“I hate waiting.” Sin shifted, his arse growing numb on the hard gig seat.
Sutton sighed. “It’s not an activity I particularly enjoy either. Especially as the newspaper’s office is next door to a charming-looking coffeehouse I’d much rather be sitting in.”
“I don’t think you can call an illicit weekly pamphlet a newspaper.” Liverpool suspected MacConnell of being the anonymous author of several columns in the Glasgow rag, Le Nouveau Monde. Columns rallying independence. Calling for rebellion. It would make sense. The boy didn’t have the ballocks to proclaim his alliance so openly.
Sutton grunted and tucked his head down to his chest, stretching his legs as best he could in this small contraption.
Sin examined his friend. He looked well, even with that damn beard regrown. Content like he never had before.
“Why are you here?” Sin asked.
Sutton gave him a look from the corner of his eye. “Because if I held the position in the coffeehouse and Summerset was in here with you, I don’t believe both of you would emerge from this gig alive. He only means to protect you, you know.”
Sin ignored that. “I meant why are you here in Scotland. I thought you’d given up the espionage business. Told Liverpool he could stuff it. A quiet life with Colleen out in the country. Wasn’t that what you said to me at your wedding?” And one they vastly deserved after the troubles at his club.
Sutton tugged his beard. “I have retired. For the most part. But when Summerset comes to me saying there’s a nasty business up in your neck of the woods, of course I’ll come. All of us will. You have damned amazing friends.”
Sin grunted. “Yes.”
“Even Summerset.”
Sin focused on the door to the paper’s office. The typesetter and editor were the only employees inside. “Are we certain the pamphlets are printed here? I’d hate to be sitting here with our thumbs up our arses for no good reason.”
“Sinclair.”
He forced his gaze to meet his friends. “Yes, I know. Even that dandied-up fool, Summerset.” The blow to his friend’s jaw hadn’t been nearly as satisfying as Sin had hoped. Partly because he’d pulled his power, and partly because the sneaky bounder knew how to roll with a punch.
Mostly because he knew Summerset’s interference was well meant. Summerset could be a cold, calculating devil when it came to the rest of the world, but with his friends…. Well, he was still an arsehole, but one who meant well. He’d lay down his life for each and every one of them and there was no one Sin trusted more to watch his back.
“Of course, if he doesn’t buy us some meat pies, I’ll bruise his other cheek.” Sutton slumped back into the seat. He tracked a boy who stopped in front of the offices only to tip a pebble out of his boot and move on.
Sin cracked each knuckle on his right hand. “We could just go in and ask for the information.”
Sutton dipped his chin. “This is supposed to be a reconnaissance mission only.”
“Hmph.” Maybe Sutton had the right end of it in retiring. This business used to be exciting. Now more often than not information was gathered at tea parties rather than at the end of a knife. What was the point of being so large if he didn’t get to smash something now and then?
“He’s leaving.” Sutton picked up the reins as their quarry hailed a hackney cab. He slapped the horse’s back, and they took off at a slow roll. “Do you think Summerset will be able to search the offices? It’s broad daylight.”
Sin twisted his lips. “He’ll have that typesetter out on some pretense in under two minutes. No one denies a request from the Earl of Summerset.” Equal parts charm and cunning, except when he was irritating his friends. “The real question is whether any incriminating evidence is kept there. It is supposed to be the offices of a lady’s journal. Evidence of printing a pro-independence rag won’t just be lying around.”
The cab let the editor off at the corner of two busy streets. Sutton fought to find a space along the sidewalk to pull the gig into. “Have I mentioned how much I dislike crowds?”
“Many times.” Their target pulled open a door for a tavern, holding it for an elderly gentleman to leave, then strolled inside. Sin looked at Sutton. “Feel like a spot to eat?”
“Always.” He set the brake. Both men jumped down and strode to the tavern. The scents of ham and boiled cabbage greeted them as they made their way inside and found a table.
The editor tucked a napkin into the top of his collar as he gave his order to a server. Their quarry threw his head back and laughed at something the man said before the server moved on. A frequent customer it seemed.
“It doesn’t look like he’s waiting for company,” Sutton said in a low voice.
“No.” Sin straightened his cravat. “I think now would be the perfect time for a conversation with him.”
“Reconnaissance, remember? See who he associates with, where he goes, that sort of thing.”
“That will take entirely too long.” And more patience than Sin was born with.
Sighing, Sutton nodded. “You’re right. I don’t want to be away from home any longer than I need to be.” He waved the server over.
“You’d better order me some food, too.” Sin glowered at his friend as he stood. “And don’t eat it before I return.”
His friend shooed him away.
Sin stomped to the other table and pulled out the chair across from the editor. “You’re Rory Fairbairn, editor of the lady’s journal, Women’s World.” He didn’t phrase it as a question. Best to make your target assume you knew as much as possible.
“Aye.” The man sat back and rubbed a circle on his paunch. “And ye’d be?”
“The Marquess of Dunkeld,” he said, and waited for (the inevitable disbelief. Not only had most newspaper editors never met a marquess, Sin knew he wasn’t what most people pictured when they thought of the peerage.
Fairbairn didn’t disappoint. His jaw dropped as his eyes zig-zagged over Sin’s bulky form and rumpled clothes. “Milord!” The man half-stood, his hip knocking into the table, and gave an awkward bow. “What can I do for ye? How do ye know who I am? Why would ye—”
Sin held up his hand. “Perhaps if I tell you what I want, our conversation will progress more quickly.”
The server returned, placing a plate of haggis in front of Fairbairn, and Sin’s stomach grumbled. He shot a glance at Sutton, who held a meat pie in each hand. He took a bite from one and raised the other in greeting, a string of cheese sliding into his beard.
“Do you want something, milord?” Fairbairn and the waiter looked at him expectantly.
“No, thank you, I’ve already eaten.” He nodded at the server, who turned and scurried back to the kitchen. “Now, I come to you with a proposition.”
Fairbairn held his fork, but made no move toward his meal. “For me? What business could a marquess have with the likes o’ me?”
Crossing one leg over the other, Sin leaned back in his chair and tugged at the bottom/hem of his waistcoat. “MacConnell told me I should speak with you about investing in your paper.”
“Women’s World?” He stabbed at his haggis. “That’s owned by Mr. Campbell. You’ll have to speak with him.”
“Not that paper.” Sin leaned forward, into the other man’s space. “Your other pamphlet. The one you print after-hours. MacConnell is so proud to write for it.”
Fairbairn’s ruddy face flushed a shade darker. “Bloody, pompous writers,” he muttered. “Cannae stand not having a byline.” He shot Sin an accusatory glare. “He wasnae supposed to tell anybody.”
Sin shrugged. “That’s not my problem.” God, espionage was easy when people were idiots. The man was so easily manipulated Sin almost felt bad. But he now had confirmation of the identity of two of the principals.
Fairbairn pushed his food around on his plate. “Why would a toff like ye want to be supporting the cause. The union has been verra good for your family.”
Sin slowly eased straight. “I had hoped that as a member of the House of Lords I would have been able to work within the system to help our country Alas, it now seems impossible that diplomacy will accomplish that end.” He planted his index finger on the table. “I am, and have always been, a patriot first.” He brushed a bit of dust from his sleeve. “Also, due to the changing political climate, I think the investment could be profitable.”
Fairbairn huffed. “How quickly the ideals of freedom turn to money.”
“Does it matter if I make a little profit while Scotland works its way to independence?”
Fairbairn dropped his gaze under the heat of Sin’s. “Nae.” He pushed his plate away. “But it isn’t money we need. It doesnae cost much to run a weekly pamphlet. It’s nerve. We’ve become complacent under English rule. Soft. If ye could rally the other Scottish peers to the cause, that would be a worthy contribution.”
“People aren’t so soft now,” Sin said in a low voice. “Riots in the streets, assassination attempts. The populace is showing their teeth.”
Fairbairn gripped the back of his neck. “Those incidents were awful. That’s nae what the movement is about.”
“No?” Idly, Sin scratched at a mark on the table. “Rebellion is rarely accomplished using peaceful means.”
“I’m nae naïve. I know there might have to be some battles.” Fairbairn pressed his palms to the table and sat up straight. “But shooting at someone on the street is the act o’ a coward. Starting fights that can get innocent women and bairns hurt is no better. There has to be a better way.”
Sin realized he was gaping and snapped his mouth shut. That hadn’t been the attitude he’d been expecting. The man’s sincerity almost made Sin want to invest in earnest.
But the editor was but one man. Others in the movement might feel differently about tactics. “Since your pamphlet doesn’t need investors, can you think of anyone else connected to the cause who might? I want to help my country in any way I can.”
Fairbairn rubbed his cheeks, and blew out a long breath. “Nae. Your MacConnell brings me columns to print, some written by him, some by his friends. But he doesnae tell me names, to protect those involved.” He snorted. “At least, he didnae use to.”
Sin stood. He removed a card from his inside pocket and tossed it on the table. “If you need anything, show this and you’ll be allowed into any of my homes.” He hoped Fairbairn didn’t get caught up in any arrests. He seemed like a decent man, one who loved Scotland and only wanted what was best for it. Who was to say that Sin’s vision for his country was any better than Fairbairn’s?
With a final nod, he turned on his heel and strode from the tavern. He climbed into the gig knowing Sutton would follow.
The conveyance creaked as Sutton climbed aboard, licking his fingers.
Sin glowered at him. “You couldn’t save me one?”
“You could have eaten with Fairbairn.” Sutton picked up the reins and urged the horse into motion. “What did he say?”
Slouching back onto the seat, Sin watched Glasgow roll by. The tall obelisk of Nelson’s monument turned into view. “He confirmed MacConnell is involved, but says he doesn’t know any other names. He also doesn’t know anything about the populace being stirred up, at least not more so than his pamphlet would induce. That infraction rests squarely on MacConnell’s shoulders, I’ll wager.”
“You want him to be responsible.”
Sin didn’t deny that.
“The rioting could still be happening naturally, with no direction behind it.” Sutton pushed his hat back on the crown of his head. “Perhaps we’re chasing ghosts.”
“No.” Instinct told Sin otherwise. The attacks were too directed. Too purposeful. “MacConnell could be another unwitting lackwit,” Sin conceded.
They reached an intersection. “Where to now?” Sutton asked.
Pulling out his pocket watch, Sin pointed left. “To the university. Winnifred should be finished speaking with her professor soon.” She had a landau at her disposal, but Sin wanted to see her. At Kenmore, he knew with a 40,000 square foot accuracy where she was. He felt unsettled with her roaming all of Glasgow without him by her side.
“If instigators are being used, someone has to pay them.” Sutton rubbed his jaw.
“And if this comes to civil war, someone has to arm them,” Sin finished grimly. Operations like this took money.
The gig turned on High Street and pulled even with the university’s clocktower. Sin hopped down. The landau he’d hired for Winnifred idled across the street. “If you’d like to return to our apartments, I’ll drive back with my wife.”
Sutton set the brake and climbed down. “I’ll wait. Besides, last time I was here there was a lovely little pastrycook shop just around the corner. I might pop in to see what sort of tarts they have today.”
“You just ate!” Sin’s stomach grumbled. “And you ate my meat pie, too, you gluttonous bastard.”
Sutton stretched his back cracking. “Now, now, be nice or I want give you your surprise.”
Sin’s gaze homed in on the tall figure emerging from the pavilion. Winnifred’s sandy brown hair and shapely form clad in a lavender gown made her easy to distinguish among the black-robed students.
He lifted a hand to grab her attention. “What surprise would that be?”
The smile that spread across his wife’s face as she moved toward him made it easy to ignore the arsehole who knocked into his side.
“The surprise is that I didn’t order two meat pies. I ordered three.” He reached into his inner pocket. “But if you’re going to be a right pain in the arse, I’m not inclined to share.”
Heated voices rose behind them, and an elbow stabbed into Sin’s back. He looked over his shoulder and growled. Bloody students. All wandering about with their heads down reading some leaflet, not looking where they were going.
“There he is!” someone shouted. The crowd turned like a flock of birds in flight, all focused on the man in professor’s gown who strolled a couple steps behind Winnifred.
“Now what?” Sin muttered. He threaded his way through the crowd toward his wife.
“Oy!” Sutton called. He pulled a paper-wrapped object from his coat. “Don’t you want—” A projectile smashed into the pie, meat and cheese exploding out onto his shirt and cravat. “What the …”
The rest of Sutton’s words were drowned out by the crowd’s dull roar. It surged forward across the lawn.
Toward Winnifred.
The professor’s face went slack with shock. A student shoved a pamphlet at him, screaming in his face.
Sin couldn’t distinguish the words, but he saw the rage. The inchoate violence that took hold of the student’s face. The face of everyone in the crowd. The mob stripped away their individuality, their ability to reason.
Another stone was thrown, striking the professor in the stomach. The man clutched his satchel to his chest and spun, his eyes going wide. He darted through a hole in the crowd, knocking into Winnifred.
Winnifred stumbled forward, throwing her hands out as another body hit hers, and disappeared from Sin’s sight.
His heart clogged his throat. His gaze never moving from the spot she disappeared, Sin powered his way through the mob, tossing students aside as they got in his way. “Winnifred!” Something stung his ear. “Winnifred!”
The professor’s scream was just background noise to Sin. Whatever the man had done to earn the wroth of Glasgow’s finest, Sin didn’t know. Didn’t care. Only his wife mattered.
He reached the spot where she’d disappeared and searched the ground. Two students tussled, getting in his way, and he grabbed them by the back of the neck and tossed them aside. Where the hell was she? She’d fallen right—
“Sin!”
He jerked his head to the left. There, rising from the ground, Summerset stood, Winnifred in his arms.
She had her arms wrapped around his friend’s neck, her face buried in his chest, and rage flooded his veins at the sight of his sensible, stoic wife in fear.
He shouldered his way to his wife and friend. Placing his fingertips under her jaw, he turned her head to face him. Relief weakened his knees when her sky-blue eyes met his. She looked a bit rattled, but her gaze was steady and she appeared unharmed. He took her from Summerset’s arms and clutched her to him, burying his face in her hair.
Safe.
Someone pushed into his back, and Summerset grabbed his arm to steady him.
For now.
He looked at his friend. “We have to get out of this.”
Summerset clenched his jaw and nodded. “Where’s Sutton?” he shouted.
Sin shook his head.
Summerset side-stepped another pair of fighting students, sweeping the leg of one of the boys and grabbing the back of the shoulders of the other, yanking him backwards to the ground. The boys blinked up at them, stunned, and the earl gave a satisfied nod. “Come on.” He turned and threaded his way through the riot.
A flash of wild hair, a dark beard. Sin swung his head to his right. He knocked Summerset’s shoulder. “Over there. Trying to protect the professor.”
Sutton threw another punch, curled his back to toss the arsehole jumping on it over his shoulder.
Summerset changed course. “Get her out of here,” he called over his shoulder. “I’ll help Sutton.”
Sin hesitated. He didn’t like leaving a fight. didn’t want to abandon his friends when the odds were about fifty to two.
A rock struck Winnifred’s leg, and she bit back a cry.
Sin growled, his eyes searching for the assailant even as his feet carried him and his wife out of the storm and into the sheltered nook of a nearby bookstore.
“Are you all right?” He hefted her higher in his arms. “Tell me you’re unharmed.”
Winnifred dug her hand into his cravat, her fingertips brushing over his racing heart. “My injuries are all minor. I turned my ankle and fell. There were people everywhere, stepping on me. I tried to crawl away ….” She shuddered.
Sin turned, pressing her closer into the corner, trying to put as much as himself as he could between her and the violence.
She took a deep breath. “Then your friend was there. Pulling me away from getting trampled upon.” The smile she gave him was shaky, but genuine. “He has more than made up for his previous rudeness.”
She was safe. His pulse slowed. Safe and in his arms. Pressing his lips to her temple, he inhaled her scents of oranges and woman. “If anything had happened to you ….” His heart stuttered at the thought. If anything had happened to her, he wouldn’t survive it. Somehow, in their short marriage, his life had become inextricably linked to hers.
He pressed his forehead to hers, his chest aching. “I love you, Winnifred.”
Her body went stiff, and Sin pulled back, frowning.
A curtain fell across her eyes, another damn wall when he’d thought he’d knocked them all down.
Nausea swirled in his stomach. “Winnie?” Blood pounded in his ears and he told himself to hold his tongue. That no good would come from this. But he needed to know. “Don’t you love me?”
***
Her chest went tight. Why did Sin have to spoil a relationship that had been running so smoothly? She knew he was a passionate man, but she’d thought their feelings were similar when it came to such fancies as love.
She stared at the stick pin in his cravat. It was nothing fancy, no flashing jewels like in his friend, Summerset’s, only a plain silver pin. Elemental and simple, just like her husband. She believed the truth in his words, because he never tried to hide behind artifice or pride, not with her. The yearning in his voice caused something within her to ache.
She couldn’t hurt this man who’d given her so much. She didn’t know how to explain that love was beyond her. Running her finger over the pin, she bit her lip. She’d never felt diminished by her lack of womanly feeling. Until now. She would give anything to be normal. To be the wife her husband deserved.
She licked her lips and tried to force a smile across her face.
By the cloud of pain that darkened his eyes, she knew she was unsuccessful.
“Sin, I—”
“Don’t.” His voice was a hoarse rasp. “Don’t say something you don’t feel.”
The hollowness in his eyes slayed her. She dropped her forehead to his chest.
“I care for you greatly.” Why had he done this? Why would he ruin the balance of their marriage by developing such an irrational emotion?
He barked out a harsh laugh. “Well, at least that’s something.”
“Isn’t it enough that we enjoy a satisfying physical relationship and have a good friendship?” She clenched his lapel. “I am most content.” Why wasn’t he?
“I don’t want you content.” He shook her in his arms. “I want you as mad as I am.”
She had no response to that so they fell silent. She would rather have been back in the riot than be faced with his crushing disappointment. “I believe the crowd is dispersing. You can set/put me down now.”
He turned, but kept her in his arms. They waited in their nook until Sutton and Summerset found them.
The baron’s hair was sticking on end, his shirt torn, his lip bloody.
The earl flicked a speck of dirt from his otherwise pristine tan velvet tailcoat. Aside from the bruise Sin had left on him days before, Summerset appeared completely unharmed. “Nasty business.” He pulled a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket. “This is what stirred them up. Some rubbish about that professor teaching favorable about the history of England.” He jerked his head back toward the school. “We left him barricaded in his office where he’ll remain until the mob disperses.”
“He was a history professor?” Winnifred chewed the inside of her cheek. “Just teaching about a subject was enough to rouse this amount of anger?” She gazed at the square. One man lay propped on an elbow, a friend holding a handkerchief to his bloody brow. The ground was littered with papers and torn gowns. An eerie silence lay heavily in the riot’s wake.
“He wasn’t teaching it the correct way, apparently.” Sutton fingered a tooth, gently testing its hold. “Too favorably towards England according to one of the students.”
“This is what happens when mobs gather.” Her husband’s nostrils flared. “There is no reason to the violence. Regardless of intent, innocent people get hurt.” He glared down at her. “This is what your friend has wrought, and I fear he intends to do much worse.”
He turned to Summerset. “Call for my carriage, would you? I’m taking Winnifred back to our apartments.”
The blond man nodded and turned.
Sin called him back. “And Summerset ….” He dug his fingers into her waist. “Thank you. For saving my wife. However did you get here? We thought we’d left you at the paper’s office.”
“You did. But before I could encourage the typesetter to leave the office so I could search it, he tore out of there like the devil was after him.” Summerset raised his hands, palm up. “I was curious and followed. He came directly here, checking his watch every five minutes as though there was someone he didn’t want to miss.”
“Or something.”
A shiver coursed through her at Sin’s dark tone. Why would men wish to wreak such mayhem? And how was it even accomplished? Printing and distributing the leaflets was easy enough, but inciting people to pick up stones ….
Her stomach cramped. All the gratification of her meeting with Mr. Holme vanished. His ideas on soil enrichment had inspired new ones of her own. Ideas that now seemed small and unimportant.
She was finally just understanding how terribly wrong the situation was in her new home.
Both in Scotland, and with her husband.
She peeked at his square jaw as he strode to the waiting landau.
Could their relationship ever return to normal after his declaration?
He settled her inside and climbed in after her.
Sutton shut the door and cocked his elbow on top of it. “We’ll see you back at the house.” He jerked his chin at Winnifred. “Do you require a doctor?”
“No,” she said the same time Sin said, “yes.”
He grumbled and slouched back on the seat, crossing his arms.
The carriage rocked into motion, and Sutton stepped back with a wave. They turned off High Street, the silence growing until she could no longer stand it. She hated leaving things unsettled. She needed structure, a plan moving forward, even in her relationships. Especially there. “Where do we go from here?”
He chose to ignore her meaning. “You return to Kenmore. It’s not safe here.” He cracked his neck. “I’m staying until I discover who is behind this.”
Which could take a very long time. Winnifred turned on her hip, away from her husband. Rebellion could be a convenient thing. It didn’t escape her attention that while Sin investigated, he also was glad to use the time to avoid her company, as well.
A separation of sorts. One that could only bode ill for their future.