He gripped the back of his neck. He’d spoken no more of love to his wife, not even while he was buried ballocks deep inside her. He knew she preferred it that way, but something had to change. It wasn’t right to hold that sentiment in.
Wasn’t right that he was the only one to feel it.
Stepping forward he clasped her hands.
She grimaced, and Sin released her at once. “What is wrong?”
“Nothing.”
He narrowed his eyes and took her wrists, flipping her hands over. The palm and fingers of her right one bore deep red scratches. “What happened? This isn’t from gardening with my mother, is it?”
She tugged at her hand, but he held it firm. “No, this isn’t from gardening. It was a minor incident, that is all.”
He ground his back teeth. “The more you dance around the cause, the more I am determined to know it.”
She bit her lip. “If I tell you, I need your promise you will do nothing about it. Especially at this critical time for Scotland, you cannot be losing your temper over such a minor injury.”
Heat rose up his body to his face. Whatever she was to say, he knew he wouldn’t like it. He also didn’t appreciate the attempts to moderate his behavior.
“I want the truth, and no restrictions on my actions.”
She shrugged. “You can’t have both. I won’t be responsible for you landing in prison.”
He arched an eyebrow. “I am a marquess. The third richest man in Scotland. Whatever you have to say, I can assure you, will not result in my imprisonment.”
“Oh.” She blinked. “Sometimes I forget how different we are. Peers are a different species than the rest of us.”
He scowled. She was now a member of the damned ton, as well. He refused to allow her to raise another division between them. Or allow for her to evade his question. “How did your hand become injured?”
She raised one shoulder. “Donald attempted to remove me from Kenmore. What you see is merely the result of my flinging dirt and pebbles into his eyes.”
Sin blinked, but the white dots refused to disappear from his vision. He nodded once. Right. That was that. The man had signed his death warrant. And after Sin had shown him such kindness in not beating him to a pulp before. He turned and strode for his bedchamber’s door.
Winnifred darted around him and spread her arms wide, a feeble attempt to block his exit. “You promised not to act foolishly.”
He picked her up under the arms and moved her out of his way. “I promised no such thing.”
She skittered around him to block his path before he reached the hall door. “Consider what is at stake. You have been tasked to stop a rebellion. Murdering Donald can only impede achieving that objective. We have a house full of guests, one of whom might be a traitor. Think about vengeance later.”
Perhaps if he tied her to the bed she’d stop throwing herself in his way. “Does his life matter so much to you?” Not even to make her happy did he think he could refrain from his duty. And it would be a duty as much as it was a pleasure. Any man who laid hands on Sin’s wife deserved to die. Slowly. Painfully.
“It is not his life I am concerned about.” She poked his chest. “Although I confess I would rather he were alive and away from our notice than dead. Not all my memories of him when we were younger are unpleasant.” She placed her hand on his arm and squeezed. “You cannot let your emotions override your common sense. Donald is but a small cog in a much larger wheel. You need to remain focused on your goal.”
Sin growled. Her and her blasted sense. How could she remain so level-headed after an assault when he wanted to rage loud enough to call forth every beastie in the land to battle?
She pressed both her palms flat against his chest, and heat from her hands seeped through his waistcoat. The feeling, like ants crawling under his skin, eased to a mere tickle. She had him better trained than the damned dogs were.
“All right,” he grumbled. Picking up her injured hand, he pressed a soft kiss to the reddened skin. “For the moment, I won’t act.” He did have much to do with the houseguests upon them. Horse rides to lead and secrets to uncover. And later, when his time was his own again, he wouldn’t need to inform his wife of any irksome little tasks he might undertake. Like murder.
“Splendid.” Winnifred patted his chest. “Now, tell me what I need to know about our guests. I imagine all your friends will be curious about your common wife and watching for my every misstep. I’d like to give them as little gossip as possible.”
Sin grimaced. “Unless Summerset, Sutton, Montague, or Rothchild show, our guests are not my friends. But they are the swells of Scottish society, and the introduction of my new marchioness to them would be expected. It was a fortuitous coincidence that my investigation coincided with the necessity of a ball.”
“Even more reason I need to be as well armed as possible.” She straightened the knot on his cravat and slid her arm in his before turning for the door. “Growing up on the outskirts of society as I did, I always imagined functions like this as a pit of vipers to be evaded. Now I am the head viper. I’d like to be as deadly as the next woman.”
A chuckle burst from his lips. He opened the door and led her out. “For once, I believe your sensible mind is being overly dramatic. Just keep the woman as occupied as possible so I’ll have time to investigate the men, and you’ll be fine. The ladies here are just like every other. You have absolutely nothing to be concerned about.”
***
