a metaphor,” St. John said.

“He
knew
. It was in his eyes and his sneer. It was no allusion to my brother’s support.”

“He did not learn it from either of us,” Adrian said. “I have spoken of it to no one, not even my brother. Nor has St. John here. It goes without saying that Laclere would never divulge what happened, and I think it safe to say that Hampton holds greater secrets in his head than this. He barely talks at all, let alone gossips.”

Dante knew all of this. He had almost hoped that one of them had been indiscreet, however. It would have provided a simple, if infuriating, explanation.

“There were others there that day,” St. John said.

No one spoke for a while. They all knew they were broaching a subject that everyone hoped had been put in the past.

“Wellington would never speak of it,” Adrian said.

No, the Iron Duke never would, Dante thought. If that duel became known, it would provoke questions that would be damaging to important men.

“Nor would Bianca,” St. John said.

Certainly not. It would be easier to imagine Vergil breaking silence than his wife, Bianca.

“Nigel Kenwood has his own reasons for keeping silent,” Dante said.

“Well,” St. John said. “That leaves the woman.”

The woman.

Dante felt his face tighten at the reference. An ugly anger entered his mind.

The woman who had used his conceit and arrogance to her own ends. The siren who kept stepping back, luring him to follow, until she had him wrecked on the rocks of his own lust. The one woman he had wanted too much, mostly because she did not yield.

He had been young and stupid and vain. The cost of victory when she let him catch her had been devastating.

“Does anyone know what became of her?” he asked.

“She remained in France for a few years. I saw her once, from a distance, when Diane and I were staying in Paris six years ago,” St. John said. “I heard that she then went to Russia.”

“I am sure that she has not been back to Britain,” Adrian said. “Wellington all but threatened to hang her with his own rope if she returned. She is not a fool.”

No, not a fool. A bitch from hell, but not a fool.

“It is possible she spoke with someone, who in turn traveled here and spoke to Siddel, but I think it unlikely,” St. John said. “Not a word of what she knew ever got out. If she wanted to do harm, describing that duel was the least of it.”

“I think she understands that breathing one word of any of it could be dangerous for her,” Adrian said.

Dante had a memory suddenly of Adrian going into a cottage on the French coast and emerging with a woman some time later. He recalled the hard look on Adrian’s face as he followed the beauty into the yard where her partner in crime had just bargained for her freedom.

“There is one other way that Siddel could have known of it,” Dante said. “If he was involved in those crimes, she would have had a very good reason to send a letter directly to him, telling him what happened.”

“Possibly,” St. John said. “There may be no way to know for certain, unfortunately.”

Maybe not, but Dante knew he would have to try now. If Siddel had been involved in the events leading to that day, he wanted to know.

He stepped forward and raised his pistol. Hugh Siddel had suddenly been complicating his life in all sorts of ways. With no planning or intention, their lives had become entwined.

Fleur formed part of that knot too. Siddel’s interest in her was troubling. Had he been the one to inform Farthingstone that she was in the cottage at Laclere Park? If so, Siddel knew Farthingstone was nearby in the county that night.

“Has either of you seen anything to suggest that Siddel has a friendship with Farthingstone?” he asked.

“I cannot recall ever seeing them in conversation,” St. John said. Adrian nodded agreement.

“Whom
do
you see in conversation with Siddel?”

St. John thought about that. “He is often at the Union Club when I go there, no doubt plying his schemes among the men of trade and finance who are members. The only association of his that I noted is one with John Cavanaugh, who is a factotum of sorts to the Broughton family of Grand Alliance fame. They are sometimes head to head in quiet talks.”

The Grand Alliance was the cohort of families grown wealthy off the coal of the northern counties. The Broughtons were one of the few aristocratic families to have enriched themselves along with the men of lesser birth.

Dante raised his pistol. He knew Cavanaugh from their days together at university. Perhaps he would use his own membership in the Union Club and renew that acquaintance.

He sighted his aim with careful precision.