Chapter 11
Sinclair shifted a glass of water on his desk a fraction to the left. ‘I would be careful about ’oo you are accusing of a crime, Lady Burrows.’
God only knew what Helena was hearing. Hopefully, something that would help them locate Hubert’s murderer.
Helena took a step closer to the desk. ‘You sent a note reminding the Marquess of Kentmore that he was overdue in paying his debt. What was the phrase you used… “breaking a deal with the Devil carries profound consequences”, I believe. You’ve made it quite clear that you don’t take kindly to your orders being ignored.
So, I wonder, what kind of consequences did you have in mind for Hubert?
’ She put both hands flat on his desk, leaning closer in a show of courage that had Cynthia both worried and impressed.
‘Excommunication from your club? A strongly worded reprimand? Or perhaps you wanted to send a message to the other wealthy lords in your pocket. Defy the terrifying Damien Sinclair and you’ll end up just like the Marquess of Kentmore.
Murdered. Death is arguably the most profound consequence of all, wouldn’t you say… Devil of Seven Dials?’
Sinclair tucked a hand in his pocket, a seemingly disarming gesture.
Cynthia wondered what weapon he might keep hidden there.
The same blade used to kill her husband, perhaps?
‘Miss Blair.’ He paused, contemplating her name like a puzzle.
‘There’s a superintendent at Scotland Yard ’as nieces with the name of Blair.
Lachlan MacDougal. A Scottish bastard with an ’ead thicker than two planks. ’eard of him?’
Helena’s jaw jumped.
Alarm skittered over Cynthia’s skin like a million spiders scuttling to and fro. There wasn’t a chance in Hades that Helena wouldn’t rise to her uncle’s defence. And by doing so, play right into the Devil’s hand. Because he was looking for a weakness. And love made everyone weak.
Sinclair kept speaking in his low, rough growl.
‘The man ’as a real vendetta against me.
’auled me down to Newgate without an ’int of evidence regarding this exact case.
’ A muscle in his cheek ticked as he turned to Cynthia.
‘But you must know that already, being the widow. Tell me, did you ’ear of MacDougal’s failure and decide to try your ’and at investigating?
’ He tipped his chin towards Helena. ‘Dragged along one of ’is nieces for good measure?
Rumour ’as it they sometimes help ’im on his cases.
Must be embarrassing for the great Superintendent Lachlan MacDougal to admit ’e needs assistance.
And from girls barely out of the schoolroom at that. ’
Cynthia’s stomach clenched as his cold laughter echoed in the room. Everything in her wanted to attack, but he was counting on that. Admitting anything to this man was dangerous at best, deadly at worst.
‘Asking for help from skilled and intelligent individuals – regardless of their sex – is hardly a mark of weakness.’ A ring of moisture framed Helena’s hand. Cynthia wondered if it would leave a stain on the lacquered finish. Perversely, she hoped it did.
‘It’s dangerous to play games with violent men. Just ask the Superintendent. Many a man’s experienced ’is particular interrogation skills. Make no mistake, a job title doesn’t make a man any less of a killer.’ His tongue flicked to the corner of his lip where Cynthia noticed a healing cut.
Did Superintendent MacDougal put that there?
She couldn’t imagine the charming friend of her brother’s acting so violently, but men wore many faces.
‘We have no intention of offering help to you, Mr Sinclair. Whatever methods the Superintendent used to question you pale in comparison to the violence you have committed.’ Helena’s low voice cut through the tension like a sharpened blade.
‘’ow is business at your apothecary shop on Savile Row, Miss Blair?’ The threat emanating from his gravelled tone was unmistakable.
Fear tightened Cynthia’s spine as she realised exactly how dire their circumstances were, trapped in Sinclair’s office with no one to help them should things turn ugly.
Sinclair’s voice was warning smoke threading through a building before it burst into an inferno.
‘It’s frightening ’ow susceptible apothecary shops are to fire.
So many flammable products all sitting next to each other in neat little rows of soaps and lotions.
’ave a care, Miss Blair. It would be a shame to ’ear of any ’arm coming to your shop or the women working there. ’
Helena visibly paled and took a step backwards.
Fear morphed into something harder within Cynthia. Something hotter and fiercely protective. Slamming her hand onto the desk between them, she reclaimed his attention. ‘Do not threaten her.’
She is mine.
The thought came unbidden and she snapped her mouth shut before it could escape. Breathing through her nose, she forced herself to calm. Helena did not belong to her. The enigmatic woman would never belong to anyone but herself. But Cynthia would be damned if she let this bastard hurt her.
‘Miss Blair is here at my behest. Any issue you have with my husband, the investigation into his murder, or the debt he owes will be taken up with me alone. Do you understand?’
He would not touch Helena.
This was her mess. Helena would not be hurt because of whatever nightmare Hubert had dragged Cynthia into with his unconscionable actions.
Sinclair picked up a letter opener that sat on his left and examined it closely.
The edge was sharp as it glinted in the light, as dangerous as any knife.
His gaze flicked up. ‘If you care so greatly for Miss Blair’s safety, you should never ’ave brought her into my kingdom.
I will threaten ’omever I like.’ He blinked, tapping the letter opener against a wide palm.
‘I didn’t kill your ’usband, though it was no less than ’e deserved. ’
The glass of water tipped, spilling over the papers in front of him.
‘Fucking ’ell!’ He snatched the parchment and leapt to his feet before the liquid dripped off the desk and onto his lap.
Ink blurred across the pages he shook, turning neat rows of numbers into indecipherable blotches.
His low curses were vicious, but Cynthia couldn’t stop the surge of pleasure as she glanced at Helena.
Her waterwitch didn’t take kindly to Sinclair’s bullying. Neither did she.
‘Smith, a towel,’ he growled to the man who had escorted them through the gaming hell and upstairs. The large gentleman moved with surprising athleticism as he ducked out of the office.
Straightening to his full height, Sinclair towered over both women and carefully put the papers down on a dry patch of desk. ‘As I was saying. I didn’t kill your ’usband.’
‘Why should I believe you? You have the perfect motive. Hubert owed you money and couldn’t pay.’ Cynthia put her hand on her hip and crimped her lips in what she hoped was a look dripping of disdain.
Sinclair rolled his eyes. ‘If I killed everyone ’oo fell behind in their payments, London’s ruling class would be culled, as would me coffers.
A wise businessman doesn’t eliminate an avenue of income without due cause.
And your ’usband was a very lucrative avenue of income.
Between ’is gambling debts, the doxies ’e demanded, and the gin ’e drank, I was making a small fortune every time ’e walked through my doors.
Only a fool would kill a cash cow like ’ubert Burrows. ’
Cynthia narrowed her eyes. ‘Bastard! You should have cut him off.’
Sinclair shrugged. ‘You should ’ave kept better tabs on ’im.’
The nerve of this man!
A vase in the corner started to quiver. Cynthia sent Helena a warning glance. One spilled glass was an accident, but if every vessel holding water in his office simultaneously tipped, that was a problem. Cynthia had enough problems.
‘Hubert didn’t exactly listen to my opinions about his behaviour.’
‘Perhaps ’e should ’ave. Maybe then ’e wouldn’t be brown bread and ’is debt wouldn’t belong to you.’ The man blended compliments and threats like gin and tonic. The incongruence of his perfectly tailored suit and cockney slang was another wrinkle in his persona.
A shiver skated down her spine as his gaze held hers. The moment stretched.
He broke the tension with a nonchalant shrug. ‘Besides, even if ’is debts were a motive, I’m ’ardly the only man with reasons to kill your ’usband.’
Helena’s head tipped to the side. It was a minuscule movement, but Cynthia noted it and wondered. Had she heard something useful?
‘Who else wanted Hubert dead?’
He tsked, shaking his head slowly. ‘A man is only as powerful as ’is secrets.’
Exhaling through her nose, Cynthia stepped back.
‘If you have no information on Hubert’s killer, then the only business that remains between us is settling his debt.
As you pointed out, that responsibility falls to me.
If you inform me of the sum, I will make arrangements.
’ She had no idea what kind of arrangements she could make.
Perhaps he would take some of her jewellery as a stopgap.
She could sell the carriage. Furniture. Paintings.
But the properties were entailed and her monthly income was generous, but not nearly large enough to accommodate the kind of payments she worried he would expect.
Sinclair watched her like a jungle cat, determining how long he wanted to play with his prey.
She felt sweat prickle at her armpits. It was worse than being brought in front of the headmistress at her finishing school the one night she sneaked out of her room with a friend to raid the kitchen larder.
Finally, he opened his mouth and spoke an outrageous sum.
Cynthia burst into laughter before she could stop herself. ‘Don’t be absurd. Hubert would never have been so reckless.’ She looked to Helena. If Sinclair was telling the truth, the ledgers she found in Hubert’s safe must only be the beginning of the debts he owed.
Helena’s sharp nod confirmed her fears. Sinclair merely smiled.
Oh. Dear. God.
Of course he had been so reckless.
It was an impossible amount to repay. Even if she retained access to all of Hubert’s wealth – which she most certainly did not – she couldn’t have fulfilled such a debt.
Sinclair said Hubert was a cash cow, but he was wrong.
He was a selfish, lying pig. Hubert had ruined them and then conveniently gotten himself murdered, leaving her to clean up his mess.
Bastard! It’s a good thing you’re dead, or I would kill you.
‘I told you. The man’s appetites for gambling and ’ores were insatiable. Almost impressive the way ’e gorged ’imself on pleasure.’
Helena must have sensed her distress because she stepped in front of her. ‘Cynthia is right. You should have cut him off. Only a shoddy businessman makes a deal with someone who can’t hold up their end of the bargain. What kind of gentleman are you, Sinclair?’
‘I’m no gentleman.’ He spat the words like bitter grapes.
‘I’d rather soak in piss than be lumped in with the lords ’oo come to my club.
Pampered, spoiled fools ’oo’ve never ’ad to fight for anything.
I didn’t stop ’ubert Burrows because ’e made it easy for me to own ’im.
And I like owning powerful men.’ Sinclair walked around his desk, forcing Cynthia and Helena to give ground.
He leaned against the edge of it and crossed thick arms over an equally well-muscled chest as something dangerous glinted in his eyes.
‘But I ’ave an alternative means to repay ’is debt, Lady Burrows. If you’re interested.’
Her stomach clenched as she imagined a rabbit’s might when looking at the sharp smile of a fox.
Helena caught Cynthia’s gaze, eyes wide with shock. Whatever he was thinking must be dreadful to cause such a reaction. If only she shared Helena’s gift and could read his mind. Or peek into Helena’s thoughts, for that matter. Instead, she had to settle for asking.
‘What do you suggest?’ No matter how awful his deal might be, she would be forced to take it or be under his control.
A devil’s bargain, indeed. Just as his club indicated.
The bastard had stacked the deck. With Hubert dead, he would own Cynthia instead.
One more man dictating her choices. It was enough to make her contemplate drastic measures.
‘I told you I collect secrets. Information is far more lucrative than sterling in certain circumstances.’
Cynthia tried to puzzle out what secrets she knew that could possibly equate to the debt her husband owed. ‘I don’t think any information I have would be of use to you.’ It probably wasn’t the best strategy to tell him she had nothing of worth to barter, but he would find out sooner or later.
Sinclair’s slow smile was chilling. ‘You’ve no idea what you ’ave, Lady Burrows. But I don’t want information from you.’
‘You just said information is more valuable than sterling.’ She had endured about enough from this man.
What would he do if she spun on her heel and simply walked away?
Probably have his burly butler chase after her.
Then Helena would blast the man with her witchy magic, and all manner of hell would break loose.
She couldn’t risk exposing Helena’s gifts to Sinclair.
He wouldn’t waste a moment in exploiting her vulnerability and destroying them both.
‘I want pictures. Of you. And ’er.’ He flicked his gaze to Helena.
Cynthia blinked. What value would portraits have to a man like Sinclair?
Photographs were all the rage in London, with studios cropping up on every corner.
It was a crackerjack pastime for the beau monde, but equally popular with working-class men and women who could now pay for carte de visite portraits to be taken of them and displayed proudly in their homes.
But what the devil would Sinclair do with portraits of Cynthia and Helena?
Unless he planned for them to be scandalous.
Oh my.
No wonder Helena was horrified.