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God help those as come into her path, fer she willna show them any mercy.” Shaking his head, he left to fetch the port.
    •  •  •
    The sixth Earl of Sinclair glanced in the mirror and gave his cravat a few deft touches. After a silent study, he nodded. “That will do.”
    His valet, a small man named Dunn with silver hair and a dapper air, gave a sigh of relief. Dunn never allowed anyone but himself to touch his lordship’s clothing, preferring to press and mend it himself. He was especially vigilant with his lordship’s boot blacking, using a special mixture known only to him that included such mystical ingredients as champagne and beeswax. Belowstairs, he was known in respectful tones as “Mr. Timothy Dunn, a true stickler for fashion.”
    He placed upon the bed the two freshly starched cravats that he’d been holding at the ready and turned to regard the earl’s efforts. “A brilliant knot, my lord. The gentleman with whom you’ll be playing faro tonight will be blinded by your efforts.”
    “I wilt beneath your approval,” Sin said drily.
    “You’ve earned that approval, my lord,” Dunn said, not acknowledging Sin’s sarcasm. “That’s the most beautiful cravat knot you’ve accomplished yet. It’s a pity no one of worth will see it.”
    “What’s wrong?” Sin asked, amused at his nattily dressed valet. “Is the company too low for you?”
    Dunn sniffed.
    Sin grinned. “There will be one or two people ‘of worth’ at Lord Dalton’s.” Especially fair Lady Jameston. Her husband was in London dealing with the weighty question of the Regency, as were many other lords. Their absences had opened many opportunities.
    “My lord, pardon me for saying so, but I find both Lord Dalton and his company rather low.”
    Sin shrugged. “He’s a bit common, but he welcomes any and all to his house. He’s a generous host.”
    “Generous hosts do not try and strip all of the coins from their guests’ pockets at games of chance.”
    Sin smiled in acknowledgment. He turned to the silver tray on the dresser and selected a cravat pin. As he did so, two letters that had been placed to one side fell to the floor.
    Dunn instantly retrieved them. “I’m sorry, my lord, but I almost forgot to tell you; these came this afternoon while you were hunting. One is from Lady Ross, and the other from your great-aunt, the Duchess of Roxburghe.”
    “Thank you.” Sin turned his attention to the placement of his cravat pin. “Put them on the dresser.”
    “My lord, aren’t you going to read them?”
    “Why? I already know what they say. Lady Ross wishes me to attend her in Edinburgh, as Lord Ross has been called out of the country on a diplomatic mission.”
    “Ah. I take it that we’ve tired of Lady Ross.”
    Sin shrugged. He and Sarah had enjoyed a mutually beneficial arrangement for the past two years, but lately she, and everything else about his life, seemed boring.
    It was petty to be bored when one had so much, but he somehow couldn’t dislodge the feeling. Even being away from the bustle of Edinburgh for the last two weeks to enjoy some hunting and to view a prizefight had left him feeling listless. Sin raked a hand through his hair, ignoring the valet’s look of disapproval. Damn it, he had no right to feel anything other than pleased with life; he had so much—excellent brothers with whom he was close, a grandmother who, for all of her faults, had never ceased to offer her love and support, an estate that was more profitable every year, a time-honored title, manors filled with treasures of every conceivable kind, an assortment of friends and acquaintances, so many in fact that he was rarely alone—he had everything he could possibly want, and yet . . . and yet something was missing.
    He met his gaze in the mirror. Something has always been missing. But what?
    As usual, no answer came. He scowled at himself, unhappy with the maudlin turn of his thoughts. “Yes, Dunn, we’re tired of Lady