“I’m sure a couple of them will try to sneak a few bills into their pockets.” Montague huffed. “They’d be saints not to. But Summerset indicates the intent of the attack is to destroy, and the number of explosives he discovered was purchased would seem to confirm that.”
“If his information is accurate.”
“When have you known Summerset to be wrong?” Sin clenched the stone sill, the chill of the rock doing nothing to cool his ire. Scotland was a strong country with strong people. But this would devastate them. “No, the attack is planned. The only question is for when. We need to leave for Edinburgh right away.”
“You have a house full of guests.” Montague arched a golden eyebrow. “A ball tonight. And a man who needs questioning. Have you forgotten the other part of Summerset’s letter?”
No. Sin dug his fingers into the stone until they ached. He hadn’t forgotten. “Abercairn is now Liverpool’s business. Enough information has been gathered against him to warrant his detention until he answers some questions.”
“Still …” Rothchild rolled stiffly from the bed and paced over to Sin. “It will be days until he would be taken to London. Days we might not have. He might be able to tell us when the attack is planned. Montague and I will ride ahead to warn the treasury. Your place is here.”
Sin pounded the side of his fist against the wall. Damn it, they were right. But simpering through a ball and attempting to flatter intelligence out of Abercairn didn’t sit right, not when a fight was brewing in the capital.
“Summerset and Sutton are probably riding here now,” Montague said. “Wait and join us after your guests have departed. Besides, as you said, there is now enough evidence against Abercairn where you no longer need to use kid gloves when you question him.”
Sin brightened. “That’s true.” Of course, he couldn’t just bloody the man in front of all his guests. Some proprieties would need to be observed. He rubbed his hands together. But other than that, the bastard was fair game for his fists.
“Fine,” he said. “I agree. Expect me to join you tomorrow night, hopefully with Sutton and Summerset.” All his guests should have left by mid-afternoon. Any stragglers could be left to Winnifred to get rid of. She would do so with efficiency and courtesy, as she handled all obstacles. He closed his eyes and exhaled, his body sagging. Including unwanted declarations from husbands.
Rothchild clapped his back and chuckled. “You don’t have time to daydream about all the rebels you’ll get to beat.”
Sin turned, forcing his heartache from his features. He attempted a smile, until his friend’s next words.
“You have a ball to get ready for.”
Sin couldn’t fake cheer for that. He dropped his head back and groaned.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Sin paused in the doorway to the dressing room, his breath hitching. Winnifred’s maid was putting the finishing touches on her hair, inserting small, unopened rose buds into the curls styled about her face. The dress she wore exposed a long expanse of neck and the upper edges of her shoulder blades.
Winnifred caught his gaze in the mirror and smiled, her face lighting up.
A vise wrapped around his chest. They could have a very contented marriage, if he accepted it as it was. He and Winnifred enjoyed each other’s company, respected each other, and rutted like the sheets were on fire. What more could he ask for?
Love.
He needed her to love him, like a fish needed water. Her friendship wasn’t enough, not for him. But that was a battle he didn’t know how to fight. He could control much in life, but not another’s emotions.
She thanked her maid and dismissed the girl, leaving them alone. “You look very fine in your evening dress, but I must admit to missing the kilt. You have very handsome knees.”
A snort of laughter burst past his lips. He went to stand behind her, fingering a lone curl that had been left to dangle enticingly against her shoulder. “That is a compliment I’ve never heard before, and don’t think I need hear again.” Needing to touch her, he bent and pressed his mouth against the curve of her neck. “Besides, all the handsomeness is on your part.”
She stood and side-stepped around her chair. Smoothing the end of his cravat under his waistcoat, she quirked an eyebrow. “Who gave you the black eye?”
He patted the raised skin. It had been such a minor injury he scarce remembered. “No one gave it to me,” he said. “I earned it.”
She threw her head back and laughed. It wasn’t the soft tinkles or melodic titters of so many other women, but a full-throated bark, as honest and straightforward as Winnifred.
And he sank a little deeper into the mire of an unreturned love.
Wiping her eyes, she turned to her dressing table and picked up a necklace. “Would you help me with this?” She turned, exposing the back of her neck to him, and held the ruby pendant over her shoulder.
Sin took it and stepped close. He draped the stone over her bosom. The scent rising off her skin muddled his senses. The backs of his fingers brushed the velvety skin of her nape, and his palms went damp.
“Your mother has informed me of all that is expected of a marchioness at this ball, but I offer no guarantees I’ll remember the proper order of whom I should dance with or even the dances themselves.” She clasped the pendant. “I do hope I don’t embarrass you too badly.”
“You don’t have to worry about that as you won’t be dancing with anyone but me.” He clasped her shoulders. “To hell with custom.”
