Page 30 of A Duke's Lustful Portrait
Edward frowned. “Several times.”
The entrance hall was cool compared to the warm spring air. He marched through it and towards the drawing room, where he hoped to find the maids in a flurry of activity, preparing drinks and food.
“And?” Pembry asked, hot on his heels and speaking over his shoulder. “What did you think?”
Edward sighed. The package had revealed a lot about young Sebastian Ravenswood, some of which he had already suspected. What it hadn’t revealed were his motivations.
Something stopped Edward from believing Sebastian was everything he said he was—a curious lord enjoying the tempting treats that the Lord’s Society had to offer. Apart from anything else, Edward had yet to see him indulge in thosetempting treats, but perhaps Ravenswood was merely shy in a way he didn’t show.
Whatever it was, Edward would get to the bottom of it, as he always did with all his protégés. Whenever he took one of the young men under his wing, he would search out everything he possibly could about them. It was another form of control, and knowing the gentlemen so well allowed Edward to predict their patterns of behaviour and responses within the society. He was nothing if not manipulative and calculating.
But Pembry didn’t need to know any of that. “Ithink,” he replied, “that you are a remarkably resourceful man, Pembry. I have yet to meet anyone as good at digging up information as you are. Do you use a private investigator?”
Pembry offered him a half smile and tapped the side of his nose. “A gentleman never tells his secrets, Sinclair. You, of all people, should know that.”
Sinclair scoffed and moved into the drawing room, where the latest members’ portraits were being hung on the wall. Since the beginning of the society, every member had their portrait hanging in this house somewhere, but the newest members were always on display in the drawing room for the first year so that everyone could get used to their faces. Edward glanced at the painting of Sebastian.
Arabella really had outdone herself with his portrait, but Edward supposed she had a good subject to work with. Even he could see how the ladies fawned after him, and he supposed his daughter was old enough to recognize that now, much to his chagrin.
She had captured his air of confidence, authority, and self-certainty that didn’t quite tip over into arrogance. And his eyes—she had painted those beautifully. Even here, on canvas, Edward could see the secrets he hid, mingled with a sort of grim determination. He wasn’t sure who to be in awe of most—his daughter for her exceptional talent or his protégé for his ability to lie and cheat.
“Have you confronted him about it?” Pembry asked, like a dog desperate for scraps. His intrigue made Edward respect him a little less.
Edward scanned the room and, giving it a nod of approval, went to the study, where they kept information on all the members. He had already stashed the papers Pembry had sent, ordered, and filed, so he knew he could come back to them.
“Not yet,” Edward replied.
“Are you going to confront him tonight, then?”
Edward sighed, spinning around on his heels to face Pembry. “Why are you so eager to know?”
Pembry shrugged. “I’m a curious cat, you know that. Perhaps that should tell you all you need to know about my information-gathering techniques.”
Edward shot him a doubtful glance.As if that’s all there is to it.“No,” he replied. “I am not going to confront him tonight. I rather thought I’d hold off for a bit and see what he’s up to. But I’ll tell you this, Pembry. I will know everything there is to know by the season’s end; make no mistake.”
***
Sebastian had arrived at the house early for that afternoon’s event. He had hoped, perhaps naively, that arriving early would give him a better chance to spend time with Sinclair. As much as it hurt his soul to be in the company of his mother’s murderer, he knew it was the only way he could exact his revenge.
Go slowly, Sebastian, and it will be all the more painful for the brute.
He still didn’t know quite what he wanted, nor exactly how he would mete out his justice. All he had learned so far was that, short of killing Edward Sinclair, he had nothing to go on. He wouldn’t murder the man. He knew he’d never be capable of taking a human life. He had far too much integrity and besides, killing would make him no better than Sinclair himself.
No, Sebastian’s solution had to be more contrived than that, more calculating. And, with every bit of luck, it would be something that would make Sinclair suffer for the rest of his days.
He had considered using Arabella. In fact, he still considered it sometimes when he was lying awake at night, searching his thoughts for a solution. But she was a mere innocent in all this, and as much as he wanted to punish Sinclair for murdering his mother, he could never punish Arabella, too.
I want her far too much for that.
“You’re early, Ravenswood,” Sinclair said as Sebastian was shown into the drawing room.
The first thing he noticed was his own likeness. The painting felt huge in such a small room, looming and overbearing. It belonged in a gallery, not a London townhouse. He stared up at it open-mouthed.
Sinclair laughed, coming to stand next to him and admire the painting. “It’s impressive, isn’t it?”
“It’s …”
Sebastian’s mind had gone blank of words. He had known Arabella was talented, but this … this was incredible. He had the strangest feeling that he was looking at himself in the flesh, that his likeness might turn, look down at him, and speak.
