London, 1807

SINJUN SAW HIM the first time on a Wednesday night in the middle of May at a rout given by the Duke and Duchess of Portmaine. He was a good thirty feet from her across the massive ballroom, partially obscured by a lush palm tree, but it didn't matter. She saw him quite clearly enough and she couldn't look away. She craned her neck around two dowagers when he walked gracefully to a knot of ladies, bowed over a young one's hand, and led her in a cotillion. He was tall; she could see that because the lady came only to his shoulder. Unless, of course, the young lady was a dwarf, and Sinjun doubted that. No, he was tall, much taller than was she, the saints be praised.

She continued to stare at him, not knowing why she was doing it and not caring in the least, until she felt a hand on her forearm. She didn't want to look away from him, not now. She shook the hand away and walked off, her eyes still on him. She heard a woman's voice from behind her but didn't turn around. He was smiling down at his partner now, and she felt something deep and strong move within her. She walked closer, circling the dance floor, drawing nearer. He was no more than ten feet away now and she saw that he was magnificent, as tall as her brother Douglas, and as massively built, his hair blacker than Douglas's, ink-black and thick, and his eyes -- good Lord, a man shouldn't have eyes like that. They were a rich dark blue, a blue deeper than the sapphire necklace Douglas had given Alex for her birthday. If only she were close enough to touch him, to set her fingers lightly upon the cleft in his chin, to sift through that shining hair of his. She knew in that moment that she would be perfectly content to look at him for the rest of her life. Surely that was a mad thought, but it was nonetheless true. He was well built; she wasn't ignorant about things like that, not with two outrageous older brothers. Yes, he had an athlete's body, strong and hard and tough, and he was young, probably younger than Ryder, who had just turned twenty-nine. A small, insistent voice told her that she was being a silly twit, to open her eyes, to stop this infatuated nonsense, for after all, he was just a man, a man like any other man, and in all good likelihood he was cursed with a troll's character to go along with his magnificent looks. That, or worse: He was a complete bore, or had no brain worth speaking of, or he had rotted teeth. But no, that wasn't true, for he just threw his head back and laughed deeply, showing beautiful, even, white teeth, and indeed, that laugh bespoke great intelligence to her discerning brain, a rich, deep laugh, just like his eyes, and weren't they intelligent? Ah, but he could be a drunkard or a gamester, or a rake or any number of other exceptionable things.

She didn't care. She just kept staring. A great hunger welled up in her, a hunger that spread into a great coalition of hungers she didn't understand, but she knew that he had put them there, deep inside her. Finally the cotillion ended and he bowed over the young lady's hand, delivered her back into the bosom of her chaperon, and went to join a small group of gentlemen. They greeted him with loud and merry voices. So he was a man popular with other men, just like Douglas and Ryder, her brothers. The group went off toward the card room, much to Sinjun's disappointment.

Someone patted her bare arm again.

"Sinjun?"

She sighed even as she turned to her sister-in-law Alex. "Yes?"

"Are you all right? You've been standing there as still as one of the Northcliffe Greek statues for the longest time. Before, I called to you, but you didn't seem to even see me."

"Oh yes, I'm quite all right," she said, and looked back to where she'd last seen him. Then she heard a man laugh and knew it was his laugh, pure and resonant. It filled her with warmth and excitement, and made that something deep inside her move again, move powerfully. She felt it to her toes.

No man could be the ideal of perfection that she'd bestowed upon him at first sight. No, it was quite impossible. She wasn't stupid or naive or a silly little debutante, not with two brothers so flagrantly brazen in their behavior and speech. He was probably a troll, at least on the inside.

"Sinjun, what the devil is wrong with you? Are you sickening with something?"

She drew a deep breath and decided to keep her mouth shut, which was quite unlike her. But this was too new, too uncertain. She grinned hugely. "Alex, I quite like her grace, the Duchess of Portmaine. Brandy is her nickname and she begged me not to call her that horrid name Brandella. Isn't that exceedingly clever to shorten Brandella in such a manner?" Sinjun leaned down close to her sister-in-law's ear. "And would you just look at her grace's bosom -- is it possible that she is more impressive than you? Of course, she is a bit older than you, I expect."

Douglas Sherbrooke, not stifling his laugh, said, "Good Lord, do you think that age is a factor, Sinjun? A lady's years adding to her endowments? My God, by the time Alex is sixty, she wouldn't be able to walk upright. But this calls for a closer study of the duchess. On the other hand, I must point out, Sinjun, as your eldest brother, that it is most inappropriate for you to remark upon her grace's assets and Alex's lack thereof."

Sinjun laughed at her brother's words and the look on his wife's face as he continued to Alex in a mournful voice, "I had thought you the most nobly endowed lady in all of England. Perhaps it is only in southern England that you hold that distinction. Perhaps it is only within the immediate vicinity of Northcliffe Hall that you lord it over other less worthy bosoms. Perhaps I have been taken in, perhaps I have been duped."

His fond wife punched his arm. "I suggest that you keep your eyes and thoughts at home, where they belong, my lord, and leave the duchess and her endowments to the duke."

"Just so," the earl said, then turned to his sister, who looked suddenly different to his critical and fond eye. She hadn't looked at all different earlier in the evening, but she did now. She looked abstracted, yes, that was it, which was odd, very odd indeed. Sinjun was usually as clear as a summer pond, her thoughts and feelings clearly writ on her expressive face; but now he didn't have the slightest idea what was in her mind. It bothered him. It was like a hard kick from a horse he'd just turned his back on. He suddenly felt as if he didn't know this tall, quite lovely young lady, not at all. He tried for neutrality. "So, brat, are you having a good time? This last cotillion is the only dance you haven't danced the entire evening."

"She is nineteen, Douglas," Alex said. "Surely you must soon stop calling her brat."

"Even when she continues to play the Virgin Bride to torment my sleep?"

Whilst the two of them argued over the luckless sixteenth-century ghost of Northcliffe Hall, Sinjun had time to think and decide what to say. When they finished, she sidestepped her brother neatly, saying only, "No ghosting about for me, at least in London, Douglas. Oh dear, there is Lord Castlebaum with his fond mama. I had forgotten that he has the next country dance. He sweats dreadfully, Douglas, and his hands are wet--"

"I know. He's also a very nice young man. But Sinjun," he continued quickly, raising his hand to still her, "it doesn't matter if he were a very dry saint. You don't have to marry him. Accept his sweat and his niceness and simply try to enjoy yourself. Remember, you are here in London to have fun, nothing more, just to enjoy yourself. Don't listen to Mother."

Sinjun couldn't hide her sigh. "Mother," she repeated. "It's difficult, Douglas. She says I must hie myself to the altar or I shall be on the wretched shelf. This shelf is the dreaded Spinster Shelf, and she always says it in capital letters. She continues to list out all the shelf's incumbent horrors, including becoming Alex's drudge once Mother has cast off her mortal coil. She even remarked that I was getting long in the tooth. When I looked at my teeth in the mirror, I swear one of my molars had lengthened just a bit."

"Don't listen to her. I am the head of the Sherbrooke family. You will enjoy yourself; you will laugh and flirt to your heart's content. If you don't find a gentleman to please you, it doesn't matter."

His voice was austere and very lordly, and Sinjun was forced to smile. "I'm also nineteen, and that, apparently, is nearing a disastrous age for a girl to be yet unwed, and completely unacceptable for a girl not to have even one beau. She even points to Alex being eighteen when she wed you. Then she says that Sophie was lucky to have coerced Ryder into marriage, because she was nearly twenty and likely to be a lifetime spinster. Taking in Ryder, she claims, was the smartest thing Sophie ever managed. It is also my second Season. Mother says I must keep my mouth shut because gentlemen don't like ladies who know more than they do. She says it drives them to the brandy bottle and to gaming hells."

Douglas said something crude and quite inelegant.

Sinjun laughed, but it was a sham laugh. "Well, one never knows, does one?"

"All I know is that Mother says a lot, too much."

But even as Douglas spoke, clearly harassed, she saw the man in her mind's eye and she smiled, this one real, filling her eyes with warmth and dreams. She realized that her sister-in-law Alex was looking at her closely, and that her expression was puzzled. But she said only, "Feel free to speak to me anytime you wish to, Sinjun."

"Perhaps soon. Ah, here's Lord Castlebaum, wet hands and all. But he does dance very well. Perhaps I shall discuss shelves with him. I will see both of you later."

She stepped on Lord Castlebaum's toes three times in an attempt to find the man again. Later she began to think that her eyes must have lied, that no man could be so immensely glorious to behold. But she dreamed of him that night. They were together, and he was laughing and standing close to her, touching his fingertips to her cheek, and she knew she wanted him and she was leaning toward him, wanting to touch him, and it was there in her gaze, all the wanting she had for him, and he saw it and knew it as well. The scenes softened and slowed, melding together into vague colors and intertwining bodies, and she awoke near to dawn, her heart pounding, perspiration lying heavy on her skin, and a moan in her throat. Her body felt languid and slow. There was a strange ache deep in her belly. She knew she'd dreamed the mystery of lovemaking, but only in blurred images. She had yet to solve the mystery, yet to know him, yet to be intertwined with him. She wished she'd discovered his name, for to be that intimate with a nameless man wasn't something she could accept.

She saw him the second time at a musicale at the Ranleagh town house on Carlysle Square three nights later. A very large soprano from Milan thumped the piano with her fist as her Viennese accompanist tried to keep his fingers on the trembling keys and mark a strong beat at the same time. Sinjun was soon bored and twitching with restlessness. Then, quite suddenly, she felt something strange sweep over her and knew, simply knew, that he had come into the room. She turned slightly in her chair and there he was. She sucked in her breath at the sight of him. He had just divested himself of a black cloak and was speaking quietly to another gentleman. He looked even more splendid to her than he had at the Portmaine ball. He was dressed all in black with a very white batiste shirt. His thick hair was brushed back, a bit long for current fashion, perhaps, but to her, perfection itself. He was seated at a diagonal from her, and if she kept her profile toward the bellowing soprano, she could look at him as much as she wanted. The moment he was seated, he grew instantly still. She watched him remain perfectly still, even as the soprano pumped up her lungs and gained a ringing high C. A man with courage and fortitude as well, she thought, nodding to herself. A man with manners and good breeding.

Her fingers itched to touch that cleft in his chin. She saw that his jaw was strong and well defined, that his nose was elegant and thin and that his mouth made her want to. . . no, she had to get hold of herself. The dream images mixed in her mind for a moment and she knew herself well lost. Goodness, it was quite likely that he was already wed, or betrothed. She managed a show of outward calm until there was, at last, an adjournment to the supper room.

She said in an offhand manner to Lord Clinton, a friend of Douglas's from the Four Horse Club, who had escorted her to dinner, "Who is that man over there, Thomas? The tall one with the very black hair? You see him, he's with those three other men who aren't nearly as tall as he is or nearly as impressive."

Thomas Mannerly, Lord Clinton, squinted in the direction she was pointing. He was myopic, but the man in question did stand out, no question about that. The man was very tall and too well built for his own good, the bastard. "Ah, that's Colin Kinross. He's new to London. He's the earl of Ashburnham, and a Scot." The last was said with a hint of disdain.

"Why is he here, in London?"

Thomas stared at the lovely girl at his side, nearly as tall as he was, and that was surely a bit off-putting, but he didn't have to marry her, just keep an experienced eye on her. He said now, carefully, as he brushed some invisible lint from the sleeve of his black coat, "Why do you care, Sinjun?" At her silence, he stiffened. "My God, he hasn't offended you in any way, has he? Those damned Scots, they're barbarians, even when they're educated in England, as he was."

"Oh no, no. I just asked out of curiosity. The lobster patties are quite good, don't you think?"

He agreed, and Sinjun thought: At last I know his name. At last. She wanted to shout her victory. At last. Thomas Mannerly happened to look at her just then and he sucked in his breath at the most beautiful smile he'd ever seen in his life. He forgot the lobster patty on his plate. He said something to her, something polished and just a bit intimate, and was chagrined when she didn't appear to have even heard him. She was, if he wasn't mistaken, staring at that damned Scot.

Sinjun was fretting within five minutes. She had to know more than just his name and the fact that he was a Scottish nobleman and why Thomas Mannerly had sounded a bit stiff about that. She didn't have much opportunity to find out more about Colin Kinross that night, but she didn't despair. It would soon be time to act.

Douglas Sherbrooke, earl of Northcliffe, was happily ensconced in his favorite leather chair in the library, reading the London Gazette, when he chanced to look up to see his sister standing in the doorway. Why the devil was she just standing there? She would normally come caroling in, speaking and laughing even before she had his attention, and her laughter would make him smile, it was so carefree and lovely and innocent. And she would lean down and kiss him on the cheek and hug him hard. But she wasn't laughing now. Why the hell was she looking so damned diffident? As if she'd done something unbelievably awful? Sinjun didn't have a shy bone in her body, not from the moment he'd first picked her up out of her cradle and she'd grabbed his ear and twisted it until he'd yowled. He folded the paper on his lap. He frowned. "What do you want, brat? No, you're too advanced in age for brat anymore. My dear, then. Come in, come in. What is the matter with you? Alex said there was something on your mind. Out with it. I don't like the way you're acting. It isn't like you at all. It makes me nervous."

Sinjun came slowly into the library. It was very late, nearly midnight. Douglas waved her to the seat opposite his. It was odd, she thought, as she approached. She had always believed Douglas and Ryder were the two most handsome men in the entire world. But she'd been wrong. Neither of them came close to Colin Kinross.

"Sinjun, you are behaving quite strangely, not at all like yourself. Are you ill? Has Mother been tormenting you again?"

She shook her head and said, "Yes, but she always does, saying it's for my own good."

"I will speak to her again."

"Douglas."

She stopped, and he blinked to see that she was staring down at her toes and she was actually plucking at her muslin skirt.

"My God," he said slowly, the light dawning finally, "you've met a man."

"No, I haven't."

"Sinjun, I know you haven't overspent your allowance. You're so tight with your purse strings that you'll be richer than I am in a matter of years. Mother picks at you, but most of it bounces off. You pay her no mind, truth be told. Alex and I love you within the bounds of common sense, and we've tried to make you as comfortable as we can. Ryder and Sophie will be arriving in a week or so--"

"I do know his name, but I haven't met him!"

"Ah," said Douglas. He sat back, grinning up at her, steepling his fingers. "And his name is?"

"Colin Kinross, and he's the earl of Ashburnham. He's a Scot."

Douglas frowned. For a moment he'd hoped it just might be Thomas Mannerly she liked. No such luck.

"Do you know him? Is he married? Betrothed? Is he a gamester? Has he killed men in duels? Is he a womanizer?"

"You would have to be different, wouldn't you, Sinjun? A Scot! No, I don't know him. If you haven't even met the man, then why are you so damned interested?"

"I don't know." She paused, and looked extraordinarily vulnerable. She shrugged, trying for a glimmer of her old self, and gave him a crooked smile. "It's just there."

"All right," Douglas said, eyeing her closely. "I'll find out all about this Colin Kinross."

"You won't say anything to anyone, will you?"

"I will to Alex but no one else."

"You don't mind that he's a Scot, do you?"

"No, why should I?"

"Thomas Mannerly had a touch of scorn in his voice, called him a barbarian, that kind of thing."

"Thomas had a father who believed to the soles of his viscount's feet that a true gentleman must be born breathing the fine, just air of England. It appears that Thomas has adopted his departed sire's absurdities."

"Thank you, Douglas." Sinjun leaned down and kissed his cheek.

As he watched her leave the library, a thoughtful frown settled on his forehead. He tapped his fingers slowly together. The only thing he had against a Scot was that if she married one, she would live very far away from her family.

He followed his sister upstairs not long thereafter. He walked into the bedchamber to see Alex brushing her hair, seated at her dressing table. He met her eyes in the mirror, smiled, and began to take off his clothes.

Her brush stilled. She put it down and turned to face him.

"You will watch me all the way to my bare hide?"

She just smiled and nodded.

"You are staring, Alex. Are you concerned that I have gained flesh? You wish to see that everything is still lean and all my parts are in good working order?"

She just smiled more widely, and this time she just shook her head and said, "Oh no. I suspect you are quite perfect. You were last night and this morning and--" She giggled.

When he was quite naked, he walked over to her, picked her up in his arms, and carried her to their bed.

When he was able to speak coherently again, he stretched out beside his wife and said, "Our Sinjun is in love."

"So that's why she's been behaving so oddly," Alex said on a huge yawn and came up on her elbow beside her husband.

"His name is Colin Kinross."

"Oh dear."

"What is it?"

"Someone pointed him out to me the other evening at the musicale. He looks very forceful, Douglas, and stubborn."

"All this from just a viewing of the man?"

"He's quite tall, perhaps even taller than you. That's good, because Sinjun is very tall for a woman. Ruthless, that's what I meant to say. He looks quite capable of doing anything at all to get what he wants."

"Alex, you can't tell all that about a man just by looking at him. Now, I will take away your clothes for two days if you don't stop speaking nonsense."

"I don't know anything about him, Douglas."

"He's tall and he's tough-looking. He's ruthless. A fine place for me to start."

"Yes, and you'll see I'm right." She laughed, her breath warm and soft against his shoulder. "My father despises the Scots. I hope you don't feel that way."

"No, I don't. Sinjun hasn't yet met him, she told me."

"She will, very soon, I doubt not. She's very resourceful, you know."

"In the meantime I'll endeavor to find out all I can about our Scottish gentleman. Ruthless, hmm?"

The next evening Sinjun felt like dancing in her bedchamber. Douglas was taking her and Alexandra to the Drury Lane Theatre to see Macbeth performed. Surely as a Scot and a Kinross, with scores of cousins named Mac Something, he would also be there. It was opening night. Surely, oh surely he would be there. But what if he accompanied another lady? What if he. . . She stopped herself. She had spent an hour on her appearance, and her maid, Doris, had merely nodded, smiling slyly. "You look beautiful, my lady," she had said as she lovingly threaded a light blue velvet ribbon through Sinjun's hair. "Just the same color as your eyes."

She did look well enough, Sinjun supposed, as she studied herself one last time in the mirror. Her gown was a dark blue silk with a lighter blue overskirt. The sleeves were short and puffed out, and there was a matching pale blue velvet sash bound beneath her breasts. She looked tall and slender and fashionably pale. There was just a hint of cleavage, no more, because Douglas felt strongly about things like that. Yes, she looked just fine.

Sinjun didn't see him until the intermission. The lobby of the Drury Lane Theatre was crowded with the glittering ton, who gossiped and laughed and whose jewels were worth enough to feed a dozen English villages for a year. The lobby was also very hot. Some unfortunate patrons were splattered with dripping wax from the hundreds of lit candles in the chandeliers overhead. Douglas took himself off to fetch champagne for Alex and Sinjun. A friend of Alex's came up, and thus Sinjun was free to search in every corner of the vast room for her Scot, as she now thought of him. To her delight and speechless excitement and horror, she saw him standing not eight feet behind her, speaking to Lord Brassley, a friend of Ryder's. Brass, as he was called, was a rake and kindhearted, a man who commendably kept his wife in more luxury than his mistresses.

Her heart speeded up. She turned completely to face him and began to walk forward. She bumped into a portly gentleman and automatically apologized. She simply kept walking toward him. She wasn't more than three feet away when she heard him laugh, then say quite clearly to Lord Brassley, "Good Lord, Brass, what the devil am I to do? It's damned painful -- I've never in my life seen such a gaggle of disasters, all of them in little knots or herds, giggling and simpering and flapping and staring. It isn't fair, no it isn't. I must needs wed myself to an heiress or lose everything I own, thanks to my scoundrel of a father and brother, and all those females I've met who fit the groat requirements scare me to my toes."

"Ah, my dear fellow, but there are other females who aren't disasters," said Lord Brassley, laughing. "Females you don't have to marry, just enjoy. You simply amuse yourself with them. They will relax you, Colin, and you certainly could use some relaxation." He slapped Colin Kinross on his shoulder. "As for the heiress, be patient, my boy, be patient!"

"Ha, patience! Every day that goes by brings me closer to the brink. As for those other females, hell, they would also want to spend all the groats I don't have, and expect that in my undying gratitude I would shower them with endless baubles. No, I have no time for distractions, Brass. No, I must find myself an heiress and one that is reasonably toothsome."

His voice was deep and soft and filled with humor and a goodly dose of sarcasm. Lord Brassley laughed, hailed a friend, and took himself off. Without further hesitation, Sinjun walked to him, stood there right in front of him until his beautiful dark blue eyes finally came to rest on her face and a black brow rose in question. She thrust out her hand and said quite clearly, "I'm an heiress."

Copyright © 1992 by Catherine Coulter