And he had much to say.
He slid his hands down her back and squeezed her arse.
Later. He’d speak to her later.
Finally, she was giving him her body, no hesitations, holding nothing back.
It wasn’t enough. Sin was a greedy bastard. He might have unleashed her sensual nature, but he wanted more. None of thisfriendsnonsense. He wanted, needed, her soul to belong to him, too, not just her body. Needed it like a fish needed water.
And he would use every weapon in his armory in order to get it.
Chapter Fifteen
A servant scratched at the drawing room’s door, and Winnifred glanced up.
“Pardon me, milady,” he said. “The Earl of Summerset and the Baron of Sutton are here to see the marquess.”
She laid her needlepoint on the seat next to her and took a deep breath. Sin’s close friends. She could only hope the baron would be more accepting of her marriage than Summerset had been. He’d given her the evil eye all through the ceremony and wedding breakfast.
“Please, send them in along with refreshments.” She shook out her skirts and adjusted her fichu. “I believe my husband is in the rear pasture this morning. Send for him at once, please.”
He bowed and backed out of the room.
Her palms grew damp, and she pressed them against her thighs, the silk crinkling beneath her hands. She was wearing one of her new dresses. Beautiful but a bit frivolous. Ostentatious really. She wished she were in one of her sensible gowns. Much less suited to her station, but she felt more confident in their practicality. And she wouldn’t look as though she were spending her husband’s money freely, that she hadn’t married him for his money and position, one of Summerset’s suspicions about her she was sure.
As the footman led the men in, she rose to her feet. The earl was as wickedly good looking as she remembered. His cream-colored jacket and pantaloons gave no indication of his recent journey and not one lock of hair was out of place. The other man showed the wear of travel, his dark brown trousers wrinkled at the knees and the knot of his cravat askew. Though not as big as her husband, he was a large man, standing a couple of inches taller than Summerset, with untamed black hair and a bushy beard.
She inclined her head to the earl. “Lord Summerset. And you must be the Baron of Sutton.” She gave the other man a smile. “Welcome to Kenmore. My husband speaks highly of you. Well, of all his friends.”
“As well he should.” Summerset examined her like a bug under the microscope. “We’ve watched his back for nigh over a decade. We protect our own against any threats, physical, financial, or otherwise.” The look he gave her was pointed; the brow he arched, insolent.
Unbidden, heat rose to her face. “Yes, well.” She cleared her throat. “Please have a seat.” Two maids entered carrying trays of refreshments. They set them down on the low table between the settee and two armchairs. Winnifred sank to the edge of her seat and picked up the teapot. “Tea?”
Sutton brushed past Summerset, knocking him with his shoulder and sending him stumbling, before sitting opposite Winnifred. “Thank you, Lady Dunkeld. The ride from London was long and tiring.”
Summerset glared at his friend. He dropped into the other chair and draped his leg over the armrest. “Tea won’t warm you up. How about offering us a real drink? I know Dunkeld has a twenty-year scotch around here somewhere.”
“Yes, and it’s reserved for deserving men, not bounders like yourself.” Sin strode into the room, and Winnifred’s shoulders sank an inch down her back. Just with his presence, the room seemed brighter. Warmer. Safer.
The men stood and shook Sin’s hand, clapping him on the back. “It’s good to see you,” Sutton said. “And felicitations on your marriage. Colleen and I were sorry we couldn’t attend.”
Sin’s lips twisted, and he raised an eyebrow in her direction. “It was a rather rushed affair.”
“Too rushed,” Summerset muttered.
“John.” Sin’s voice was a warning. “I have a very nice fifteen-year-old scotch, but you have to play nice to get it.”
Summerset shrugged and draped himself back over the chair. “If that’s the best you have.”
The tension was thick as Sin poured three glasses of whisky. Winnifred’s voice grated against the silence, doing nothing to relieve the tension. “Mutton pie?” She held a plate of small pastries in Summerset’s direction.
His lip curled.
“I’ll take one.” Sutton leaned forward and grabbed a pastry. He tore off a large bite. “The food in the public houses was rubbish,” he mumbled around his mouthful.
“We’re in Scotland.” Summerset buffed his nails on his satin, primrose waistcoat. “Don’t expect it to get any better.”
Sin kicked his chair, making it almost tip over, before crossing to sit next to Winnifred on the settee.
