Free Sinfully Yours by Cara Elliott

a quieter spot by the diamond-paned windows. “I apologize again for my cousin. He is rather passionate about his political beliefs and doesn’t much like the English.”
    “So I gathered,” he said dryly.
    “But he is an excellent shot and knows the moors like the back of his hand,” explained Lady Dunbar, “So I pressed him to be part of the party and to serve as a hunting guide to the prince and his companions.”
    “I’m surprised he accepted,” said Devlin, making private note of the baron’s proficiency with firearms. “McClellan doesn’t appear to give a fig for social niceties.” The irony of his observation was not lost on him. It was, he thought wryly, rather like the pot calling the kettle black.
    “No, he doesn’t,” agreed the countess. “But I am a very generous donor to his local charitable initiatives for the crofters, so he humors me.”
    To a degree , thought Devlin.
    “And now, enough about Alec. Let us mingle with the others.” The French trio had just entered the room, followed by several of the German nobles. “The last of the guests arrived this afternoon, so everyone is now here.”
    Devlin watched as Madame de Blois turned and held his gaze for a moment before joining a group of gentlemen clustered by the marble hearth.
    “But of course,” he murmured. Between having ample quiet time for his own private project and an attractive widowed lady with whom to play provocative games, the decision to accept Thorncroft’s assignment was beginning to seem like a stroke of genius. No tedious creditors to disturb his work, no beguiling blonde beauty to torment…
    “By the by, Lord Davenport,” said the countess, “I hadn’t realized you were such an avid sportsman. Had I known you were so fond of grouse shooting, I would have invited you to our annual hunt parties before now.”
    “Ah, we all have our little secrets,” he replied lightly.
    “Well, I am glad that Sir Thorncroft made mention of the fact to my husband. I do hope you will find your stay a rewarding one.” With that, she drifted off to greet a contingent of local gentry who had just entered through the side salon.
    A small smile played on his lips. Rewards came in many guises, and although a rich heiress was not likely to fall into his arms, the sojourn was still going to prove highly lucrative, assuming all went according to plan.
    But no sooner had the thought popped into his head when a sudden flutter of moss-green silk at the drawing room’s main door knocked all such assumptions to flinders.
      
    Anna smoothed at her skirts, feeling unaccountably reluctant to join a crowd of strangers. Her mother’s constant carping had provoked a dull ache in the base of her skull, and for a moment she was tempted to cry off from the gala welcoming supper and retreat to her room.
    But good manners triumphed over the longing to curl up in bed with a cup of tea and her book on Scottish history. Heaving an inward sigh, she pasted on a smile and made herself step over the threshold.
    “Oh, look,” said her mother a bit smugly, “here is the Lady Dunbar coming to greet us. No doubt she wishes to introduce you to the prince. I wonder which one…” Her words trailed off in an aggrieved huff as she caught sight of the figure by the arched windows. “Good heavens, what possessed Miriam to invite him to Scotland?”
    Anna followed her mother’s gaze and suddenly felt the ache in her head turn into a stab of fire. An imp of Satan, perhaps? A strange crackling heat seemed to spread through her limbs.
    “Who?” asked Caro, trying to see over her mother’s shoulder.
    “The Devil,” grumbled Lady Trumbull. However, the approach of their hostess forestalled any further complaint.
    Anna performed the rituals of introduction by rote, for her thoughts were knotted in a tangle. Davenport is here? Not in her wildest dreams had she imagined that the marquess might be part of Lady Dunbar’s house party.
    The idea ought to appall her,