MacConnell scowled. “I am to do nothing more than talk to my people, make them realize that our current system does nothing but enrich England; and its toad-eaters,” he added with a pointed look at him.
Sin considered. If he were running such an operation, he wouldn’t divulge to his lackies any more information than was necessary to perform their immediate duties. MacConnell most likely knew little more. And once he informed Liverpool of this latest bit of intelligence, the prime minister would ensure that MacConnell had told them everything. Liverpool was thorough.
“I pity Winnifred.” MacConnell’s thin chest heaved. “Forced to marry such a man. She’s too good for ye.”
Sin’s fingers twitched at his wife’s name on the shit sack’s tongue. He reconsidered his lenience remembering the indecent offer the man had once made to her. The idea of MacConnell touching her made Sin want to relocate the man’s front teeth to the back of his throat.
But he was right. Winnifred was too good for him.
“If I catch you on my land again, I’ll have you detained. Either with the local constabulary, or in my dungeon.” His grin was all teeth. “There will be no more allowances; no further warnings.” Sin stomped to his horse and swung into the saddle. “I’ll give you an hour to vacate my estate. You’ll need forty-five minutes of it to hunt down your ride.”
MacConnell whipped his head from left to right, and sucked in a gasp when he caught sight of his donkey. A quarter of a mile distant. He took off running, waving his arms wildly and baying like a stuck pig for the animal to stand in place.
Sin turned his horse and prodded him to a canter. Thank all that was holy his sensible wife hadn’t seen fit to form an attachment to such an unworthy fool. If he’d met her later, on that lout’s arm, by any other man’s side ….
He kicked his horse into a gallop.
The thought was intolerable. She might think only their marriage vows bound them, but he knew better. Every bone in her body, every inch of her flesh, belonged to him. His possession far surpassed archaic legalities. Dove deeper even than love. Their connection was primitive. Elementary.
And if he had to mark every inch of her to convince her of that simple fact, he would.
He might not deserve her, but he had Winnifred all the same.
And he would use that privilege to press every advantage available.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Winnifred held the piece of paper to the window of her bedchamber and peered at it through her magnifying glass. Why did Mr. Raguhram’s friend have to write in such illegible, disjointed script? Mr. Johnson’s poor penmanship couldn’t even be attributed to unfamiliarity with her native tongue. He was a British émigré, a man who’d decided to study the flora and fauna of the unknown world. There was no excuse for his scribbling.
She squinted. Was that an especially largeEor anF? She blew out a breath. Neither made sense in the context.
The door to her sitting room swung open, the bottom frame swishing over the rug. Her husband’s soft tread met her ears.
She angled the letter into more direct light. “Perhaps you can make this out,” she said to Sin. “It has taken me nearly twenty minutes to decipher only—”
Her husband swept her into his arms, and her words ended with a squeak.
He spoke no words, gave her no explanations, as he strode through the double doors into their dressing room, kicked open the doors to his bedroom, and slammed them behind them.
A shiver started at the base of her skull and ticked down her spine. Sin’s face was hard, his hair wind-blown, the arms that encircled her unyielding as iron. His manner and silence should have frightened her, Sin was rarely quiet, and their latest conversation hadn’t been to his liking.
But the thrill she felt had nothing to do with fear.
“Is something the matter?” she asked. “Has something happened?”
In response, he tossed her on the bed and ripped off his jacket.
Her core quivered.
“Strip.” His voice was a brusque demand.
Winnifred arched an eyebrow, following his movements as he unknotted his cravat and peeled out of his waistcoat. Had he decided to return to the usual pattern of their marriage? Enjoy their physical compatibility and forget that love nonsense? Her breath hitched. It would be for the best. So why was she disappointed?
He gripped the hem of his shirt and ripped it over his head. His hands were twice the size of hers, rough and strong. They had the power to break men, and bring her the sweetest pleasure. He yanked off his boots and stockings and stood before her in just his trousers, his chest heaving.
Winnifred bit her bottom lip, her nipples tingling.
He glared down at her. “You wish to deny me? Today of all days?”
