“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.
Chapter Twelve
Winnifred paced in front of the open door to her sitting room, keeping a look out for the butler with today’s post. It had been a lonely three days without Sinclair, and her only connection to the world lay in letters and newspapers. She’d invited her mother-in-law to play cards after dinner, but had been denied every time. The meals themselves were silent, with Deirdre retreating to her own rooms as soon as the last bite was eaten. The woman even tried to steal the dogs away every chance she could.
She strode over to Horatio and scratched behind his ear, giving him a treat from her pocket. Deirdre hadn’t won today. A pocketful of cheese wedges ensured loyalty.
Hearing footsteps, she hurried to her door and met the butler. “The post has arrived, Mr. Greer?”
“Yes, milady.” He handed her two envelopes.
She read the addresses, her heart falling. “No word from Dunkeld?”
“No, milady.”
She gave him a tight smile. No matter. The letters from Mr. Raguhram and his colleague at the University of Glasgow, one Mr. Alasdair Holme, were enough to keep her occupied. And a more sensible way to spend her time rather than worrying about her husband. He was a strong, capable man. There was no need for concern.
“Thank you, Mr. Greer.”
He inclined his head and shuffled away.
