A muscle ticked in the earl’s jaw. “The delay was unavoidable.”
“I believe you,” Sin said. “But it doesn’t leave us much time. Montague and Rothchild had to ride hell for leather to Edinburgh to warn of the attack.” He snorted. “Poor Rothchild. He could barely climb on his horse. I don’t envy him the thirty miles of pain. The poor sot was rather banged-up after the games.”
“Reeeally.” Summerset smirked. “Do tell. I’d like to hear in detail how badly our friend failed so I can mock him later.”
Shaking her head, Winnifred tugged Sin away. “We have hosting duties to attend,” she said to him. And to Summerset: “And I’m certain there are other games Rothchild excels at.”
“Just not vigorous Scottish ones.” Sin looked as delighted as a child who’d stolen a pudding.
“He’s also never practiced throwing a log before, I’m sure.” A pair of young women sat with their backs to the wall, looking hopefully at the dance floor. Winnifred snaked her hand out and grabbed Summerset by the sleeve, pulling him in their wake.
“Caber toss,” Sin muttered.
Winnifred ignored that. “Now, gentlemen, before you save the country, there are more pressing matters to attend. Namely, those two lovely girls haven’t danced yet tonight. Go, do something useful.”
“I hardly think so,” Summerset said.
Her husband whined, “I didn’t dance when I was a bachelor. Surely now that I’m married I don’t have to submit to such—”
“Stop your nonsense, the both of you.” She gave a shove to their backs. “You’ll give them a bit of merriment, and that is something the world holds in short supply right now.” She gave them a stern look. “Go on. Dance now, save the world later.”
Summerset tossed back his drink and handed her the empty glass. “I’ve changed my mind about your wife.” But he squared his shoulders and marched into the fray, offering one of the girls his hand. Her face lit up and she bounced to her feet.
Winnifred nudged her husband. “You too.”
Sin inhaled sharply. “You do know I will make you pay for this later.”
Her stomach fluttered. “I look forward to it.” As far as she was concerned, this night couldn’t end soon enough. The stresses of the ball, the investigation, it was all too much. Tomorrow everything would be settled and their guests would be leaving. She could hardly wait.
Making sure no one was watching, she gave Sin a swat on the rear. “Off with you. And good luck.” She gripped his wrist. “With everything.”
He kissed her cheek. “Like I said, you have nothing to worry about. After tonight, all this will be over and we can move on with our lives.”
He walked away, off to make another wallflower’s night, and Winnifred dug a knuckle into her breastbone. She wanted to believe him. She should believe him. When Sin put his mind to something, he didn’t let anything get in his way.
But a chill settled in her bones, one that her logical side couldn’t reason away.
Chapter Thirty
Sin threw open another door. It hit the wall and bounced back, but not before he caught sight of what the two occupants inside the room were doing on his settee.
“Apologies.” He grabbed the handle and pulled the door shut. “You might want to lock the damn door,” he shouted through the wood.
“Abercairn isn’t in there, I take it.” Sutton padded after him as they searched the castle for the elusive earl.
“No,” Sin said shortly. That was every drawing room in Kenmore. Where the bloody blazes could Abercairn have gone after dinner? He hadn’t joined the other gentlemen for cigars and whisky after the ball. Had he retired already?
The glow from Summerset’s candle followed them around the corner, thirty paces behind. True to his word, his friend was staying close, although the caution was unnecessary. Abercairn would either go quietly, or he’d go unconscious, but after he confessed, he would be leaving for London and Liverpool’s retribution. Sin couldn’t wait until the man was someone else’s problem.
He rounded yet another corner and eased open the next door, not wanting to catch any other couple in a compromising position. He peered inside his private study, and his shoulders hardened. The Earl of Abercairn, Earl of Brandon, and the Viscount Eirlie sat in his leather chairs, drams of whisky in each of their hands. Abercairn lounged with his feet kicked up on Sin’s desk.
Son of a … Only Sutton’s hand clamped tightly to his shoulder prevented Sin from tossing the shit sack from his chair.
“Manners are a bit different in the north it would seem.” Sutton leaned back against a cabinet, perched his arse on the top edge. “Annexing a man’s private study as though it were your own isn’t quite the thing.”
Brandon had the grace to look embarrassed. He set his glass down and stood. “I believe I’ll call it a night. Good evening, gentlemen.”
“Come, come, Brandon.” Abercairn lifted a cigar from the desk and blew a neat ring of smoke into the air. “We’re invited guests. We should be welcome everywhere. No need to turn tail and run.”
