Page 41 of A Duke's Lustful Portrait
“Good man,” Priscilla proclaimed. “Though I am never one to condone violence, it is necessary in certain circumstances. How did your father react?”
Arabella shifted in her seat. “That’s the thing that’s been bothering me most if I’m honest. He thanked His Grace for defending my honour, where he would normally be angry atbothmen. Isn’t that strange?”
Priscilla chewed her breakfast as she thought over Arabella’s question. Eventually, she said, “I can’t explain what goes on in your father’s head. I’m sad to say he’s been a mystery to me since he was but a boy. The Duke of Ravenswood, though, is another matter. There is something different about him. I can’t put my finger on what it is, but I believe you can trust him, Arabella.”
“Trust him? But he’s a lord and a friend of my father’s! I’m sorry, but a handsome face and the odd chivalrous act does not make a man trustworthy.”
“No, you’re right, it does not,” Priscilla replied slowly. “And you know that I am the first to denounce your father’s friends for the reprobates that they are. Having said that, I feel there is something different about the Duke of Ravenswood, though, as I say, I cannot explain what. Allow yourself to trust him, Arabella, at least a little. You might find him an ally when you most need one.”
Chapter 20
“You asked to see me, Sinclair?” Sebastian said as he entered the Duke of Westment’s study that afternoon.
“I did. Come on in,” Sinclair replied, beckoning him further into the room. “That’ll do, Gibbs, thank you.”
The butler bowed, then closed the door behind him. Sebastian hesitated for barely a second, then went to the large leather chair at the desk. This study was somewhat grander and much more welcoming than the one at The Haven.
The walls were equally lined with books and papers, but the sun shone brightly through the large bay window, and there was a low table with a crystal brandy decanter in front of the fire. Sebastian could easily imagine Sinclair sitting by the fire for long winter evenings, idly flicking through his ledgers.
“A fitting study you have here, Sinclair. I’ve always said you can judge a man by the state of his study.”
“An ordered workplace leads to an ordered mind,” Sinclair agreed with a nod. “I must admit, this is my favourite room in the house, but then perhaps that’s because no one else is allowed in here. It’s my own private little haven.” He winked at his own joke, and Sebastian dutifully chuckled along with him.
Sebastian had to admit he felt good after the events of the previous evening. Though he had defended Arabella through a mix of jealous rage and a desire to protect her, it had also put him firmly in Sinclair’s favour. Sinclair had spoken openly and happily with him for hours after the incident, and he felt certain he had gained the old man’s trust. They were to become firm friends.
That was why he hadn’t been nervous when he had received Sinclair’s request for his presence that afternoon. It was a friendly meeting or to do with the Lord’s Society and the next steps in securing his supposed membership. Either way, Sebastian knew it would benefit him to attend. He was getting closer to his goal, even if spending so much time with his mother’s killer made him sick to the stomach.
“I hope you are well rested after last night,” Sinclair said with a dangerously charming smile. It was easy to see why so many people fell for it.
He had a sheaf of parchment in his hand, which he began laying out one by one across the table. Sebastian resisted the urge to study them. He knew his opportunity would come, but he couldn’t be seen to be too eager. His nonchalance, feigned or otherwise, had always worked in his favour, helping to secure his reputation as the Dark Duke.
“I believe I slept like the dead,” he said with a chuckle in answer to his question. “Champagne has always been an excellent sleeping tonic, in my opinion.”
“It can certainly have that effect,” Sinclair agreed. “Though for me, it merely buoyed me up for an evening’s entertainment with young Miss Miles.”
“The blonde one, am I correct?”
Sinclair sneered. His pride at his crudeness was almost impressive.
“The blonde one,” he agreed. “And a current favourite of mine, though I’m certain I’ll be bored of her in a week or two. It’s a good thing that women like her are ten to a penny. Easily replaced, as it were.”
“Indeed.”
Sebastian bit back the reply he wanted to give—that Sinclair was a vile brute with no respect for anyone. The more he heard Sinclair talk, the more disgusted he became. The man treated women as disposable creatures there for his own pleasure and nothing more.
Did he treat my mother like that, too?
His mind went to Lady Arabella. He wondered how the man could delude himself into thinking he was maintaining his daughter’s innocence while continuing to parade in front of her in such a manner. And yet, the young lady had grown up to be strong, kind, and beautiful all the same.
He frowned.This is not abouther.
Finally, Sinclair finished laying out his papers. He clasped his hands together on the desk and looked at Sebastian expectantly. Sebastian, for his part, shifted in his seat, still refusing to look down at what had been presented to him. His good cheer of the morning was dissipating, slowly being replaced by the grip of fear. The air in the room had changed, and he sensed Sinclair’s power bearing over him. Something was wrong; he could feel it in his bones.
“Now,” Sinclair said. “I did not invite you here to discuss the effects of champagne, naturally.”
“Naturally,” Sebastian said, his voice thick with uncertainty.
Sinclair remained silent for a moment. Sebastian knew it for the trick it was meant to be, designed to make him feel uncomfortable. It worked. He cleared his throat and waited.
