Free Sinfully Yours by Cara Elliott Page A

and yet…
    She slanted a sidelong look at Devlin and felt her pulse skitter. With his dark, disheveled hair and his dark, disheveled evening clothes, he looked like some wild Celtic wraith from the black-misted moors. In contrast, all the other gentlemen looked tame as well-fed tabby cats.
    Yes, that was it , she realized with a jolt. The marquess always looked hungry for something, though God only knew what it was. His predatory gaze was always hunting, hunting—
    Their eyes locked for just an instant, and then she quickly looked away.
    “…What lovely daughters, Hermione.” Anna caught the last of Lady Dunbar’s compliments to their mother. “Come along, girls, I must introduce you to the other guests, starting with visitors from the German principality of Schwarzburg-Rudolstadt. Prince Gunther has not yet come down, but his friends are a very amiable group of gentlemen.”
    Anna listened with only half an ear as the countess rattled off several names and titles.
    “Did you hear that, girls?” said their mother in a hushed whisper. “Not only a prince, but a margrave and a graf . That is the equivalent of an English marquess and an earl.”
    “I think Mama is already hearing the ringing of church bells,” murmured Caro, as Lady Trumbull turned back to converse with her old friend. “Which title would you prefer to wed? As the elder sister, you ought to have the first choice.”
    “Hmmm?” answered Anna absently as she checked the reflection in a large glass-front curio case, trying to spot Devlin among the blurred shapes and flickering light.
    A playful smile tugged at her sister’s lips. “Or have you decided that you will settle for nothing less than the prince?”
    “Hmmm?” He seemed to have melted into the shadows.
    “You aren’t paying the least attention, are you?” Caro raised a quizzical brow. “What are you looking for?”
    “Nothing,” she replied, forcing herself to push aside the distraction. “I was simply making mental note of the details. It’s an unusual room.”
    It was far larger than a traditional London drawing room, with soaring stone columns rising up to a vaulted ceiling. Beneath its arch, massive oak beams ran the length of the space, and from the center beam hung an ornate chandelier wrought of stag horn and silver. Tapestries of hunting scenes hung on the honey-colored pine paneling—rather fiercely graphic scenes that were not for the faint of heart.
    The Scots appeared to be a bellicose, bloodthirsty people, noted Anna, as her gaze came to rest on a display of ancient claymores and crossbows.
    “The fireplaces look large enough to roast an ox,” observed Caro. There were two set at opposite ends of the room, with high granite mantels and fanciful fire-breathing dragons carved into the decorative stone work above them.
    “Or two English nobles,” said a deep, hard-edged voice.
    “That is not amusing, Alec.” Lady Dunbar whirled around and fixed the sandy-haired gentleman who had just stepped out from the recessed book alcove with a reproving glare. “Miss Sloane, Miss Caro, please forgive my cousin. His sense of humor can be a little rough around the edges.”
    “You don’t like the English, Lord McClellan?” asked Caro, once Lady Dunbar had performed the introductions.
    “No,” came the blunt reply, which earned another pained look from the countess.
    “Why?” demanded Caro, ignoring their mother’s surreptitious warning pinch to maintain a ladylike silence.
    “Don’t you south-of-the-borderlands schoolgirls study history?” he shot back. “If you did so, you would know that the history between our two countries is a violent and bloody one.”
    If sufficiently provoked, Caro could display a fiery temper to go along with her flair for drama. Sure enough, her sister was quick to fling back a retort. “Don’t you north-of-the-borderlands nobles study social etiquette?” she asked. “If you did so, you would know that I would not be a guest at your