Chapter 4

The little minx was arousing even eating a piece of meat sandwiched between two pieces of bread. Meat—sandwiched between—

His mind was a mire.

The saucy chit was right to call him on it. What was the nature of his attentions? Was he reconsidering his stance on marriage? Could he see this delightful, but immature, young woman as a wife to his cynical, life-weary self?

She was twenty to his thirty-five. If he”d ever imagined himself with a wife she’d—

His inner critic scoffed out loud.

When had he ever imagined himself with a wife?

Never.

Yet that”s what he was courting if he intended to pursue a closer acquaintance with Lady Verity Davencourt. Gabe had reminded him as much only last night.

He’d almost flinched at her unexpected forthright answer. Perhaps she was not as immature as he’d thought.

‘You fascinate me,’ he said truthfully. Then added a little more mendaciously, ‘So I merely seek to know more of you.’

The mysterious aquamarine orbs surveyed him steadily and he”d be damned if he knew what she was thinking.

He couldn”t read her as he could most young women. They were usually so transparent, not having learned the art of showing an unreadable countenance to the world at large.

His own thoughts were clear however.

He should back off, go and find Nik and challenge him to a game of billiards, or simply slip away somewhere he could enjoy a quiet smoke. But his backside seemed welded to the chair, his legs rigid and immovable.

Neither wicked little smirks from Angelique nor the less obvious sideways glances from Victoria bothered him. He was fixated on the nymph before him.

At least Illingworth wasn”t aware, being too caught up with staring at the glorious crown of strawberry blonde curls atop Vic’s bent head. What was with those two?

The thought was quickly lost in his absorption with the owner of the silver blonde locks who was looking as if she might give him the brush off any minute now.

‘Are you staying on for the week as Gabe and Lucy asked? I know some of the elders are leaving. I think our hosts are hoping to prolong the socializing a bit.’

‘It was my intention,’ she responded, considering the selection on her plate, as if deciding what to partake of next was more intriguing than his conversation.

‘Is it still?’ he demanded impatiently, and wondered what the devil he was doing.

He would long ago have given up on any other woman who was this unforthcoming. It was as if something outside of himself was driving him.

‘Mama or Papa may require me at home. They will be leaving after luncheon. Mama rarely goes out, but she was determined not to miss out on the christening of Lucy”s son.’

‘Do you not have any freedom from your parents, even at twenty?’

The skepticism in his voice was audible even to himself.

A strange little frown creased Verity’s forehead as her gaze slid across the room to where her sister, while nominally grouped with her three married friends and their ex-military husbands, was actually holding court with Quin and the other two single soldiers, Deus Ayers and Hawk Castleton.

‘Our Mama is—delicate. Usually Charity attends her and she rarely gets a chance for this sort of socializing. I should probably offer to go home with Mama in her stead. Let Char enjoy herself for a change.’

An odd expression passed through her eyes before she lowered them to survey her plate again and select the small meat pie.

‘I had hoped to hear you play again. You have talent, as you do with flowers.’

‘I—do what I love,’ she said, with an almost imperceptible shrug. ‘Do you play? An instrument, that is?’

‘I used to play the piano,’ he admitted. ‘Though it”s been a while.’

‘Why? Why wouldn”t you play whenever you can? Sometimes, I”ll spend the whole afternoon playing—if no one comes to interrupt me.’

‘Too busy,’ he said. ‘Will you play for me this afternoon?’

‘Goodness. Really? Perhaps we can play some duets together?’

‘I imagine I’d be too rusty for that. You’d put me to the blush.’

A merry gurgle of laughter escaped her.

‘I doubt you’ve ever blushed in your life, and as for your playing ability, it”s something you never forget,’ she said roundly.

Before he could second-guess himself, Sin rose.m‘Meet me at the piano in the drawing room when you”re finished.’

Not waiting to see whether she agreed or not, he strode across the room, deposited his half-eaten meal on the table and slipped out of the room before anyone could waylay him.

Half expecting one of the single gentlemen to seize the moment to escape the proper society of the dining room and follow him, he was grateful to slip into the safety of the ante room at the end of the long gallery without being joined by anyone. From there it was a matter of stepping into the vast east-facing drawing room and closing the door behind him.

At the far end in a bay window recess stood the grand piano Lady Verity had played like a maestro last night.

Opening the lid and settling himself on the stool, he rested his hands on the keys. How long had it been since his fingers had felt the warm caress of ivory? He”d used to play almost as well as the nymph herself.

Why had he stopped? India, and the semi piratical life he’d lived the last few years hadn”t offered the opportunity, and then it was like he’d forgotten. Forgotten something that once upon a time had given him great pleasure.

His fingers rolled down the keyboard in the chromatic scale, then up again. Repeating the action several times, and he was gratified to find it easier and easier. Arpeggios and scales, he ran them all and when he finished he rested his hands on the instrument, startled to feel his lungs working in his chest—as if he”d physically run up and down the keyboard.

God damn, he was excited. How long had it been since he’d felt this pounding of elation in his chest. He”d used to play any number of pieces from memory. Could he still?

As soon as Sinclair was gone, Angelique pounced.

‘Whatwas that all about?’ she demanded.

How could she give Angel a coherent answer, when she couldn”t make sense of what had transpired herself?

But Angel was staring at her in that way she had that said she’d be happy with nothing less than every last secret Verity might wish to hold to her heart. Even Vic was watching her from over her shoulder, while still keeping her head down to avoid looking at Ben.

Who looked as if he was going to stand there staring down at her until she relented and looked back at him. If she”d only give in, he”d offer her the sweetest, most alluring smile Verity had ever seen on a man”s face and then he”d saunter off, satisfied.

Angelique’s fingers snapped in front of Verity’s face, reminding her she had her own ‘gentlemanly problem’ to untangle without mulling off into her ‘other worlds’ trying to work out Victoria”s.

Trouble was, she knew Bennett Adderley was a gentleman. Was not sure she could make the same confident assumption about Victoria and Lucy”s cousin—somewhat removed.

Just because Sinclair was Gabe”s brother didn”t mean—

‘I swear I”ll slap you if you don”t come out of that trance. What did he say to you?’ Angelique snapped impatiently.

Angel would not actually slap her, but it was best to respond when she lost her patience. Verity blinked several times, trying to clear her thoughts.

‘Um—,’ was all that would form on her lips. She didn”t feel like being subjected to one of Angel’s cross examinations, especially in front of Ben, who would probably remain rooted to the floor until Vic looked up so he could smile at her.

Then inspiration struck.

‘He complemented me—all of us—on our musical offering yesterday and then—he asked me to play for him. Excuse me,’ she said, placing her almost empty plate in Angel”s startled grasp, and hurrying off across the room.

Spying her parents in conversation with Gabe”s mother and Quin”s stepmother, she veered off her course to speak with them.

‘Verity,’ Papa said, giving her that perplexed half smile that always made her feel as if he had no clue how to deal with her. ‘Your arrangements in the chapel are stunning as always—and did you also do the centerpiece for the table?’ he finished, indicating the great bowl of hot house lilies and ferns gracing the tables still laden with food.

‘I love doing flowers for Lucy. There is such a wonderful selection of blooms and greenery to choose from in the conservatory here and at Highbrooke.’

‘Unlike the conservatory at Stannesford Hall,’ her father commented, ‘which your Papa keeps filled with butterflies. Not much choice for flower arrangements.’

A smile curved the corners of his mouth and Verity felt a rare accord with this big dark man whose incongruous passion was the raising of exotic butterflies.

‘Aunt Connie sent the lilies over.’

Her eyes sought out Angel”s mother on the other side of Lady Carradene. Aunt Connie she was to all the young ones regardless of blood ties. She”d mothered orphaned Victoria and more often than not purloined Verity too, to save her parents worrying over their fey, childish youngest daughter.

And probably, Verity privately believed, because her parents had no clue how to handle the ethereal, psychic creature who was more adept at hiding than they were at finding her.

And here she was, mulling off in her mind again when she had something specific to say to Papa and Mama.

‘Are you leaving for home soon?’

‘We are,’ Papa said, his gaze drifting over Mama in a way that always made Verity feel a little—excluded. It wasn”t that her parents didn”t love her or her siblings, for she knew they did.

It was just that—they loved each other more. And since Mama had a tendency to drop into a trance state and start predicting things not yet come to pass, usually horrendous things—as in the Duke of Northram’s death at his own dinner party—Papa hovered.

He had made a vow the night they met, the night the Duke of Northram was killed with his own carving knife at his own table by his brother-in-law. He had vowed never to leave his exquisitely beautiful Helena alone when they were out in society. Papa, being the unusual man he was, took that vow seriously.

‘Would you like me to come with you so Charity may stay and enjoy the company? She doesn”t get much chance for fun.’

Papa’s dark eyebrows almost disappeared into his hair and even Mama looked pleasantly stunned, as if her youngest had done something amazing and clever.

Verity sighed. It was not to be wondered at. She”d never made such an altruistic offer to help before.

Once again Papa looked towards his wife, who gave him that warm, secretive smile she seemed to save especially for him.

‘That”s—very mature of you, Verity,’ he rumbled, his dark blue eyes brightening a little.

‘Did I not promise you the other day,’ she answered, ‘I”d decided it”s time I began acting my age?’

‘You did, child, and I”m gratified for it. But your sacrifice will not be required this time. I believe your Mama and I shall deal well enough without the two of you for another couple of days. Neither of you have had much opportunity to socialize as you should. We will not deprive either of you of this one. Just—make us proud, Verity. And if there”s anything you are unsure of, you have Lucy, Quelle and Carly to guide you. All married and suitable as chaperons for you and Charity—especially since this is practically a family house party.’

Her mother smiled benignly at her as she always did, though Verity was reasonably certain she sensed that aura of psychic awareness that enveloped her whenever she succumbed to trance and uttered some outrageous portent.

Did Mama know Sinclair Wolfenden would be her husband?

Well, of course she did. There was no keeping anything from her, which is why Verity had spent her entire life playing least in sight and devising ways to stay out of her Mama’s purview.

And of course, she”d tell Papa. So was this her parents giving her their blessing? Her lungs swelled in her chest as she struggled to keep breathing normally.

She placed a kiss on each of their cheeks and moved off into the mingling guests again.

While her progress may have seemed undirected, she was in fact, totally focused on edging closer to the door.

Sinner was waiting for her at the piano in the drawing room. She well knew she should find Linnie and ask her to sit in the room with them, but she had no intention of doing so.

It was broad daylight after all, and the luncheon party was still bustling only the length of the long gallery away.

Seeing her chance after spending a few moments with the Vicar and Mrs. Coutts and thanking them for their kind praise for her florist skills, she slipped out the door and sped along the marble tiled gallery to the drawing room.

In the sanctuary of the ante room she skidded to a stop, her head tilted to listen to the romantic strains of Beethoven”s Moonlight Sonata emanating from within. Slowly she pushed the door open and peered down the room to where Sinclair sat with his back to her, his hands moving over the keys with a confidence and skill that told her he”d once had an awesome competence.

And could have again if he chose.

Closing the door at her back, knowing she was piling scandalous choice upon scandalous choice, she walked the length of the room on silent feet to stand less than an arm’s length away to watch his big, manly hands glide over the keys with a surprising delicacy. Elegance even.

His hands and the music stopped abruptly.

‘You came.’

‘Yes,’ she said simply.

‘You shouldn”t have,’ he growled, turning on the stool to face her.

‘W—why not?’

Was he trying to confuse her? All but telling her to go back to the safety of the dining room, while looking as if he’d devour her whole at any moment.

‘Because of this,’ he rasped and reached for her.

Between one gasping breath and the next, she was sitting sideways on his lap and his mouth had claimed hers.

Oh—this was—she should—uh—what—?

Like his name, the man”s mouth was sin. His lips were firm yet warm and enticing. And his tongue—was teasing along the seam of her mouth. Helplessly she opened for him.

Now their tongues could dance with one another, tease.

Dear Lord, he”d stolen the air from her lungs, the caution from her mind, the propriety from—wherever she”d thought she”d been harboring it.

And the soft moans, the vibrant hums she could hear? They were coming from her throat. Although, surely that dark and rasping groan was Sinner’s?

Children”s voices carried through from the long gallery.

Awareness and air crashed back into Verity’s chest at the same time, blurring her vision and giving strength to her limbs.

Violently she pushed herself upright, her chest heaving and her lips burning from the sensual assault.

‘You—you can”t do that,’ she whispered.

‘I just did,’ he said, clearly unrepentant. ‘And I will do it again.’

‘You will not,’ she told him roundly. ‘Someone could come in. The children for instance. I can hear them playing out in the gallery.’

His smile was slow and hungry.

‘You were as lost in that kiss as I was, Lady Verity.’

The dark turbulence in his gray eyes was more of a fire storm, struck through with arcs of lightning.

Verity felt every one of them burning into her skin, setting her soul on fire. The man was trying to seduce her.

She’d read all about that in the Comtesse’s diaries and forewarned was forearmed. Surely?

‘I should not have come,’ she muttered.

‘But you did,’ he said with satisfaction. ‘Play for me.’

‘Really? You kiss me within an inch of ravishment and then you expect me to just sit down and play for you?’

‘I do.’ He nodded and vacated the stool, bending his knee and giving her a sweeping invitation with his arm to take the seat.

Verity sat, and her hands instantly splayed over the keys, lifted and trilled into the opening bars of Beethoven”s Tempest, whirling faster, then crashing into the strident chords of the musical storm. The keys hammered beneath her fingers, filled with all the sudden fury that had infused her at his commands.

No one had commanded Verity Davencourt in a very long time. If ever. She could not be coerced, but she could be led—with love.

Laughter burst out of her, as crazed and demonic as the notes crashing from the beleaguered instrument beneath her hands, and she brought the stormy piece to a sudden discordant end.

Turning on the stool, she stood, drawing herself up to her full five foot six inches. It wasn”t tall enough to look Sinclair in the eye without tilting her chin, but it was the best she could manage. He would doubtless get the message from the sea-tempest now raging in her eyes.

‘If you are to be my husband,’ she said, stabbing a finger into his hard, unyielding chest, ‘you should understand from the outset I don”t respond well to orders.’

He staggered back a step as if her finger had been a fist slammed into his chest with force. Nothing had ever felt more gratifying. She could scarcely wait for what would eventually spill from that gaping mouth.

Then he snapped it shut, and his startled brows returned to their habitual dark frown. Scowl really.

Verity had to suppress the desire to laugh again. That would only dilute her power in this moment and she was not ready to relinquish one jot of that. Such moments would be rare in their future, she imagined.

‘Who. Said. Anything. About. Marriage?’

Measured, and laced with—scorn, Verity decided—the words destroyed the heated silence between them. But even when neither said any more, the silence was rife with the clashing of their thoughts. Fraught with a cacophony of indignation, ire and high dudgeon.

Uncertain at first as to what her response should be, Verity did what she always did in such situations, turned her focus inwards and consulted the inner knowing that never let her down.

And the answer was clear as written on a tablet of stone. The outcome would likely not be good, but she knew the words would be said, whether she thought it wise or not.

‘Apparently—it”s written—in our stars. I have never questioned what my angels have shown me before, but I absolutely question this. You, Mr. Wolfenden, are a cad, and I don’t need my angels to tell me so.’

Stepping around him, she stormed out of the room, leaving a scowling, blatantly unchastened Sinner staring at her back.

Written in the Stars? Had she meant—?

Sinclair shook his head violently trying to dislodge the words she”d spoken. If you”re to be my husband—it”s written in the Stars.

Gabe had tried to tell him the youngest Davencourt was as fey and different as her mother was known to be.

She was definitely different. What young woman talked so confidently about a man being her husband—before he even got to thinking he might ask her?

One who had a direct rapport with—angels? God?

Oh no. The woman was simply unhinged, and so was he if he began believing any of what she’d said might be true.

He sank onto the piano stool, his hands going to the keys assuredly as if he”d played every day of his life.

The Tempest. He”d used to play it once upon a time. Had loved the crashing thunder of it, the flow of raw power through his fingertips.

As he allowed the music to draw the crashing passion of insane desire, pulsing anger and clawing disbelief out through his fingertips, he felt sanity and his usual calm, self-command settle back into his being.

Marriage was not a noose he fancied around his neck, not even if it came in the delectable form and temptation of a silver-haired nymph with mercurial eyes and silken curves to ensnare a man”s soul.

It was as well he’d lost track of his soul many years ago. He was, therefore, not susceptible to the wiles of any damned female, and he didn”t believe in signs from the stars.

With the sensation of waking from a crazy dream or recovering from a bout of insanity, he allowed his hands to flow back into the lighter racing dance of the Moonlight Sonata.

After a few moments, he closed the lid of the piano and strode out of the drawing room, confident he”d banished his inappropriate and anomalous attraction to a chit who seemed not quite of this world.

He would find Nik and together they could disappear—for a ride, or a game of billiards.

If a voice somewhere in the back of his conscience suggested he should really go and spend some time with his Mama and his sisters, he easily squelched it. They were staying on for a few days after all.

He needed to absent himself from anywhere he was likely to find his little fire-breathing dragon-nymph.

He had no plans to be anybody”s husband, least of all a fairy creature who believed in signs from the stars.

Maybe he would leave with Nik tomorrow when he set out to visit his uncle’s estate ten miles to the north of Stannesford.

Nik had been in the dining room when Sin had left, so he cautiously scanned the gathering from the doorway. When he could discover neither his friend nor the dainty figure of his fanciful fairy, he stepped into the room and sought out Jackson.

‘Where”s Nik?’

‘Sin. He was looking for you. I think he”s decided to ride out for Ainslee Court this afternoon. The weather seems to be turning and he thought to set out today rather than wait for tomorrow. It”s only ten miles. He could do it easily if he leaves now. I think he went up to his room to pack.’

‘Thanks,’ Sin said, and headed for the stairs to their room on the upper floor, only to meet Nik coming down, his saddlebags slung over his shoulder.

‘Sin. I”ve been looking for you. I”m heading out. Don”t want to be snowbound here. Papa”s anxious for me to spend some time with Uncle Charles and try to learn a few things about the running of Ainslee this trip. It seems Uncle Charles is determined to name me as his heir since Papa refuses to leave Mama in India or to bring her here. She would never survive English society—or the damned climate most likely. I don’t have much time since I need to be back in London in two weeks for when the Princess Jeshael makes port. You should be too.’

‘I intend to be,’ Sinclair said tersely. ‘Can you wait while I change? I”ll ride out a ways with you.’

Within half an hour, they were galloping along the road north, and Nik took the chance to berate his friend.

‘What the devil are you about, Sin? With the Davencourt chit? She”s a tasty piece of cheese set firmly on parson’s mousetrap—and way too young and naive for the cynical and sinful likes of you.’

‘Let’s just ride, Nik. I”m well aware of all you”ve said. Only answer I can offer is I”ve been too long without a woman. Told you when we arrived seven days was going to be too long in such polite and proper society. I”ll ride as far as The Lamb in Buckland village. Mayhap there”s a lusty and willing wench there who will happily bounce some sense back into my brains.’

‘Brain,’ Nik corrected him. ‘As in gonad. Dammit man, have you taken leave of your senses?’

Sinclair feared that too, but he was not about to admit it to his best friend.

‘And how are you coming to terms with the knowledge you’ll be the next Earl of Ainslee?’

It was a sure topic to steer Nik’s attention away from Sin’s tangled affairs. Nik”s uncle was ill and with no living son, Nik”s father would normally have been his heir. But as the younger son with no prospects, Frederick Woodburn had left England for a post in the East India Company as soon as he had finished at university. He had found the other half of his soul there, Princess Farida of Nagpur, and had declared he”d never return to England.

Sin knew the brothers had decided between them Anik would be named as Charles” heir, regardless he”d lived most of his adult life at sea since the death of his beloved Jeshael after two years of marriage. He knew nothing of running an English estate or the responsibilities inherent in an earldom, yet the business was apparently all but settled.

Nik, looking as exotic as a wild tropical orchid in a bouquet of delicate English snowdrops and with seawater for blood, was not happy.

A cold, wet drizzle had set in by the time they reached the tiny village of Buckland.

‘I”ll leave you here,’ Nik said as they arrived in the yard at The Lamb, the village pub. ‘I”m not halfway yet and I think I should keep riding. I really want to make Ainslee tonight and this weather doesn”t look promising.’

‘Fair enough,’ Sin said. ‘You don”t even want a brandy to warm you on your way?’

Nik patted the pocket of his heavy greatcoat.

‘You know I always have a flask of good Jamaican rum on me when I travel. More guts than your dandy-brandy,’ he quipped, saluted Sin, and continued on down the road.

‘And stay away from cheese,’ he yelled back over his shoulder, as he disappeared into the gloomy day.

The Lamb was quiet. A few old timers, presumably locals, were clustered around an upturned barrel near the fireplace, on which their drinks rested. There appeared to be a game of draughts going forward at one table, and a couple of dart boards in use. Otherwise, the place was dead.

But what cheered Sin was the bright, buxom barmaid who surveyed him with some anticipation from enticing blue-eyes beneath an unruly mop of blonde curls.

Exactly what he was needing.

When the barmaid brought the pie and ale he”d ordered, she brushed encouragingly up against his arm, her eyes bright and enticing.

‘Anything else c’n I do for ya, lovey?’

Her voice was deep and husky, like she”d been inhaling the smoky atmosphere of the tap room all the years of her young life.

‘Maybe later,’ Sin promised and sent her on her way. He was not unduly concerned at his lack of response, deciding it was probably that he was hungry. He”d not eaten but one small meat pie off his luncheon plate at Pennington.

The ale was good and he followed it with brandy, and was easily inveigled into a game of darts and then several of billiards. By which time he was best drinking buddies with the group of old codgers and they were convinced he was an ‘okay sort—for a toff’.

More travelers entered the inn, seeking shelter for the night since it had started to snow.

‘Snow in November. T’will be a long ‘ard winter then,’ one of the bewhiskered old fellows, Badger, mumbled sagely.

Snow? Sin had been comfortable, settled, still trying to convince himself he would bed—–Tilly, yeah that was her name—before he left.

But it was snowing.

He lurched to his feet.

‘Gotta go, gents. Sorry, but don”t wanna get frozen solid before I get home,’ he said, lumbering over to the bar. Jerking his thumb towards his erstwhile mates, he said, ‘Their nex’ roun’s on me.’

He slammed a fist full of coins on the bar.

‘Will that cover it?’ he asked, fingering a gold coin and then sliding it towards Tilly. ‘Thanks luv. Maybe nex’ time.’

With a wide smile showing him she still had a mostly full set of teeth, she slipped the coin into the bodice of her dress and leaned across the bar so he got a clear view of the glint of gold between two soft cushions of flesh.

‘You wan’ it back any time, you knows where to come get it,’ she purred.

Sin staggered back a little, having a drunken argument with himself as to why the thought left him without a frisson of heat anywhere.

Stumbling out to the stable, he called for his horse to be saddled.

‘How far are ye goin’?’ the grizzled ostler asked.

Nosey old bugger, was Sin’s first thought, but the man was not finished.

‘Folks be stoppin’ cos it”s snow’n’ an’ you just be settin’ out? Fool’ardy, if’n you was t’ ask me.’

‘I didn”t,’ Sin muttered, then leaned against his horse for a moment, considering.

Maybe the man was just concerned.

‘Thanks. I”m only goin’ far as Pennington Towers. I”ll be fine.’

‘If’n ye c’n see th’ road.’

‘Samson here will see me safe home. Has before.’

Scrabbling for a coin to tip the man, he dragged out a sixpence from the corner of the last pocket he delved into.

Pressing it into the ostler’s hand, he muttered, ‘Sorry, The rogues in there cleaned me out.’

Dropping the coin into his pocket, the man gave Sin a leg up since he didn”t seem to have the coordination to mount up on his own.

Once in the saddle, he pulled his coat collar up about his ears and jammed his hat as low as it would go on his head and lifted a hand in acknowledgement to the ostler, who peered after him as if he doubted his sanity.

Nudging Samson out into the weather, Sin only briefly considered the man might have had a point. The ground was already white though it was barely an inch deep.

Flakes of white settled on Samson’s ears. With a full body shudder the animal set off and Sin spurred him into a trot, and then a gallop. His body seem to jolt loose in the saddle.

Must be more foxed than I thought, he muttered, and righted himself. You’d better keep focused or you”ll fall off and freeze to death because you can”t mount up again.

He”d been in worse straits—but usually on a ship in mountainous seas. Somehow his current position, perched drunkenly atop a galloping horse seemed way more perilous. Even in his fogged state he knew speed was of the essence. He could still make out the road, but if the snow got thicker, or night fell then he was at the mercy of the instincts of his horse.

They needed to gallop. It would keep them both warm and hopefully bring the Towers into sight before darkness engulfed them.

Grimly forcing himself to feel more sober than he actually was, Sin settled himself more firmly in the saddle, ensured he had a good grip on the reins and spurred Samson to lengthen his stride.

He had no idea how long it had taken him, but he was damned glad to see the lighted lanterns in the sheltered niches atop the twisted red brick pillars at the gates of Pennington.

Sin let his body relax, and the horse slowed as they turned in the gates.

‘Take it easy now, old boy,’ he muttered, patting the animal’s neck. At least, he thought that”s what he was patting. He couldn”t feel his fingers and the light had almost gone. But they were home. They only needed to ride in a straight line up the long birch-lined drive to the stables.

In his mind, that last hundred yards took as long as the rest of the nightmare journey.

They clattered into the stable yard and the doors flew open, pushing banked snow aside and allowing Sin to ride straight into the welcome warmth of the solid building.

‘Thank Christ,’ he muttered as Dougal McFarquarson’s gnarled hands reached for him to ease him out of the saddle.

He couldn”t feel his feet, or his hands, or pretty much anything. McFarquarson, Pennington’s stable master, was a big man, but he staggered as he took Sin’s full weight, for the moment his feet touched the floor, he crumpled and would have fallen in an ungainly heap beneath Samson’s hooves.

‘Bluidy hell, Mr. Sinclair, sir. Wot maggot in the head took you out in a bluidy snowstorm?’

‘Had to get home. Gabe. Mama. They’d worry. See to my horse, Mac. He got us safely home. I’ll—warm-up ‘ventually—from all the brandy—in m’guts. I”ll just sleep here.’

‘Oh no ye won”t, Mr. Sinclair. Up wit’ye. Get walking. Up and down. Stamp some bluid back into yer feet.—Jamie! Sam! Get doon here—now,’ he suddenly bellowed, making Sin flinch. ‘The lads’ll see ye over to t’hoose, where Horsham and Mrs. Wyatt’ll see ye right. An’ I”ll see to yer horse. Never fear. He”s in good hands—aye Samson?’ he growled, patting the horse’s neck with one hand while keeping Sin upright with the other.

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