Page 62 of A Duke's Lustful Portrait
But to Sebastian, every morsel was bland. He tasted nothing, his mind screaming at him with worry while his body went through the motions. He had to pick his moment carefully, and being in a room full of people had set him on edge.
“You’re very quiet this evening, Sebastian,” Sinclair said brightly. “I do hope everything is to your liking.”
“It’s just right, thank you.”
Despite himself, he turned and glanced over his shoulder. The other men still paid them no heed, but Sebastian felt as if they were all watching, all listening, ready to pounce. Their presence was overbearing, leaving him vulnerable and uncertain, which was most definitely why Sinclair had invited them.
“Don’t worry about them,” Edward said, noticing Sebastian’s discomfort. He wore a knowing grin, and Sebastian ground his teeth to stop himself from punching the man right where he sat.
Bide your time. Keep your calm.
“Are they all members of the Lord’s Society?” Sebastian asked. His knife scraped along the porcelain plate as he cut into his meat, making him shudder.
Sinclair chuckled. “I do have a life outside of the society as well, you know. No, these are old friends from other walks of life. Thus, I advise you to keep your voice down when discussing private matters. You know how I feel about rumours getting out. Pembry may enjoy courting danger, but I do not, and I suspect you wouldn’t want to see any of these kindly gentlemen hurt because of things they have overheard.”
“Then I must say,” Sebastian said, deciding to face him head-on, “that I am a little surprised to find them here. I thought our meeting this evening was about more … personal business, shall we say?”
“Oh, it is,” Edward replied. He grinned and clicked his fingers again, indicating the footman to remove their dinner plates even though neither had finished the meal. “Dessert? Mrs Jones does an inspired baked custard.”
“Not for me, thank you,” Sebastian said. He patted his stomach. “That meal was quite ample.”
“Two baked custards please,” Sinclair said to the footman, entirely ignoring Sebastian’s refusal.
Sebastian inhaled deeply, trying his best to calm himself. He had been nervous enough before he had even arrived, and Sinclair’s behaviour since had only riled him further. He supposed that was Sinclair’s purpose all along, though he didn’t understand it.
He had thought he was in Sinclair’s favour—the man certainly gave that impression often enough. But then perhaps these games were merely Sinclair’s way, some kind of ritual before the events to come.
Dessert arrived, and Sinclair pushed his spoon into the soft custard immediately. “I knew you were the right choice from the beginning, you know,” he said.
“All that Dark Duke stuff meant nothing, of course, just a show for the inane ladies of theton. But something was intriguing about you. I still suspect there is more to discover, but I feel secure in the knowledge that you’ll make a great addition to our …” he glanced down at the rows of men, “group activities. Eat your custard.”
With a sigh, Sebastian picked up his spoon and reluctantly shovelled it into his mouth. The custard was cold and cloying, and he swallowed it quickly to stop himself from being sick. He didn’t want to eat. He wanted to get this whole thing over and done with. He needed more information.
“These assignments,” Sebastian began, the custard on his spoon wobbling as it hovered in front of his face. “How do you decide upon them?”
Edward shrugged. “There’s no great secret. Our little brotherhood, we like to take care of one another. If we struggle to overcome problems, we ask for help.”
“And do you decide together on what is to be done and who does it?”
“My,” Sinclair said with a glint in his eyes. “You are curious tonight, Sebastian. It’s put to the founding members, and together, we decide. A committee of sorts, I suppose you could say.”
Sebastian shoved the last morsel of custard into his mouth, swallowed it, and then took a sip of his brandy. “And you? Were you set a task as a test of loyalty?”
Sinclair merely chuckled, his focus on his bowl as he scraped up every scrap of custard he could. When he finally put it down, he said, “Did you know Pembry has got something of a gambling problem?”
“No, I can’t say I did,” Sebastian replied, infuriated by how he avoided answering the question.
“No,” Sinclair mused. “He’s rather good at hiding it. The truth is, he’s close to broke. Of course, his wife and daughter know nothing of the truth, but unless he finds some way out, the poor man will be destitute before the end of summer. Something needs to be done.”
Chapter 30
“I’m guessing this is where I come in,” Sebastian replied, his heart thudding wildly in his chest. He wanted to know who he was supposed to murder, but he would have given anything never to have had this conversation in the first place.
Sinclair chuckled again, the sound chafing against Sebastian’s thoughts.
It won’t be long, Sinclair, and you’ll never laugh again.
“You are very astute, young man. It is one of the reasons I like you so much. As I said, Pembry owes a significant amount of money to a gambling house in one of the poorer areas of town. You know the kind of place—frequented by as many rats as men.”
