She joined hands with Hannah, and the two spun madly about. It was an unfettered twirl—meant purely for fun and not for style. Sinclair felt that he, too, was caught up in the frenzied rotation. But unlike Ulysses’s fear of Charybdis’s whirlpool, Sinclair wasn’t afraid of being sucked into Rose’s vortex.
When his set ended, Sinclair stepped off the raised platform by the cliffs and started to make his way toward Rose. To his surprise, her posh attendees, including Miss Morningstar and the duke, were enjoying themselves along with several of Astrid’s repeat bird-watching clients. Even Rose’s parents were at the festivities—the expressions not exactly approving but not disapproving either. The younger guests were gamely trying to learn the proper footwork from the lasses and the newly returned lads, while the older tourists sat interspersed with the island’s elders—although Mr.White seemed to have cornered Mr.and Mrs.Van Etten. Sinclair was not naive enough to believe Rose had felled social class strictures with a single blow, but this wasn’t a hedonistic affair. It was a jolly, communal one. Frest and Hamarray hadn’t rung with this much laughter since before the war.
It was a shame that Rose’s parents planned to leave almost immediately after the race tomorrow. Business had allegedly called Mr.Van Etten back to the States, but Sinclair rather thought the hotelier and his wife were bored with Orkney and wished to escape. Either that or Mr.White’s arrival and subsequent obsequious fawning over them had irritated them into leaving. No matter why they were to depart, their decision didn’t seem to surprise Rose. Her matter-of-fact approach to their upcoming abandonment made Sinclair ache as he realized how alone Rose really was.
But she was strong. She hadn’t dwelled on the shortness of her parents’ visit but had focused on the race and on what information she and Miss Morningstar could ferret out of Mr.White related to espionage. Unfortunately, the man had not let any useful information slip to either woman ... if he even possessed any knowledge of the spy ring to begin with.
When Sinclair once again spotted Rose among the evening’s revelers, time shuddered to a stop and then suddenly seemed to rush backward and forward all at once. While he’d been weaving through the throng, the Earl of Mar had made not only his appearance tonight but also his way to Rose’s side.
The man’s blond hair was threaded with a few pure-white strands, and his mouth had fine brackets sketched around it. In his early sixties, Mar cut a handsome figure. Any signs of aging lent him only a false air of distinguishment. But then, he’d never looked like the monster he was.
Sinclair’s first instinct was that of a child: his body tensed, and he eased back on his heels, preparing to pivot. To slink away. To escape.
His second instinct was that of a lad: his toes slapped back on the ground, and his hands balled into fists. He wanted to attack. To punish. To defend.
But he was no longer a youngster, and Rose was not his mother. She was well aware of the duke’s true nature. Not only did she have the skill and the means to protect herself, but she had already bested the man. Sinclair, though, did not dismiss the danger the earl still posed, regardless of whether he was a spy. He was not about to stomp over and punch the man in the face, but he would watch him. Closely.
Sinclair debated whether to confront the earl or simply to remain in the background. Miss Morningstar seemed to have chosen the latter tactic as she pretended to watch Astrid and Sinclair’s siblings show Lord Newsberry rather intricate dance steps. But both by the angle of Miss Morningstar’s body and the fact that she had agreed to keep an eye on Rose in case the spies tried to attack again, Sinclair knew the archaeologist was listening carefully to Rose and Mar’s discussion.
Before, however, Sinclair could decide upon the best course of action for himself, the lord’s blue eyes lit upon him. A coldness slid over Mar’s face as he took in Sinclair’s eye patch and scar. Even without the telltale mark, it wouldn’t be difficult for the man to recognize him.After all, Sinclair always had possessed a striking resemblance to both his mother and the earl himself.
Mar’s eyes flicked over him, and Sinclair was suddenly glad he’d finally given in to Rose’s suggestion that he purchase clothes befitting his new station as land manager. Even with the generous salary she paid him, Sinclair had felt like a spendthrift when he’d purchased the ready-made suit in Kirkwall. But he was representing the Hamarray estate now, and Rose was right. He couldn’t do that in a darned sweater and rough work trousers, and in converse, wearing a fancy set of clothes didn’t make him any less of a crofter.
“Ah, finally, a servant.” The earl’s lips moved into a smile that would have looked polite if the ends didn’t tilt with such smug superiority. Clearly, he’d mistaken Sinclair’s simple suit for that of a footman or a waiter. “Could you be so kind as to fetch me a glass of sherry? I find I’m very parched.”
Rose, whose back was to Sinclair, immediately corrected Mar even without realizing whom she was defending. “I’m afraid we have no servers tonight. This ceilidh is as much for my staff and the people of Frest as it is for the hotel guests. You’ll all just have to grab your own refresh ...”
Rose trailed off when she turned in his direction. Immediately, concern flashed over her face.
“I am Miss Van Etten’s estate manager,” Sinclair said evenly, wanting his position to be clear to Mar. He paused and then held out his hand. “Mr.ThorfinnSinclair.”
Bloody hell, it felt good to say his full name in front of this gappus—to stand as an adult, anequal, and hold out his hand. He would never, could never, attain the status of peer, but Sinclair didn’t need a title.
“You inquired how I could possibly handle such a large undertaking of managing two islands on my own?” Rose wrapped her hand around the arm that Sinclair wasn’t extending. “Well, this remarkable man is my secret. He has been an invaluable business partner.”
The smug curl of the earl’s lips drooped. He stared down at Sinclair’s hand, as if being handed a rotten fish. He started to step back and then must have realized how that would appear to Rose. Clearly, the toff thought it was possible to force his way back into Rose’s life—as if he hadn’t tried toattackher. A man like the earl had never been made to even consider facing the consequences of his actions, let alone paying for them. Knowing Mar, he still probably wanted to lay claim to Rose’s inheritance by wedding her. After the money was secured, the arse likely planned to punish Rose and then brush aside the pieces that were left of her.
Bright ire erupted inside Sinclair as his stomach contracted and twisted, but he managed to contain it. Now was not yet the time to annihilate Mar.
The earl’s fingers closed around Sinclair’s, his grip soft, weak even. They were the digits of a dilettante. Although Sinclair didn’t pulverize the man’s bones as he wanted, he applied enough pressure so there was no doubt who was the more powerful one now.
Mar withdrew his hand a peedie bit too quickly. His left nostril began to lift as it always did in anger, but it no longer triggered a rush of crippling fear inside Sinclair. The earl sniffed, clearly trying to maintain his poise.
“It is truly a tragedy that a young, vibrant lady has burdened herself with the upkeep of a holding like Hamarray. As the former laird, I would be happy to share with you the advice I have gleaned from running multiple estates.” Mar bowed slightly at the waist—the position giving him the romantic air of a courtier as he tried to strategically move his body between Rose and Sinclair.
“How lovely!” Rose moved closer to Sinclair. “Then I suppose you can tell me the best time to plant the barley crop to ensure a maximum harvest for whiskey production? It has been such a trial trying to figure that out.”
Mar cleared his throat. “Well, in the spring.”
“Oh, thespring,” Rose added with enough dry emphasis that Mar stiffened, apparently realizing thathewas the one being mocked.
“But aren’t these worries you wish to be free of? You made the decision to purchase these islands in such haste.” Mar gave her a placating look that he probably thought would be viewed as heroic concern. “Wouldn’t you much rather be in London thinking about dresses instead of corn?”
“Not really.” Rose smiled. “I’m an heiress. I’ve spent my whole life around pretty frocks. It gets rather dull. But I am truly fascinated to know what kind of improvements you made to Hamarray and Frest that actually turned a profit.”
Mar reddened, and his left nostril bounced up and down like a ball made from india rubber. Everyone knew that he’d had to sell Hamarray and Frest because he could no longer afford the luxury of the losses the upkeep required. His other entailed estates were failing miserably, and the earl did not have diverse investments to draw from.
“Thorfinn has given me so many ideas, and even my father had to admit our planned projects are sound. But Daddy would give me money even if I was being silly with it and frittering it away. I’m sure my mother has already hinted at the size of my allowance and my dowry. That is, of course, my most alluring attribute on ... what do you Brits call it—the Marriage Mart?”
