“The upstairs maid never did anything before Mr. St. John’s arrival, so I fail to see a connection.”

Murien’s false laugh faded from her lips. Really, it was annoying to speak to someone who did not follow the customary rules of polite conversation.

“Murien, I don’t know what you want, but out with it. I don’t have a lot of time.”

That irked. “Very well,” Murien snapped, “if you wish it, I will be plain. In addition to all of his obvious charms, St. John is an accomplished flirt. He is pleasant to every woman he comes in contact with, including me.”

Kat’s hands tightened about the reins. “For your information, I am not infatuated with Mr. St. John. And second, even if I were, it would not be your place to inform me of that fact. If you wish to protect a heart, then watch for your own.”

“Oh dear. I’ve offended you. I’m so sorry. It’s just that—well, someone should drop a hint as to the way things stand.”

“And how do they stand?”

It was obvious the woman was embarrassed to the teeth, which was exactly what Murien wanted. To add vinegar to the wine, she sighed softly, as if regretting what she had to say. “This is so unpleasant. But you are Fiona’s sister by marriage, which makes us almost sisters. This is the least I can do. I just didn’t want you to embarrass yourself at the ball next Wednesday.”

“Embarrass? How would I do that?”

Murien smiled gently. “The ball Malcom and Fiona are holding in honor of Mr. St. John will be well attended. It is quite obvious how you feel about the man. Though you might think you were being circumspect, your face will always betray you, and everyone will know. Everyone.”

There was a stiff silence during which time Kat stared fixedly at Murien. Her face was inscrutable, but the way her knuckles were white on the reins told all. Kat Macdonald was boiling inside. Boiling and just the littlest bit shamed, just as Murien had planned.

Murien waved her hand. “You’ve been warned. Rest assured that whatever you decide, I will do what I can to smooth things over for you.” Murien smiled as kindly as she could.

“I don’t need anyone to smooth things over. No one would dare ridicule me in my brother’s house.”

“Not to your face,” Murien said gently. She paused to let that sink in, then said in a staunch voice, “But you are right. You should attend the ball; after all, it is in your brother’s house. I’d just forget all those who will be whispering. I’m certain Mr. St. John won’t notice anything, either.”

“You don’t want me to go.”