He forgo adding ‘and for a woman’, although in England that was certainly true. He received nothing but weather reports from the Sassenach females of his acquaintance. One spouting about volcanoes and experiments was certainly novel.
All color fled her face.
Sin unfolded to his full height. “Are you al—”
“Fine.” She plastered an empty smile on her face, one that he’d seen practiced by society ladies the world over. “I’m merely repeating my father’s words on the subject. He is the man of science. If you have any questions about his or his colleagues’ theories, you should direct them to him.”
Voices echoed hollowly from behind them, growing louder and more distinct as the men attached to them neared the cellar’s door.
“… and I insist,” Summerset said.
“But it really isn’t necessary for you to come down here yourself.” A man, Lord Stamworth most like, sniffed. “My steward and I are perfectly capable of fetching more wine ourselves.”
Sin whipped his head over his shoulder but couldn’t see the entrance. Shelves of wine blocked his view. He looked back at Miss Hannon, who had frozen like a stag before a wildcat. He held a finger to his lips and motioned for her to go deeper into the cellar. If he could get Summerset and their host out of the basement without noticing her presence, all would be well.
Nodding, she spun. One long, loose curl of sandy-brown hair swung out and kissed the flame of his candle. The tendril lit up with a hiss.
“Confound it!” The candle dropped from his hands and sputtered out as he reached for her hair. He clapped at the flame, his fingers catching in her hair.
She stumbled into him with a cry.
Wrapping his arm around her waist, he steadied her. “Are you all right?” Nothing around her glowed, so he assumed the flames had all been extinguished.
Her head scraped against his shoulder, but he couldn’t tell if it was a nod or a shake.
Until the darkness lessened, and a light rose from the end of their corridor. Then he could see the horror etched on her face as Lord Stamworth called, “Winnifred? Is that you?”
Grimly, Sin set Miss Hannon away from his body and stepped between her and the men peering at them from down the aisle. Summerset’s face matched Miss Hannon’s in alarm. Lord Stamworth merely looked shocked.
Sin sighed, his shoulders sagging. He turned his back on his friend and faced Miss Hannon. “I’m sorry for this.”
“I don’t suppose if we logically explained the chain of events that led us here it would be of any use?” She set her bottle of wine down and tugged at the hem of her sleeve.
“I’m afraid not.”
She nodded once, and a veil of dead calm dropped over her features. He never would have guessed that only moments ago she had been near panic. “Well, then, no need to apologize,” she said. “We can only accept life’s challenges as they’re presented.”
A challenge? Acid burned in his gut. He supposed that was one way to look at it. A prison of societal expectations was another.
She smoothed her hands down the stomach of her gown and gave him a placid smile.
One he wished he could duplicate. His breath hitched. Who was this woman? She’d slipped on a mask as easily as a spy. Was she the lass who lectured about scientific process, the woman frightened of the future she’d just been thrown into, or the prim miss with an arsenal of false smiles?
His shoulders hardened to blocks. No matter. Whoever she was, she was about to become his wife.
Chapter Two
“We can figure a way out of this.” Summerset stalked back and forth across the small vestry in St. Katherine’s church. He raked a hand through his fair hair, mussing the artful locks.
Sin stared at his reflection in the full-length mirror. The swallowtail jacket and trousers were of simple black wool and his top hat was a sensible height, but still he felt a fool. Like a trussed-up dandy. It must be the shoes. Summerset had allowed him to forfeit breeches or pantaloons in favor of his trousers, but had put his stylish pump down at the boots Sin wanted to wear. “I think you’re more upset over my upcoming nuptials than I am.” He turned to the side. The plaid waistcoat was a trifle showy, but an appropriate nod to his heritage.
At least here in London he didn’t have to wear a bloody kilt.
Summerset tossed his hat onto the chair by the door. “Why the sodding hell aren’t you more upset? Getting leg-shackled just because you were caught alone with a chit. You didn’t even take your pleasure from the crime of a seduction yet you still are enduring the punishment.” He crossed his arms. “And what the hell kind of name is Winnifred? She’s a bluestocking if ever I saw one. Definitely not someone you want to be your companion. For life.” His friend made a moue of disgust with his lips, as though the very idea of a life-partner offended him.
Sin arched an eyebrow. If Miss Winnifred Hannon was how bluestockings were built nowadays, he had sought out liaisons in the wrong quarters. No, his betrothed wasn’t some dainty little chit who barely came up to his chest, and he could definitely picture her surrounded by stacks of books, but her tall, sturdy form was pleasing to the eye. Her skin was clear and her eyes intelligent. And her wide hips and high bosom … well those definitely made an impression. What more could a man want?
“I find her handsome enough,” he said mildly.
