Page 18 of The Lyon Deception

Chapter Ten

Sinclair was aware that his attendance at the ball could go very wrong. He shouldn’t have agreed to come at all, but he hadn’t been able to help himself. The thought of dancing with Cat MacKenzie made him feel slightly unhinged and more than a little desperate.

He was in love with her. It was ridiculous and fantastical, but it was the truth. They barely knew each other, and yet he felt as if he knew her totally and completely, and that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her.

There was only one problem. Or maybe there was more than one.

He groaned and then jumped as his valet cleared his throat. “Your jacket is to your liking, sir?” the man asked, looking anxious. He probably thought Sinclair’s behavior was a sign of disapproval.

“Yes, very nice,” Sinclair replied hastily.

It was a nice jacket, a dark blue one in the latest fashion and very tight. He was wearing pantaloons rather than the satin breeches often worn at balls, and his hair was tamed with pomade so that it was less wild than usual. His curls might behave themselves, at least for an hour or two. Even as he thought it, one sprang up as if to demonstrate the futility of his attempt.

What would Cat think when she saw him? The way her eyes had lit up that morning in the park made him think she enjoyed his company, but that was all moot when he remembered what would happen after she learned the truth. She would despise him and he wouldn’t blame her.

He made sure to arrive at the ball early, probably impolitely early, so that he could greet Christopher and his mother without subterfuge. He reasoned that no one could overhear him if no one else was there yet. If his friend was surprised to see him there before the time on his invitation, he said nothing, while his mother was a pleasant woman who greeted him warmly.

“We are expecting a very good turnout tonight,” she said with satisfaction. “I am hopeful my little ball may be the hit of the Season!”

“A crush, do you mean?” Christopher added with a grimace.

Sinclair was glad to hear it. A crush would help him disappear among the crowd. He listened to the two of them bickering, and it felt familiar, reminding him of his own mother. He missed her, and he usually tried to remember the good times they had together rather than the upheaval the loss of her had caused him. As for his grandfather, he tried not to think of him much at all. Let Lord Armytage remain in the far north in his bleak castle.

Soon, more guests began to arrive, and it was definitely a crush. Sinclair slipped between the groups of chattering people, very careful to avoid anyone who knew him. He was not a social animal. His own outlet was the Lyon’s Den, and it was probably only other members of that gambling club who might recognize him. And of course, his commoner friends were not here—the wheelwright and the young apprentice carpenter who helped with his projects, as well as the workers in the lumber yard where he bought his wood. In fact, this was the first ball he had been to in quite some time.

Soon the dancing began, and he still could not see Cat anywhere. He was peering about, wondering if this had been a waste of time, when he felt a light tap on his shoulder.

“Mr. Sutherland,” that lovely, familiar voice said behind him. “Here you are.”

He turned, and any regrets he might have had about coming vanished immediately. Cat was wearing a gown that seemed to float about her, and her bright hair was fashioned into a smooth coronet about her crown. No curls and ringlets for Cat MacKenzie. She was beautiful and elegant, and she made all of the other women present appear gaudy.

She was smiling at him, waiting for him to respond, and he realized he was gawking at her, and if he wanted her to stay then he needed to speak.

“Lady Catriona,” he said, bowing over her hand. All he could think to add was, “There seem to be a great many people here.”

“Yes. I’m finding it hard to breathe.” She glanced about her with a faint frown. “My aunt says that means it is a hit, which is all any hostess could want. She is about somewhere, my aunt I mean. She is my chaperone tonight, and I wanted to introduce her to you.”

No, no, no!

“Let us dance first,” he spoke quickly. “The next dance is just starting.”

She murmured agreement and squeezed his hand. He realized then that he was still holding hers, her gloved fingers looking delicate against his. They took their places, and he savored this moment of being close to her, watching her serious expression as she concentrated on her steps. Sinclair had been taught to dance by one of his grandfather’s hirelings and had no trouble dancing, although he could not remember ever enjoying it as much as he did now.

“Oh, this is fun!” Cat said, after he had twirled her around. She sounded breathless, her smile wide and her eyes bright. “I love the ceilidhs we have at Bonnyrigg. They are more boisterous than this, of course, but no one worries about that. You would enjoy them, Mr. Sutherland. You should come.”

She stopped as soon as she had said it, and shot him a doubtful glance, probably wondering if she had overstepped.

“I would love to,” he responded warmly. “Boisterous sounds preferable to sedate. Sometimes I find London society a little too restricting.”

She mused on this, and they danced a moment in silence. “I can see that it could be a wee bit restricting,” she agreed. “I’m not sure I would want to go to a ball every night, but now I am here in London, I think I need to force myself to sample a few.”

She was laughing at him, her eyes sparkling.

“London has a lot to offer.” He hesitated. “I am probably not the best person to ask when it comes to social events,” he admitted. “This is only the second ball I have been to.”

She stared. “Really? Was the other one so terrible it put you off? I feel privileged that you agreed to come here tonight.”

“It wasn’t exactly the highlight of my first season,” he admitted. In fact it had been a nightmare. His grandfather had stood at his side, his gaze assessing every mistake Sinclair made, and he was so nervous he could barely speak. He had decided then that he would not do this again, and when his grandfather had returned to Scotland, he had found other ways to fill his time. Probably the sorts of ways the old man would not agree were gentlemanly enough for the man he expected him to be.