Winnifred adjusted the wick on her desk lamp. It was early afternoon but the shadows in her sitting room had taken a gloomy shape. Horatio and Banquo snored softly behind her, one stretched across her settee, the other on the rug before the fire.
Tapping her pen against her lips, she considered the letter before her. Mr. Raguhram had introduced her by letter to a Scottish chemist at the University of Edinburgh, and his response to her query was promising. He’d even addressed her directly, although she’d signed her name as assistant to her father.
“Good afternoon, wife.” Sin burst into the room, the space filling with energy her husband seemed to carry about with him everywhere. He wore a jacket of black superfine and his cravat was loosely knotted, revealing his thick bronze neck. Tan buckskin breeches stretched across hard thighs and snuggly cupped his—
Winnifred averted her gaze, her mouth going dry. “Good afternoon. What are you up to today?”
“We are going for a horseback ride.” He plucked her pen from her hand and tossed it down. “Cook has prepared a picnic luncheon for us. I’d like to show you around the estate.”
She gave him an apologetic shrug. “I’ve never ridden a horse before.”
“Never?”
“I’ve lived in London my whole life. I walked, or hired a hackney coach.”
“Well, then, it’s high time you learned.” He clapped his hands together, and Horatio lifted his head from the rug and huffed.
Sinclair frowned. “Why are you letting Banquo lie on your settee?”
Winnifred stored her letters and rose. “You try moving him.” Except for bribing them with treats, she had little recourse against animals that size. “Besides, he’s not harming anything.”
Banquo yawned widely, two long strings of drool stretching between his jaws and dripping onto the embroidered fabric, before dropping back down into slumber.
She blew out her cheeks. “Well, not much harm anyhow.”
“Useless beasts,” Sin grumbled. “Fatigued from a morning of running away in terror, no doubt.”
Winnifred tilted her head, and a slight flush rose up her husband’s neck.
“I brought them with me to try to flush out your badger.”
Her lips twitched. “And?”
He tugged at the bottom of his waistcoat. “We were unsuccessful. This time.”
“I see.” She would not laugh. She had decided to try to be freer with her husband, but finding amusement at his expense was still a step too far. She swept a hand down her wool morning dress. “Will this serve? I have no riding habit.”
“Yes, you do.” Sin turned for the door and she fell in step beside him. “I’ve had a complete new wardrobe made for you. It arrived this morning.”
“New clothes?” Excitement quickened her words. Expensive frocks were unimportant, she told herself. A pointless expense when her plain gowns covered her as well.
And her feet still itched to fly to her rooms and see what Sinclair had bought her. She had thought as a marchioness an improved wardrobe would be one of the benefits. After coming to know her husband and how little he cared about appearance, however, her expectations had dwindled.
“Yes. The seamstress comes tomorrow to make any necessary alterations, but the riding habit should fit well enough for today.”
“I’ll go see, shall I?” She turned for the stairs, forced her legs to remain at a stroll. Her measured steps didn’t last. She took the stairs two at a time, ignoring the chuckle reverberating behind her.
Throwing open the door to her dressing room, she gasped. Gown after gown spilled from trunks and wardrobes. The door to her closet didn’t close for the crush of silks and satins stuffed within. Evening gowns beaded with fine crystals, walking and carriage gowns of finely woven gabardine, and morning dresses made of the finest silks and velvets. She caressed the sumptuous fabrics, inhaled the scent of the lavender flowers that had been packed with the clothing.
No, fine clothes didn’t matter in the grand scheme of life.
But they didn’t hurt.
She found the riding habit half-buried underneath a satin dinner dress. She called for her maid and within minutes, she was smoothing the hunter green corduroy skirts and jacket down her body.
“It needs a wee nipping in around the waist,” Sheena, her abigail said, smoothing the velvet trim along the collar, “but otherwise a good fit.”
“Yes.” Winnifred angled her top hat to dip rakishly over one eye. “Very nice indeed.”
She met her husband at the base of the staircase, and he tucked her hand in the crook of his arm as they strolled to the front door. Two horses stood, saddled and pawing at the gravel drive, before the front door, a footman holding their reins.
Sinclair gave her a brief tutorial, showing her how to pull on the rein, smirking as she tried to imitate his clucking sounds. Finally, they were ready.
“This is my mother’s saddle. She never took to riding side-saddle so you’ll have to ride astride. I’ll order a woman’s saddle for future rides if you like.”
“This is fine.” She hoped. Her position should be more stable riding astride, but what would she do with her skirts?
“Nevertheless, I suppose I should have some available for guests. Most of my friends are married now. You can test out both, see which you prefer. Until then….” Sinclair wrapped his hands around her waist and hefted her up. “Swing your leg over.”
Gasping, she fumbled until she sat atop the beast, her face heating as she tugged her skirts out from under her, arranging them to cover her legs. The horse shifted, and she forgot her modesty to grip the thick mane.
Sin gripped her ankle and slid her boot into the stirrup. “Heather here is as gentle as she comes. You’ll have no cause for concern on her back.” He circled the animal and fitted her other boot into its stirrup. He patted the horse’s neck and handed her the leather reins. Three knots held the ends together, and she squeezed them tightly.
“Easy.” He pulled her hands forward so they were resting at the base of Heather’s neck. “Unless you want to stop, don’t pull back so. Heather has a sweet temper so she won’t say anything, but you’ll hurt her mouth if you keep pressure on the bit. With this type of horse, you want to be her friend, not her master.”
Well, she definitely didn’t want to be her enemy, not sitting so high up on a two-thousand-pound animal. “Indeed, friends it is.” She relaxed her hands even further and eased her breathing. Millions of people rode horses every day. She could do this.
Sin took the reins for the other horse, lifted his foot to stirrup, and swung himself onto the saddle. He nudged his horse, directing him into a blessedly slow walk, and Heather turned to follow.
“I didn’t tell her to turn.” She eyed the reins in her hand suspiciously.
Sin grinned. “Like I said, she’s an agreeable horse.” He inhaled deeply, and raised his face to the sky. “Now, what do you say we move a bit faster?”
She didn’t have much choice. When Sinclair’s horse eased into a trot, her horse followed suit. Winnifred tightened her legs around the horse’s middle and concentrated on not bouncing off the saddle.
“Do you see that stone wall, there?” Sin pointed into the distance, at a row of sandstone blocks that rose four feet high in points and crumbled down to the ground in others. “That’s where my great-great-great-great-grandda held off the Sassenach invaders in 1575.”
“That is a profusion of greats.” Winnifred wondered at his knowledge of family history. She knew the names of her grandparents, had even met her paternal grandfather before his death, but that was the extent of her knowledge of her own people. There must be a feeling of security that came with such knowledge. Sinclair was but one link on a chain, one that he could see stretching back into history, with the next link waiting to be made.
With her. She would be a part of his chain now.
A breeze ruffled his hair, pinning a strand to his cheek. He pointed at a low ditch that ran to the east of them. “And that is where my great-uncle Ulric lost his head in the Forty-Five Rebellion.” He leaned toward her, the leather of his saddle creaking, and whispered, “We had some Jacobites in our family. I hope your English sensibilities can countenance such a subversive history.”
Winnifred rolled her eyes. Her husband could be as playful as a giant puppy. A quality that was quickly becoming endearing. She tapped her heels into Heather’s flanks, and to her surprise, the horse moved forward. They continued the tour, crossing his land as Sin told stories of his ancestors, most of them bloody, all of them noble.
“I thought you said husbands and wives should be honest with one another.” She patted Heather’s neck as they drew to a stop.
“I did. I am,” he said, indignant.
“Surely there must have been some scoundrels in your family history.” She gave him a small smile. “Not everyone could have been a heroic saint.”
He grumbled. “Well, there might have been a bounder or two.” He jerked his head to the left. “There’s a nice valley over that hill where we can eat. Shall we try a gentle canter?”
She eyed Heather. The girl had been awfully well-tempered. Winnifred sat up straighter, a lightness filling her chest. “Let’s.” And digging her heels into the horse’s flanks, she urged her into a smooth lope.
The desolate scenery streaming past in a muted blur. The craggy moors and rocky ravines were so different from the rolling green hills of an English landscape. There was a wildness to the land, a vulnerability that dug under her skin. Her new home was enchanting, untamed. It whispered to her, urging her to shed her inhibitions.
She clicked her tongue and slapped the reins, prodding Heather faster. Laughter tumbled from her lips as she bounced forwards. A wind whipped around her, and she shivered in delight.
“Easy,” Sin shouted from behind.
Easy? Why should she go easy when it felt like she was flying? Riding a horse was marvelous. It was—
“Yowww!” Pain exploded in her groin and she nearly toppled from her saddle. She landed on the saddle again – and onto the knots in her reins that had slipped between her legs.
Sin pulled even with her just as she pulled the reins out from under her. “Winnifred, are you all right?” He gripped her elbow as both horses slowed to a stop.
“Yes.” She bit back a wince.
“You yelled.” He examined her from her head to her boots and back again. “What was the problem?”
“Nothing.” She gave him a clenched smile, heat flooding her face. “Nothing’s wrong.” Good gad, but it burned. Bouncing up and down on a hard knot had been more painful that her wedding night, and with no redeeming aftereffects.
Not that she’d admit to such a humiliating injury. Sinclair must never know.
He jumped off his horse then turned and pulled her down. “You are the most stubborn woman. If something ails you, tell me.”
“It was nothing of consequence.” She gazed over his shoulder, avoiding eye contact. “I merely landed wrong … on the knots of the reins.”
“On your arse?”
Her cheeks flamed hotter.
From the corner of her eye she saw his lips stretch into a pirate grin. “Ah. On your cunny.”
“Don’t you dare laugh!”
He blew out his cheeks. His eyes sparkled with mirth, but to his credit he held back his laughter. “I wouldna dream of it. Wait here.” After pulling the saddlebag from his horse, he patted his animal on the rump, sending him to graze further down in the valley. Heather followed placidly behind.
Sin pulled a wool blanket from the bag and spread it on the ground. He dropped down, legs crossed at the ankle, and patted the spot next to him. “Come down here with me.”
She gave him a wary look, but eased down by his side.
“Lie back.”
“Sin, truly I am fine.”
He pulled off her hat and tossed it to the ground. “I like when you call me Sin. Now do as your husband bids. You have an injury and it is my duty to see to it.”
“Nothing hurts anymore.” Only her pride. But curiosity had her rolling to her back.
He lounged next to her, putting his weight on one elbow. His fingers drew up the hem of her skirts. “Now, tell me exactly where you hurt yourself?”
“Sin!” She twisted her head in every direction, looking for witnesses. “We can’t do this out of doors.” Yet she parted her legs an inch. Scotland was making her reckless. Reckless and foolish and—
“Oh!” she breathed.
He circled his palm over her mons, soothing away any lingering sting. “Feel better.”
She gulped. “Yes, Sin.”
“And do you wish me to stop merely because we are out of doors?”
She shook her head, her hair scraping free from its knot. “No, Sin.”
The chilled air cooled her heated skin. She let herself relax into the sensation. This part of their marriage she was growing comfortable with. Her husband wanted to bring her pleasure; it would be churlish to refuse. Even those few moments when she lost control of her responses and her body flew apart weren’t quite so frightening. Sin told her it was natural, and she wanted to believe it.
He scooted down and raised her skirts above her hips.
“Sinclair!” She pushed up onto her palms. Heather nickered from twenty feet away, but other than the horses, they were still alone. But that circumstance could change.
His gaze was fixed at the vee of her legs. He inhaled deeply and sucked his bottom lip into his mouth. “You smell delicious.” Placing his palms on her inner thighs, he spread them open.
Was there movement on that hill? Only a hare, searching for its meal. Still, she pushed at his shoulder. He had—
The first swipe of his tongue had her moaning in surrender. The second, and she fell back onto the blanket with a wail.
The sensations of his mouth upon her were better than she remembered. Her legs turned to jelly and dropped open wide. He lapped at her opening, the tingles he created spreading to the very tips of her breasts. She stretched her arms overhead, arching her back, reveling in the building heat.
His caresses turned harder, his teeth tugging on her sensitive flesh, the roughness of his act as thrilling as it was taboo.
She stared at the sky, a queer dusky orange in the fading day. She tried to even her breaths, but she’d never felt anything so exciting in her entire life.
Sin dragged his tongue up her slit and sucked her nib into his mouth. Hard.
Her hips bucked. It was too much. Too intense. She grabbed Sin’s hair, tried pulling him away.
He growled, the vibrations an added torment on her clitoris. Sliding his hands under her legs, he encircled her wrists and pinned them to the ground. His shoulders pressed into her inner thighs, holding them open.
She was completely defenseless. Easy prey for his taking.
Winnifred burst apart. His tongue and teeth worked her clit, never relenting, and another crisis overwhelmed her.
Sobs mingled with her moans. “Sin! Please. Enough.”
He crawled up her body, his hair disarrayed, his eyes dark. He yanked at his falls, and a button popped off and stung her belly. “My wife has decided to make noise now, when we are outside for anyone to hear.” His voice was low, rough, and held a note of approval. He swung his head from side to side. “Naughty girl.”
She tried to hold onto one last shred of reason.
The head of his length bobbed against her clit, renewing the shudders in her body.
“Sin.” She sucked in a breath and searched the empty land. “We can’t. Not here—ohhhhh!”
He filled her with one thrust, the suddenness of the act shocking. His heavy breathing sounded almost as snarls, and the domination in his gaze nearly undid her. Her husband was as wild and single-minded as an animal.
And she wanted more.
He set up a bruising pace. She tried to swallow back her moans. Her whimpers. Knew she couldn’t alert anyone to their presence. What they were doing. But her voice refused to be contained.
“You fucking love this, don’t you?” Sin rose to his knees, pressing them snug to her bottom, He slammed into her. “My wife is a filthy little wanton.”
Yes. So filthy. And completely his. But a small niggle of worry intruded. No matter how much her husband made wanton sound like praise, this behavior surely deserved censure. If anyone observed them, would Sin be embarrassed? Would he blame her?
Throw her away?
“Please.” She wrapped her legs around his hips, taking him deeper. Sin needed to find his release, end this recklessness before they were caught out. “Please hurry. Someone might hear us.”
He lowered his face until it was inches from her own. Color rode high on his cheekbones and sweat beaded his brow. He dragged his nose along her jaw, followed the path with his tongue. “I don’t bloody care if the whole of Scotland sees how well I fuck my wife.” He gripped her face between his hands. “But if you’re concerned, mo ghrâdh …”
Sliding his hand across her cheek, he covered her mouth, muffling her cries. His lips brushed her ear. “Now you can scream as loudly as you want.” He bit her ear, the sharp prick of pain muddying her brain.
She moaned, with no thought of restraint. Whimpered and mewled as loudly as she wanted, let herself loose for the first time ever. No one could hear the commotion she made. No one would judge.
The pressure on her mouth increased as her husband pistoned into her body. Her breath grew short, her abdominal muscles tensing. She inhaled as deeply as she could, but it wasn’t enough. Her head grew light as her body wound tighter and tighter. She grabbed Sin’s wrist, her fingers going numb with how tightly she squeezed him.
Black spots danced before her eyes. (the rest of her body faded away until she was only the thin stream of air going in and out of her lungs and the pounding in her sex. And when she thought she couldn’t take any more, she broke.
Everything in her clenched. Her cunny around his cock, milking him deeper. Her arms around his back, holding him tight. Her jaw, her eyes. Intense pleasure ripped through her from head to toe, and she knew. Her husband had just transformed her. Released something she would never recover.
After experiencing such a moment of pure freedom, she didn’t think she could cage her nature back up.
His curses, rumbling in her ear, revived her from her daze. Sin gripped her shoulders with both hands, pulling her into his hips as he took her. Throwing his head back, he howled as he spent inside of her. The tendons in his neck bulged, his body jerking with his release.
She knew humans were animals, with the same needs to feed and procreate like any other. But she’d never understood just how close those primal forces lay under the veneer of civilization.
Her husband was a beast. And she loved it.
He collapsed over her, bracing his weight on his bent arms, his breath hot on her cheek. “Fuck me, wife.”
“I think I just did.” Was that pride in her voice? If so, it felt well-deserved.
“You also nearly took a finger off.” He raised his right hand and shook it, a wry smile creasing his face.
“What?” She grabbed his hand, looking for any broken skin. His index finger was reddened, with small indentations, but it was the scrapes on his wrist that stalled her heart.
A memory she’d long since forgotten flashed through her head. Images of bloody scratch marks on her father’s face. Of her mother’s hands, reaching for her.
Chills swamped her body. What had she done? A lifetime of good sense traded for a moment of pleasure. What if she’d drawn blood? Hurt him?
Wild things were put in cages.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her throat going tight.
“Don’t be. I like you high-spirited.” He sat next to her and fastened three of the four buttons on his falls, ignoring the loose thread from the torn one. Grabbing the saddle bag, he pulled slices of Dunlop cheese wrapped in cloth, two rolls, and a bottle of wine. “I didn’t bring any glasses so we’ll have to drink out of the bottle.” He chattered on, oblivious to the torrent of shame and self-loathing that turned her stomach.
She took the bottle and swigged back some wine. It didn’t help. Didn’t let her forget how out of control she’d become. The type of woman she’d allowed herself to be. Just like her mother. She refused the cheese, ignoring the worried glances her husband sent her way.
It was fortunate she’d enjoyed her moment of abandon. Because it would be her last.
***
Castle Kenmore came into sight and Sin blew out the breath he was holding. Had he worried that his wife was dispassionate? Nae, he should have been aggrieved that she was as variable as a changeling. In a wonderful frenzy one moment and as reserved as a nun the next.
He glanced at Winnifred from the corner of his eye. It was like constructing a wall out of sand when it came to building her trust. She had damned perverse ideas about how a woman should behave. Knowing the cause for her reticence did nothing to inform him on how to solve the problem.
Perhaps he shouldn’t have rutted her in an open field like a farm animal. She was shy enough in the bedroom, and that might be all she was ever comfortable with. But even as he thought it, the urge to fuck her in every room in his home, in his carriage, show her she belonged to him everywhere, gripped him low in the belly.
He tightened his grip on his reins. He’d never felt as undisciplined than he did when in her presence. He wasn’t certain he liked the feeling. Not when it went unreciprocated.
A page raced up as they brought the horses to a stop at the front steps. The boy gripped his horse’s bridle, gasping for breath. “Milord.” Pant, pant. “Urgent message jus’ came for ye. From the Duke of Montague.”
Sin jumped down and reached for Winnifred.
She winced when her feet touched the ground and dug a knuckle into her lower back. “He’s an acquaintance of yours, isn’t he?”
He rubbed her back as he took the missive. “Yes. A good friend.”
He handed the reins to the page and nodded toward the stables.
The boy tugged on his forelock and led the animals away.
Sin broke the seal and unfolded the letter. Another, smaller, missive was tucked inside, and he recognized the prime minister’s seal, before turning to his friend’s letter. His eyes flew over the scrawled words, his chest tightening as he read.
“What is it?” Winnifred placed a hand on his arm.
“There was an assassination attempt on the Duke of Beaumont. He was up from London to confer with the Board of Trustees. Though how the hell Montague learned of a shooting in Glasgow before I did, I don’t know.” He didn’t need to read Liverpool’s note. The stakes had just been raised and every level of government would now be turning a wary eye toward Scotland.
And that had never gone well for the Scots.
“Boy!” he shouted, and the page turned. “Have another horse saddled. A fast one.” He shoved the notes into his jacket pocket and turned for the front door, Winnifred hurrying at his side.
“I must leave for Glasgow,” he told her.
“Now?”
“At once.” His boots clapped against the stone floor, echoing in the foyer.
Tavish poked his head from his office and nodded. “I’ll have your trunk packed for you at once, milord.”
“I’m riding on ahead,” Sin told him. “Have a carriage follow me.”
“Of course.” Tavish disappeared back into his room.
His mother emerged from her sitting room holding a vase of lilies in her hands. “There you two are. I was hoping you could—”
“Sorry, Mother, but I’m leaving for Glasgow this very minute.” He paused, looking at Winnifred. This would be the first time they’d be sleeping in different beds since their wedding. His stomach clenched. “Whatever it is will have to wait.”
“Why ever would you want to do that.” His mother wrinkled her nose, her distaste for cities well-known.
“I’ve received bad news from a friend that I must attend to.” He gave Winnifred a pointed look, but it wasn’t necessary. She’d retreated into her guarded mode; no secrets would be slipping past her lips.
It should have made her the perfect wife for a spy.
He loathed it.
He’s seen a glimmer of the passionate woman beneath, and he craved more. Wanted to break her open and learn every part of her. Make her lose control over and over again.
He cupped her cheek, trying to rub the polite expression away with his thumb, to no avail. He sighed. Whatever he wanted to do to his wife would have to wait. Duty called.
He stepped back and pivoted away without a farewell. Without looking back, he strode back the way he’d come and left Kenmore.
Duty was a thankless bitch.