She pulled ever so slightly on her fingers and he released her. “The next day,” she agreed.

With a final smile, he mounted Thunder. A short time later, Devon was riding toward Kilkairn, dreading his upcoming dinner with the warring Malcolm and Fiona, and the wily Murien. Perhaps he could slip in unnoticed.

With that in mind, he took the back stairs. As he rounded the corner to his room, he came to a halt.

“Mr. St. John!” Murien appeared from the shadows.

That gave him pause; her room was not on this level. He glanced around uneasily, then bowed. “Miss Spalding. Forgive my clothing. I just returned from my ride.”

“How delightful for you.” She smiled at him, the picture of a lovely, gracious, well-bred lady of fashion. “I daresay Miss Macdonald has worn you out. She is quite a…robust woman.”

Though Murien’s expression didn’t change at all, Devon felt the contempt beneath her voice. His mouth tightened. “She is a lovely woman,” he corrected softly. Dangerously.

Murien knew a threat when she heard one. Her heart contracted at the realization. Yet her pride would not let it go. “Did you have a good ride?”

He looked at her for a long moment, then said in a deliberate tone, “Yes. I had a delightful time.”

Murien’s jaw ached where she clenched it. She was not used to doing all the pursuing. He should have made a comment about being sorry he had not been home, that he wished he’d spent more time with her. That he’d thought of her, at least once.

This was not going well. How could she captivate him if he was gone all the time?

Frustrated and uncertain of how to proceed, she toyed with her handkerchief, a gesture she’d adopted after a lovesick swain mentioned that it drew his gaze to her graceful hands. “Mr. St. John, you aren’t from here…I don’t mean to pry, but Strathmore’s sister is—” She broke off as if embarrassed to go on.

“What?” St. John prompted her.

“You should ask Malcolm what happened in Edinburgh. I’m certain he’ll tell you even though it was quite embarrassing at the time.”

St. John leaned a shoulder against the wall, a smile on his handsome face. “Is that what you think I should do? Collect information from Malcolm about his sister?”

Murien nodded, adding in a gentle undertone, as if loath to say more, “I am not one to gossip, and heaven knows I don’t blame poor Miss Macdonald. But if your attention is being engaged, then you have the right to know all.” She watched him from beneath her lashes, hoping he’d deny that his attention was anywhere near engaged.