She turned. “Every dance with you? That hardly seems practicable.”
“Well, perhaps one or two with our guests.” Why had he ever thought a ball was a good idea? He tugged at the top of her bodice, urging it to cover another inch of skin. “Have you none of those lacey things to go with this?”
She slapped his hand away. “This is a modest gown and doesn’t need a fichu. Besides, we both know this ball serves another purpose. This is the last day our guests will all be under our roof. I fear this is our last chance to uncover any information about the rebels.” She looked down at her bosom. “Perhaps I should change into a lower cut gown to encourage the men to speak.”
That wasn’t happening. He gave her bodice another tug to no effect. Sin pulled Summerset’s letter from his inside pocket. “I received this from Summerset. He and Sutton uncovered a connection between the Lady Abercairn and Lucien Bonaparte. Apparently, they became acquainted when he was at Worcestershire, and he has since deposited a great deal of money into the lady’s accounts.” Sin blew out a breath. “Abercairn isn’t even fighting for true Scottish independence. He’s a patsy for the French. This Bonaparte loves to sow dissent as much as his brother, might even be under the direction of Napoleon. What I don’t know is if Lord Abercairn is a true believer who would take help from whatever quarter it arises, or if he is only in it for the money.”
Winnifred unfolded the letter, her gaze darting across the page. “This truly is treason.”
“It was always treason.”
“But—”
“I know.” Sin raked a hand through his hair and stalked from one end of the room to the other. “This brings it to a whole other level. Not only the intended attack on the mint in Edinburgh, but the collusion with France.”
Winnifred pursed her mouth. “France and Scotland have been allies in the past.”
“It is different now. Too many Scotsmen have died in the fields of that country during the war.” Sin clenched his fist. He’d known many men, boys really, both Scottish and English who’d spent their blood fighting Napoleon. Too many mothers and wives who would never see their loved ones again. He fought against the rising rage that threatened to swallow him. Hanging was too good for Abercairn.
Sin locked eyes with his wife. “It’s different now,” he said quietly.
She refolded the letter and handed it to him. “Are you certain it is Lord Abercairn that you’re after? The money did go into his wife’s account.”
Sin paused. “You think she is the instigator of this madness?” He hadn’t considered that, and he should have. He had personal experience with just how clever women could be.
Winnifred shrugged. “Or it is a joint affair. All I know is the countess doesn’t seem the type of woman to be either unaware of her husband’s activities, or be acquiescent in something she didn’t approve of.”
The faints strains of music drifted up to them from the side lawn. The ballroom opened up onto the lawn, and Sin knew that even though the double doors were open, Scottish society would remain safely in the ballroom and his tenants would stay out on the lawn. Sin knew where he’d rather be, but he obviously wasn’t meant to get what he wanted. His shoulders sagged. “I suppose we should be getting down there.” He should just drag the traitor and his wife down to his dungeon and force the truth from them. Instead he had to smile and nod and play the host until he could find himself alone with Abercairn.
He cocked his elbow toward his wife. “Shall we get this over with?”
Slipping her hand into the crook of his arm, Winnifred nodded. “We shall. And I daresay our concerns over the evening are overrated. Music, food, and dance. Truly, how bad could it be?”
***
Winnifred cursed her words.How bad could it be?Had she been trying to taunt the fates? She wasn’t one to believe in superstition, but truly, even she knew better than to say something so ill-advised.
She stumbled with a grimace. “I’m most sorry,” she said to her dance partner.
Dr. Masson winced before cupping her elbow and lead her down the line with a small limp. “Are you all right, Lady Dunkeld? You seem most distracted this evening.”
Winnifred forced her smile even wider, her cheeks aching. “Quite well.” The lady to her left began an intricate skipping step around her partner, and Winnifred hurried to catch up. “I must confess that dancing isn’t my forte.” If only Sin had been her partner. They would have laughed when she trod on his feet. Sin would hold her closer than proper until nothing mattered but the animal heat between their bodies.
But the doctor had asked her for her hand in the reel and she couldn’t say no. Not to him. Such a refusal at a ball could only appear perverse.
Dr. Masson glanced at her from the corner of his eye, and Winnifred’s stomach tilted sideways. She’d thought she’d behaved with all propriety at the house party, but the doctor’s looks were increasing curious. She knew Lady Abercairn was whispering sly innuendos in his ear with her forked tongue.
The last strands of the song faded, and she curtsied to Dr. Masson. She was in no danger; rationally she knew this. She was a married woman, under Sin’s protection, and it didn’t matter how many physicians thought her mad.
But ever since her mother had been dragged away, that small ball of fear deep within her breast eschewed rationality.
Lord Brandon approached and bowed. Winnifred swallowed. Was it a conspiracy in this family? Would every male member demand a dance in order to examine her? “Lady Dunkeld,” he said. “If this waltz isn’t previously spoken for—”
“It is.” A lavender gloved-hand took hers. “The marchioness has promised me this dance. Isn’t that right?” Lord Summerset asked, one of his eyebrows raised in a mocking fashion as he faced her.
“Lord Summerset, I did not know you had arrived.” She blinked. Not only did the earl’s gloves match his silk waistcoat, but his cream cravat was dotted with what appeared to be miniature crops of the same color. She hadn’t realized he was such an avid horseman. His jacket and pantaloons were cut from the same satin fabric, a pale primrose. He looked as bright and showy as a peacock. She ran her gaze up and down his outfit several times before remembering her manners. “Welcome back to Kenmore.”
“I’ve only just arrived.” The earl clicked his heels together and bowed, kissing the back of her hand. “Your husband is settling Sutton into his room, but I wanted to join the festivities immediately. Shall we?” And without waiting for her answer, he tugged her back onto the dance floor.
