Sin paused in the doorway to the dressing room, his breath hitching. Winnifred’s maid was putting the finishing touches on her hair, inserting small, unopened rose buds into the curls styled about her face. The dress she wore exposed a long expanse of neck and the upper edges of her shoulder blades.
Winnifred caught his gaze in the mirror and smiled, her face lighting up.
A vise wrapped around his chest. They could have a very contented marriage, if he accepted it as it was. He and Winnifred enjoyed each other’s company, respected each other, and rutted like the sheets were on fire. What more could he ask for?
Love.
He needed her to love him, like a fish needed water. Her friendship wasn’t enough, not for him. But that was a battle he didn’t know how to fight. He could control much in life, but not another’s emotions.
She thanked her maid and dismissed the girl, leaving them alone. “You look very fine in your evening dress, but I must admit to missing the kilt. You have very handsome knees.”
A snort of laughter burst past his lips. He went to stand behind her, fingering a lone curl that had been left to dangle enticingly against her shoulder. “That is a compliment I’ve never heard before, and don’t think I need hear again.” Needing to touch her, he bent and pressed his mouth against the curve of her neck. “Besides, all the handsomeness is on your part.”
She stood and side-stepped around her chair. Smoothing the end of his cravat under his waistcoat, she quirked an eyebrow. “Who gave you the black eye?”
He patted the raised skin. It had been such a minor injury he scarce remembered. “No one gave it to me,” he said. “I earned it.”
She threw her head back and laughed. It wasn’t the soft tinkles or melodic titters of so many other women, but a full-throated bark, as honest and straightforward as Winnifred.
And he sank a little deeper into the mire of an unreturned love.
Wiping her eyes, she turned to her dressing table and picked up a necklace. “Would you help me with this?” She turned, exposing the back of her neck to him, and held the ruby pendant over her shoulder.
Sin took it and stepped close. He draped the stone over her bosom. The scent rising off her skin muddled his senses. The backs of his fingers brushed the velvety skin of her nape, and his palms went damp.
“Your mother has informed me of all that is expected of a marchioness at this ball, but I offer no guarantees I’ll remember the proper order of whom I should dance with or even the dances themselves.” She clasped the pendant. “I do hope I don’t embarrass you too badly.”
“You don’t have to worry about that as you won’t be dancing with anyone but me.” He clasped her shoulders. “To hell with custom.”
She turned. “Every dance with you? That hardly seems practicable.”
“Well, perhaps one or two with our guests.” Why had he ever thought a ball was a good idea? He tugged at the top of her bodice, urging it to cover another inch of skin. “Have you none of those lacey things to go with this?”
She slapped his hand away. “This is a modest gown and doesn’t need a fichu. Besides, we both know this ball serves another purpose. This is the last day our guests will all be under our roof. I fear this is our last chance to uncover any information about the rebels.” She looked down at her bosom. “Perhaps I should change into a lower cut gown to encourage the men to speak.”
That wasn’t happening. He gave her bodice another tug to no effect. Sin pulled Summerset’s letter from his inside pocket. “I received this from Summerset. He and Sutton uncovered a connection between the Lady Abercairn and Lucien Bonaparte. Apparently, they became acquainted when he was at Worcestershire, and he has since deposited a great deal of money into the lady’s accounts.” Sin blew out a breath. “Abercairn isn’t even fighting for true Scottish independence. He’s a patsy for the French. This Bonaparte loves to sow dissent as much as his brother, might even be under the direction of Napoleon. What I don’t know is if Lord Abercairn is a true believer who would take help from whatever quarter it arises, or if he is only in it for the money.”
Winnifred unfolded the letter, her gaze darting across the page. “This truly is treason.”
“It was always treason.”
“But—”
“I know.” Sin raked a hand through his hair and stalked from one end of the room to the other. “This brings it to a whole other level. Not only the intended attack on the mint in Edinburgh, but the collusion with France.”
Winnifred pursed her mouth. “France and Scotland have been allies in the past.”
“It is different now. Too many Scotsmen have died in the fields of that country during the war.” Sin clenched his fist. He’d known many men, boys really, both Scottish and English who’d spent their blood fighting Napoleon. Too many mothers and wives who would never see their loved ones again. He fought against the rising rage that threatened to swallow him. Hanging was too good for Abercairn.
Sin locked eyes with his wife. “It’s different now,” he said quietly.
She refolded the letter and handed it to him. “Are you certain it is Lord Abercairn that you’re after? The money did go into his wife’s account.”
Sin paused. “You think she is the instigator of this madness?” He hadn’t considered that, and he should have. He had personal experience with just how clever women could be.
Winnifred shrugged. “Or it is a joint affair. All I know is the countess doesn’t seem the type of woman to be either unaware of her husband’s activities, or be acquiescent in something she didn’t approve of.”
The faints strains of music drifted up to them from the side lawn. The ballroom opened up onto the lawn, and Sin knew that even though the double doors were open, Scottish society would remain safely in the ballroom and his tenants would stay out on the lawn. Sin knew where he’d rather be, but he obviously wasn’t meant to get what he wanted. His shoulders sagged. “I suppose we should be getting down there.” He should just drag the traitor and his wife down to his dungeon and force the truth from them. Instead he had to smile and nod and play the host until he could find himself alone with Abercairn.
He cocked his elbow toward his wife. “Shall we get this over with?”
Slipping her hand into the crook of his arm, Winnifred nodded. “We shall. And I daresay our concerns over the evening are overrated. Music, food, and dance. Truly, how bad could it be?”
***
Winnifred cursed her words. How bad could it be? Had she been trying to taunt the fates? She wasn’t one to believe in superstition, but truly, even she knew better than to say something so ill-advised.
She stumbled with a grimace. “I’m most sorry,” she said to her dance partner.
Dr. Masson winced before cupping her elbow and lead her down the line with a small limp. “Are you all right, Lady Dunkeld? You seem most distracted this evening.”
Winnifred forced her smile even wider, her cheeks aching. “Quite well.” The lady to her left began an intricate skipping step around her partner, and Winnifred hurried to catch up. “I must confess that dancing isn’t my forte.” If only Sin had been her partner. They would have laughed when she trod on his feet. Sin would hold her closer than proper until nothing mattered but the animal heat between their bodies.
But the doctor had asked her for her hand in the reel and she couldn’t say no. Not to him. Such a refusal at a ball could only appear perverse.
Dr. Masson glanced at her from the corner of his eye, and Winnifred’s stomach tilted sideways. She’d thought she’d behaved with all propriety at the house party, but the doctor’s looks were increasing curious. She knew Lady Abercairn was whispering sly innuendos in his ear with her forked tongue.
The last strands of the song faded, and she curtsied to Dr. Masson. She was in no danger; rationally she knew this. She was a married woman, under Sin’s protection, and it didn’t matter how many physicians thought her mad.
But ever since her mother had been dragged away, that small ball of fear deep within her breast eschewed rationality.
Lord Brandon approached and bowed. Winnifred swallowed. Was it a conspiracy in this family? Would every male member demand a dance in order to examine her? “Lady Dunkeld,” he said. “If this waltz isn’t previously spoken for—”
“It is.” A lavender gloved-hand took hers. “The marchioness has promised me this dance. Isn’t that right?” Lord Summerset asked, one of his eyebrows raised in a mocking fashion as he faced her.
“Lord Summerset, I did not know you had arrived.” She blinked. Not only did the earl’s gloves match his silk waistcoat, but his cream cravat was dotted with what appeared to be miniature crops of the same color. She hadn’t realized he was such an avid horseman. His jacket and pantaloons were cut from the same satin fabric, a pale primrose. He looked as bright and showy as a peacock. She ran her gaze up and down his outfit several times before remembering her manners. “Welcome back to Kenmore.”
“I’ve only just arrived.” The earl clicked his heels together and bowed, kissing the back of her hand. “Your husband is settling Sutton into his room, but I wanted to join the festivities immediately. Shall we?” And without waiting for her answer, he tugged her back onto the dance floor.
Winnifred stared at the swirling couples about her. “As I told Dr. Masson, dancing is not one of my accomplishments.”
“Nonsense.” Summerset wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her in closer than was decent. Clasping her right hand, he glided to the music, his feet in perfect harmony with the rhythm of the music.
With their joined hands, he chucked her chin, drawing her gaze from her feet. “Follow where I lead. You need do nothing more for a successful dance.”
The muscles in her back went rigid, and she forced another inch of space between their bodies. “You do think highly of yourself, don’t you, my lord?” She had hoped after Glasgow that the man might be a bit less insufferable. Either he still didn’t trust her or else insolence was his natural state. “Even being good friends with my husband, I would take care of our distance. That is if you wish to retain use of all your limbs.”
The left side of his lips curled up in a lazy smile. “It isn’t your husband who concerns me.”
He swept her outside the throng of dancers, into an empty alcove next to the doors to the lawn. A perfect position to remain unheard.
“Meaning I do.” Winnifred chewed the inside of her cheek. It was a strange feeling, being a person of concern. “You still believe I entrapped Dunkeld?”
Summerset pushed her hip, twirling her out into a dizzying spin before reeling her back in. “That is no longer relevant. You are married. Sin hopes to make the best of it.” Another spin. Another moment where Winnifred tried to gather her bearings. Summerset lowered his head to whisper in her ear. “Do you?”
She slammed her eyebrows together. “I don’t understand. OF course, I wish a successful marriage. Who wouldn’t?”
His gaze probed her features, tracing from her eyes to her mouth and back again, as though trying to see beneath her skin into her very brain. “Hosting a successful fête and giving Sin an heir isn’t what I understand as success. Beyond that, I would see my friend happy.”
She worried the seam of his jacket and stared at his throat. “I want that, too,” she said quietly. She raised her gaze to his. “I will do everything in my power to make it so.” Everything she was capable of. Her heart she might not be able to control, but her deeds and actions would all be to that purpose.
Summerset pursed his full lips and nodded. “Then I welcome you into our brotherhood, as I should have done upon your marriage.”
“Fiend seize it, I turn my back on you for one moment and you’re off making advances on my wife.” Sin stomped up to them and peeled her hand off his friend’s shoulder.
“Better me than Lord Brandon.” Summerset flicked a small rose petal from his sleeve. “Besides, I was just telling your wife the secret of how to manage your querulous nature.”
Sin proved his friend’s accusation correct and growled.
Winnifred grinned, until she caught sight of Dr. Masson watching her across the room. Her humor died, and she shifted until Sin stood between her and the physician.
“What is it?” Sin looked down at her, his forehead creasing.
“Nothing.” She peeked around his chest. Dr. Masson was now joined with his sister, both staring in their direction.
Sin followed her gaze. “Brandon’s son?” His body tensed. “Was he improper with you?” Sin pushed her at Summerset then turned for battle. “I swear, I will—”
“Do absolutely nothing.” Winnifred stepped in front of him. “The man did nothing. It is only his occupation that unsettles me.”
“Hmm.” Sin’s body slowly relaxed. He took her hand and squeezed it. “You have nothing to fear from him or any man. You should know that by now.”
Summerset shifted behind her, and a blush heated her cheeks. Of course, he’d been at that dreadful dinner in Glasgow. He already knew her history, but that didn’t stop the wave of shame. She forced her voice into a lightness she didn’t feel. “Nothing to fear but traitors and revolution and the future of the United Kingdom.”
Summerset snorted. “I’m beginning to quite like your wife, Dunkeld. She might soon become my favorite of the interlopers.”
“Interlopers?” she asked.
“Montague’s, Rothchild’s, and Sutton’s wives. Summerset hasn’t taken well to our marriages.”
The earl opened his mouth to object, but Sin cut him off. “Even though said in jest, Winnifred isn’t wrong. Your latest intelligence has underscored our need for haste. I need to confront Abercairn. Tonight. Sutton has agreed to join me in the interrogation. We plan to speak with him after the midnight meal.”
Summerset waved over a servant and plucked a glass of champagne from his tray before shooing the boy away. “Must it be you and Sutton? The two of you aren’t noted for your skills in that arena. Why don’t you allow me the pleasure?”
“Abercairn has intimated he knows of our activities for the Crown.” Sin shook his head. “Sutton has taken himself out of this business; he’s only here because I’m involved. It won’t matter that he reveals himself. But you seem wish to continue in this business. No, if you want to remain a spy, it is best if you keep as low a presence as possible.”
Running a hand up the back of his curls, Summerset sighed. “All right, I agree. But if your and Sutton’s blunt instrument methods don’t work, call me in. I’ll be close.”
Sin nodded. He looked around the room and frowned. “I only wish your letter had arrived in a timelier manner.”
A muscle ticked in the earl’s jaw. “The delay was unavoidable.”
“I believe you,” Sin said. “But it doesn’t leave us much time. Montague and Rothchild had to ride hell for leather to Edinburgh to warn of the attack.” He snorted. “Poor Rothchild. He could barely climb on his horse. I don’t envy him the thirty miles of pain. The poor sot was rather banged-up after the games.”
“Reeeally.” Summerset smirked. “Do tell. I’d like to hear in detail how badly our friend failed so I can mock him later.”
Shaking her head, Winnifred tugged Sin away. “We have hosting duties to attend,” she said to him. And to Summerset: “And I’m certain there are other games Rothchild excels at.”
“Just not vigorous Scottish ones.” Sin looked as delighted as a child who’d stolen a pudding.
“He’s also never practiced throwing a log before, I’m sure.” A pair of young women sat with their backs to the wall, looking hopefully at the dance floor. Winnifred snaked her hand out and grabbed Summerset by the sleeve, pulling him in their wake.
“Caber toss,” Sin muttered.
Winnifred ignored that. “Now, gentlemen, before you save the country, there are more pressing matters to attend. Namely, those two lovely girls haven’t danced yet tonight. Go, do something useful.”
“I hardly think so,” Summerset said.
Her husband whined, “I didn’t dance when I was a bachelor. Surely now that I’m married I don’t have to submit to such—”
“Stop your nonsense, the both of you.” She gave a shove to their backs. “You’ll give them a bit of merriment, and that is something the world holds in short supply right now.” She gave them a stern look. “Go on. Dance now, save the world later.”
Summerset tossed back his drink and handed her the empty glass. “I’ve changed my mind about your wife.” But he squared his shoulders and marched into the fray, offering one of the girls his hand. Her face lit up and she bounced to her feet.
Winnifred nudged her husband. “You too.”
Sin inhaled sharply. “You do know I will make you pay for this later.”
Her stomach fluttered. “I look forward to it.” As far as she was concerned, this night couldn’t end soon enough. The stresses of the ball, the investigation, it was all too much. Tomorrow everything would be settled and their guests would be leaving. She could hardly wait.
Making sure no one was watching, she gave Sin a swat on the rear. “Off with you. And good luck.” She gripped his wrist. “With everything.”
He kissed her cheek. “Like I said, you have nothing to worry about. After tonight, all this will be over and we can move on with our lives.”
He walked away, off to make another wallflower’s night, and Winnifred dug a knuckle into her breastbone. She wanted to believe him. She should believe him. When Sin put his mind to something, he didn’t let anything get in his way.
But a chill settled in her bones, one that her logical side couldn’t reason away.