Page 61 of A Duke's Lustful Portrait
Some solution will present itself before then. It must.
“Your cloak, Your Grace?” the butler said as Sebastian entered.
“What? Oh, yes, thank you.”
He slipped off his cloak and walked through the entrance hall toward Edward’s study.
“He’s in the dining room this evening, Your Grace,” Gibbs called out behind him.
Sebastian spun around, his shoes slick on the marble tiles. “Oh yes?”
“Yes,” Gibbs replied. “There are a few other gentleman diners this evening as well. Shall I show you the way?”
Others?
Sebastian frowned. His summons had stated that his final test would be revealed to him tonight, and he hadn’t expected other guests to be present. It would have surprised Sebastian had it been anyone other than Edward Sinclair. He knew it for what it was—a demonstration of the man’s power and control. Only someone with as much clout as Edward could talk about murder in a room full of people and get away with it.
“No, thank you, Gibbs. I know the house well now.”
Gibbs bowed and turned away. Sebastian made his way up the short staircase, wondering how many more times he would be summoned to this house, to this man who disgusted him in every way.
It was beginning to grate on Sebastian, being at the man’s beck and call, but he had to keep reminding himself of his purpose. As he opened the door to the dining room, he pictured his beautiful mother, her body covered in blood and her face distorted with pain.
I’ll avenge your death, Mother, don’t worry.
He found Sinclair at the end of a long dining table, a cotton napkin tucked into the neckline of his shirt. He was, as always, pristinely turned out, and his eyes had that cold, hard glint to them that Sebastian still wasn’t used to.
“Rather opulent surroundings for today’s meeting,” Sebastian said as he pulled out the chair next to Edward.
It was, indeed. If ever there was a demonstration of wealth, this room was it. Everything was perfect, from the modern glass gas lamps on the walls to the brilliant white tablecloth and exotic fruit centrepieces. Even the men littering the remainder of the table were near replicas of every other nobleman in the country—well-dressed, pompous, and full of cruel laughter.
The room had more of a clubhouse feel than a private dining room. It was almost as though the rest of the men were nothing to do with Edward, as if they just happened to be in the same building at the same time.
The table was full with perhaps twenty or so guests, and the party had broken into smaller groups, private conversations whispered between men. Only Sinclair sat alone at the head of the table, the chairs either side of him empty but for Sebastian.
“I prefer to do business over a little supper. It makes it all the more enjoyable. Do make yourself comfortable, Sebastian. We have a lot to discuss.”
“Indeed we do,” Sebastian replied. He picked up his napkin and shook it out. “And I must say I’m intrigued, although this table affords us little privacy.”
Edward grinned. “Who needs privacy when one has power?” He clicked his fingers, summoning a footman. “We’re reading to eat, and we’ll take a couple of brandies.”
“Right away, Your Grace.”
“Roasted guinea fowl this evening,” Edward said, his attention returned to Sebastian. “I do hope that’s to your liking.”
“It sounds delicious,” Sebastian replied.
“The others have already eaten. I waited for you.”
“How kind.”
Sebastian frowned, nerves tickling him. No matter how much he had prepared himself for the evening, this charade was nothing he could have planned for.
I will not murder, he reminded himself.I will not murder, no matter what.
But time was indeed running out, and he had to get to the truth before it did. Edward would never reveal his motives for killing his mother if the constable got to him first. Tonight had to be the night.
Their meal came, and as always at Westment Manor, it was beyond perfect. The guinea was rich and moist, the gravy thick and full of flavour. Even the potatoes had something special about them, the cook having performed her magic.
