The Den Of Iniquity. Anabelle Bryant

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СКАЧАТЬ was very kind.’ The boy’s words sounded wistful. ‘And she smelled good.’

      Sin had to stop himself from asking exactly how she’d smelled. Too many details would lead to no good. Thankfully they were interrupted as Ransom scratched the bottom of the door and gave a sharp bark, his signal for a call of nature.

      ‘Take him out, Ace. Earn your keep.’ He followed the command with a snap of his fingers and watched the two depart. Damn him if he knew why the lady would seek him out. When he’d handed her his calling card he would have bet every pound in his possession she’d discard it right after. Yet she’d come the next day, daisies in hand. Daisies? He laughed. What was she thinking? There was often no telling with gentry. Hadn’t his father’s fickle behaviour convinced him of that? Hadn’t the heinous series of events perpetuated by the earl’s wife proven to Sin the only loyalty to be found was within?

      Better to be a self-made man than slave to a keeper. With that conclusion, he flipped open the ledger on his desk and set to work calculating profits.

      It was hours after dinner when Vivienne paced the carpet in the sitting room of her bedchamber. Frustration and a fair share of disappointment kept her mind awhirl. Unwilling to lie in bed when sleep evaded her, she’d risen. Experiencing a sudden chill, she glanced to the hearth to see the fire ablaze, then snatched her wrapper from the foot of the bed, tying the silk sash with a deliberate tug.

      Her efforts earlier had failed. How foolish to presume a morning call would garner results. Crispin was correct. She knew little about the operations of a gaming hell and that information equalled the knowledge she possessed pertaining to men.

      With wry concession she realized Crispin might be of more help than she originally considered, although if she solicited his advice in earnest he would likely become as protective as during their first conversation. Perhaps if he realized how important the issue he would seek to please her. He often favoured her ideas whenever she visited or they found themselves sharing a social event. Crispin would fetch her refreshments or strike up conversation when no one else was about. He was a makeshift brother that way.

      Her stomach growled more in objection than agreement. With a shake of her head, she decided to seek a bite to eat in the kitchen and lit a hand candle from the lantern beside her bed, though upon opening the door she startled and almost dropped the light. Her stepfather stood in the hall outside her rooms.

      ‘Oh.’ She managed to withdraw within a hair’s width of collision and collect herself. ‘I didn’t expect to see you. I thought to get a biscuit in the kitchen. Is everything all right?’ Concern laced her words. It was unusual for him to be here for no reason, both her mother and stepfather’s bedchambers at a distance down the corridor. He too was dressed as if preparing for rest.

      ‘Everything is well.’ He offered a placating smile. ‘I could not sleep for thinking of something I forgot to give you. I didn’t know if you were awake at this hour but I thought to see if a light shone from under the door.’

      Curious, she waited, her mind sorting through an array of responses and finding none suitable. He took the candle from her grasp and motioned that they walk, so she did for lack of a better response, uncomfortable standing still.

      ‘I sorted through some of your mother’s belongings earlier today and found an ornate keepsake box. I didn’t know it was in her possession nor did I attempt to open it and view the contents. The locked box had no key with it. I thought perhaps you would know of its importance.’

      He stopped before his bedchamber door and emotion, unbidden and tremulous, flooded her. The mention of her mother triggered a plethora of memories, but it wasn’t that which caused her disquiet. She possessed the key to the box safely kept. Mother had given it to her once the illness proved unstoppable. Until this moment, she’d forgotten the little key tucked away inside her jewellery case. Still, why couldn’t this discussion have waited until morning?

      ‘Would you like to come into my sitting room? I can show you what I found.’ He touched the door and slanted it open though she took a decided step backward.

      ‘Why don’t you bring it down to breakfast in the morning? I’m more fatigued than I originally believed.’ Her heart hammered with alarm. It was unseemly and improper for her to enter her stepfather’s bedchamber. Still he grieved as she and likely did not realize the impropriety of what he suggested, anxious to solve the riddle of this new discovery.

      ‘You’re no longer hungry?’ His brows lowered with concern. ‘I can summon a servant to make you a tray.’

      ‘No.’ Her answer clipped his final word. ‘I wouldn’t think to wake anyone at this hour. I’ll be fine until morning.’ She retrieved the candle as he offered it forward. ‘Goodnight then, stepfather.’ She almost jumped when he placed his hand on her forearm.

      ‘Goodnight, dear Vivienne. Sleep well.’ He turned and entered his bedchamber, the door closing with a loud click that echoed in her ears.

      The faint rays of morning yawned across the sky as Sinclair waited. Exhausted from a hectic night, he rolled his head in search of relief from tense muscles and lack of sleep. With the same predictability that labelled the seasonal population flow within London, the hell had erupted in disturbance last night. Some quick-tongued sharper with too much blunt and not enough common sense accused a regular patron of cheating. Fisticuffs followed, those who’d over-imbibed or mourned the loss of their pocket readily joined the fray and it took Cole and Luke’s additional efforts to re-establish order.

      Sin touched his brow where a broken bottle had left a deep gash. He was the only one of the three who came away with an injury, but then it was he who threw himself into the fight with fervour. Cole worked to remove instigators and onlookers, herding the working girls into another room and collecting all monies left on the felt. Luke climbed atop the vingt-et-un table and cocked a pistol. That quieted the room with alacrity.

      Now, acting on the message he’d received with inconvenient timing, he waited for Wilson to appear, the paid informant unusually late. With a heavy sigh, Sin leaned against the brick wall. Fatigue demanded attention. Bloody hell he was tired. Tired of too many things. Of chasing revenge. And feeling too much and by result feeling too little. Tired of the restlessness that coursed through his veins in kind to the blood that provided life. Would he always feel this way? A bastard with no ties or family, no roots from which to grow?

      A young boy skittered by in a familiar scene, the lad on his way to retrieve dailies to be sold on the corner for pennies, in hope of buying food. Sinclair had money. More money than he could ever spend, but except for a wolfhound and a few friends, what else could he claim? He grunted, somewhat amused, and recalled Ace’s description of yesterday’s visitor. Vivienne. How different her life must be. High-born, established in society and nurtured by a loving family. Able to give of her heart by working for the poor.

      Why had she visited him?

      And what did she want?

      He inhaled, the fetid scent of the docks causing him to exhale just as quickly. In his peripheral vision someone approached through the shadows to his left. His fingers curled into a fist, sore from their use last night; but no, it was Wilson aligned near the wall, a casual pose that spoke of two friends admiring daybreak rather than an informant reporting his find.

      ‘Morning.’

      ‘Aye.’ The man shifted and flitted a glance to make eye contact before returning his attention to the horizon. ‘Pimms is on the run, anxious to leave London. I’ve got no leads on his whereabouts as of yet but the talk is he’ll settle low and hide СКАЧАТЬ