Page 74 of A Duke's Lustful Portrait
Sebastian clenched his teeth together, reminding himself not to let Sinclair rile him. The man would say anything to make him angry, to make him lose control, but he wouldn’t. This was Sebastian’s moment, the one he’d been working towards since he was just a child. He pictured his mother, remembering the wail she let out as she died.
It’s almost over, Mother, and then you can rest in peace.
“You may think what you will,” Sebastian replied. “But you and I both know I am the only one in this room with any moral standing.”
Sinclair snorted. “As if you have not been part of our little group for the last few months.”
“Only and always with a singular goal in mind, Sinclair. To ensure you pay for your crimes.”
Neither man had moved from their seat nor raised their voices. To all intents and purposes, their meeting seemed like any other business meeting. But the storm within Sebastian raged on, eager to burst the dam and shower down on the brute who had killed his mother in cold blood.
“Are you here to kill me, then?” Sinclair asked. An amused smile played on his lips. “Because I must tell you now that there are enough servants in this household who will come to my rescue at the slightest sound. You will be outnumbered and killed within an instant.”
“I think you overestimate how your servants feel about you, Sinclair. But it matters not. No, I’m not here to kill you. I’m not a murderer—unlike you.”
Sinclair dared to roll his eyes as if Sebastian were making a big deal out of something little, inconsequential.
“If it’s not money nor murder, then whyareyou here?”
Sebastian’s gaze was hot and intense. “I want to know everything.”
It was Sinclair’s turn to laugh, and laugh he did. The sound rang through the room so loudly that Sebastian had to stop himself from wincing.
“You are as pathetic as that mother of yours!” he said. “A real man would have put a knife through my heart by now but you, Mr Oh-So-Dark Duke, you want only answers? Even after discovering your true identity, I thought more of you.”
“Tell me what happened. I want to hear it all—from the moment you set up the society to tonight’s ball.”
Sinclair sighed and got up from his seat, wandering over to the drinks cabinet. “Whisky?” he asked over his shoulder as if they were old friends. “I could do with a drink.”
“Just get on with it.”
Sinclair pulled the stopper from the decanter with an audible pop. He poured himself a glass, drank it back in a single gulp, and then poured another. “What do you want me to say that you don’t already know?” he asked. “I told you everything just the other day.”
“Let’s begin with how the Lord’s Society came about.”
Sinclair wandered back to his chair, a nostalgic smile on his face. “We were all in some sort of trouble,” he said. “Jeffries was being blackmailed by your slattern mother, who threatened to go to the gossip pages if he didn’t pay up. I’d been having trouble with a business partner.
Pembry has always been Pembry—this is not the first time he’s been in trouble for gambling. One night, at the club, we decided we’d help each other out and make a little brotherhood of sorts. It built from there.”
Sebastian wanted to snarl and growl, but he knew he had to hear what Sinclair had to say. “And how did your little murder group become what it is today? A secret society for the debauched and unhinged?”
Sinclair looked up at him sharply. “Unhinged is a little harsh!” He grinned lasciviously. “Debauched is about right, though. I suppose it happened by accident. We were a group of like-minded gentlemen who enjoyed the same things, and each year, we seemed to get new men in our ranks. It grew from there.”
Sebastian clenched his teeth, wishing he had taken Sinclair up on his offer of whisky. He could smell the alcohol in the air, sense its invigorating properties.
“And you’ve all killed?”
Sinclair took a sip of his whisky and smirked. “You know all this. I killed your mother, Pembry killed my business partner, and so on. Since the beginning of the society, many little problems have been… how should I put it? Disposed of.”
“I don’t know how you can sit there and so coldly talk about murder,” Sebastian said. “I suppose you have killed so many people that human life seems worthless to you now.” The storm inside him roared louder, pushing against the barriers.
“I have only ever killed one person, Sebastian. No more. And silencing her was my task to prove my loyalty to the society. You know how it works. Stop pretending to be so naïve. You’ve seen it in the Lord’s Society, and I don’t doubt that you saw it in The Gentlemen, too.”
“You may have only pushed the knife into a single person, but how many other people have you ordered killed? Or arranged to be killed? Why, you even tried to sendmeafter someone!”
Sinclair sighed as if tired of trying to explain a complicated issue to a child who would never understand.
“Of course I did. It was your task to prove your loyalty, which, I must say, you have failed quite spectacularly. Where is this going, Sebastian? I am tired and would really like to retire for the night, so if you don’t mind …”
