“What is this enchanting costume to represent?”
She turned her head slightly, moving her mouth away from the close proximity of his. His breath smelled of meat. Like the bloody prime rib Father favored.
“La luna,” she said.
He chuckled deep within his chest, the effect of which sounded oddly like a growl. “No wonder I am enthralled.”
“How very predictable a retort,” she said blandly. His hand upon her waist felt uncommonly warm and too possessive. When she edged away, Lord Mckinnon smiled and adjusted his grip, bringing her subtly back.
“I’m here to warn you,” he said during a turn, “my father means to ruin your husband.”
He glanced toward the corner of the room, where his father stood glowering at them with an ill-concealed irritation that made his scarred face appear twisted as a tree’s roots. Caught by their gaze, Rossberry turned abruptly and stalked off.
Mckinnon leaned in. “You realize, he believes Lord Archer somehow responsible for the explosion that scarred him.” The look in Mckinnon’s eyes said he felt the same.
“Quite the stunning turnaround in your concerns, sir. One might think you actually cared for Archer’s safety. But then, we know that is not true.”
Mckinnon’s lips twitched. “If it were simply Archer’s neck, I should not care in the least. His recklessness is his own doing. But I fear you might be hurt in the crossfire.” Behind the brown mask, his blue eyes grew serious. “You care for Archer, that is clear.”
Woodenly, she nodded.
“Then listen to what I am saying, and hang my motives. I thought I had convinced Da to return to Scotland and let sleeping dogs lie, but he maintains a single-minded determination.” They spun past less graceful dancers. “My father is not well. He possesses a volatile nature.”
She slowed. “Are you suggesting that he would resort to violence?”
Lord Rossberry was an elderly gentleman but he was of the height and build of the villain. And she could not discount anyone. Had Mckinnon known the truth all along and now suffered some delayed conscience?
“I am saying that the clan Ranulf has a long history of eradicating those they view as threats.”
Ice slid down her spine. She stepped out of his embrace as the last notes faded. “Then perhaps you should warn my husband.”
Something flashed in his eyes—reluctance, hesitation—she couldn’t be sure. He pushed it away with a forced, flirtatious smile. “I prefer dancing with you.”
“The dance is over.” She turned, leaving him standing in the middle of the dance floor as she collided with Marie Antoinette.
Silver eyes flashed behind a lace mask. “A thousand pardons.”
The scent of lemons and flowers touched Miranda’s noise so faint that she might have dreamt it. She gave a start. Victoria? The woman slid through the crowd. Miranda tried to follow, only to be swept into the fold. The Blackwoods must have invited every family of quality in London. A miasma of smoke coming from the gas lamps and candles thickened the air, the laughter buzzing around her causing her head to spin. She could not tell which way was which, surrounded as she was by leering masks and deceased persons of notoriety. She was headed toward the rear of the main hall when a hand grabbed her arm and whirled her around like a top. Her shoulder hit the wall as the twisted veneer of Lord Alasdair Rossberry loomed before her.
She stared down at the hand that held her, then up to his face, still unable to believe he’d physically accosted her.
“Lord Rossberry! What is the meaning—”
He wrenched her arm hard and slammed her into the nearby wall with enough force to rattle her bones and send a large section of her hair tumbling down. “What did my son say to you?”
Her senses settled, and she pulled up straight. “Take your hand off me, sir, or lose it.”
Old though he may be, the man was strong as an ox and would not let go. He yanked her closer. Blue eyes blazed from reddened slits of skin. “Heartless wench, bewitching hapless men with your wicked beauty. You’ll no’ snare young Ian as well.”
She tore free, most likely bruising herself in the process. “Have care, sir.” The terrible burning within her pushed to get out. “We are in a room full of observers, and I should not like to think of what would occur should Lord Archer see you manhandling me.”
“Oh, I can well guess, ye besom. Why not find out now?” He made to grab her again but stopped as the air between them flared