Page 31 of The Lyon Deception

“Is that so?” Sinclair eyed the creature warily. “Next time I kiss you I will make certain he is locked out.”

“Will there be a next time?” she asked quietly, unable to keep the hope from her voice.

He smiled, that smile she loved so much. “Yes, Cat, there will definitely be a next time.”

They set out a day later, James and Jennie in their coach with Cat, and Sinclair in his phaeton. He made good progress, better than them, and the following day the couple were persuaded to allow Cat to ride with him as they headed north.

She said she loved being up so high, with the wind whipping her hair about her face as the scenery flashed by. “I wish we had a phaeton at Bonnyrigg,” she said a little longingly, when they slowed to take a corner.

“When we’re married, I will buy you one,” he promised.

“If you aren’t disinherited,” she reminded him.

“There is that,” he agreed with a grimace.

But as they headed farther north, Sinclair began to wonder if he should have brought his phaeton after all. When they had started out, the earl had given it a look, one eyebrow raised, but he had ignored the man. Now he understood. Some of the roads were appalling, and his journey was far slower than he had expected. He was looking forward to reaching Bonnyrigg, although when he remembered that would also mean meeting the MacKenzies, he wasn’t so sure.

They stayed in comfortable inns along the way, and Cat was there when they ate their meals, or riding beside him most days. Sinclair could not remember being so happy, at least not for a long time.

She told him about her family, her father the duke and her mother the duchess, as well as her three brothers and their families. He was beginning to feel as if he knew them, that they would get along just fine. Surely it wouldn’t be so bad? They would realize his intentions were honorable and listen to his explanations and apologies.

Who was he fooling? They would kill him on sight.

“I will not let them!” Cat had promised him when he voiced his fears. “Don’t worry, Sinclair. It may take a little while, but they will come around.”

Not exactly a vote of confidence, but he had to hope for the best. And Cat was on his side.

He had kissed her many times now, and he wanted more. He was greedy for more. He thought, whenever she moved away reluctantly from him in the phaeton or on the stairs, or in the breakfast room at their latest inn, that she wanted more too. There was passion between them, and it boded well for their marriage.

Sinclair refused to let himself think he would lose her. He knew he would fight with every ounce of his being and more, and he was beginning to hope she would fight for him, too.

Chapter Seventeen

As the countryside became more familiar, Cat grew more excited to be going home. Not entirely though. She was also very uneasy at the prospect of facing her family after the lies she had told them. She was as bad as Sinclair, but like him she had done it from a place of good intentions. Surely that would make them more inclined to forgive her?

She had not written to her father. Neither had Uncle James, apart from a message to tell Maxwell he was coming to help with his troubles and bringing Cat with him. Maxwell would not be expecting Sinclair, or the surprising prospect of Cat marrying their enemy’s grandson. Uncle James had thought it best to wait until they were all in the same room before he shared that news.

“We’ll keep our powder dry,” he said with a wink.

“You don’t think he will shoot me?” Sinclair asked, eyes wide. And then to Cat, “Is your father a violent man?”

Cat reassured him. “He can be passionate,” she admitted, “but he will not shoot you.”

Sinclair took a relieved breath.

“Although I’m not sure about Rory,” she added.

“Cat!” The name came out of his normally polite and formal mouth—at least when he was in the presence of the earl and his wife.

“Sinclair, I won’t let him,” she promised, but he could see she was torn between laughter and uncertainty. “I won’t let them hurt you,” she added, and then doubled over with laughter.

Sinclair exchanged a glance with the earl. “I neither shoot nor fence,” he said, “so it will have to be fisticuffs if he challenges me to a duel.”

“I don’t think you need to worry,” the earl said. “Cat can shoot and fence, and she is very skilled at both.”

Sinclair had managed a smile, and later, Cat had kissed him to make up for her teasing.

But the truth was that her father would not be happy. She shivered when she thought of his expression when she told him what she had done. It might be enough to send her fleeing south again. Perhaps she and Sinclair would run away together like his parents.