Midnight Honor

might that be, Major?”
    “A trifling matter. It should not take too much of her time.”
    Lady Drummuir's bosom swelled with the same threat of violence that flared her nostrils, but her intended riposte was thwarted by a quiet voice from the doorway. “It is quite all right. I am here.”
    Both men turned as Anne walked into the room. It was immediately apparent that she had not taken time to trouble with her corset or her hair, for the latter was loose and fell in soft red waves over her shoulders. Her modesty was preserved by a loose-fitting
contouche
of white muslin with delicate lace ruffles bordering the neckline and spilling from the cuffs. Peeping from beneath the hem as she walked were more ruffles that rustled slightly as they brushed the surface of the carpet.
    She stopped in front of one of the tall, square-paned windows, and with the bright beams of sunshine behind her, the combination of glowing white muslin and fiery red hair gave both men pause. As a calculated distraction, it was effective, for the muscles in Angus's jaw flexed and, despite his best efforts to prevent it, a flush of warmth crept up his throat and darkened his complexion.
    Worsham's reaction was more feral. The pale eyes narrowed and a speck of saliva glittered at the corner of his mouth.
    “You wanted to speak to me, Major?”
    The perfunctory address, absent of any social niceties, brought his attention swiftly back to her face. “I trust you are not suffering any ill effects from last night? I heard you cut your hand.”
    She lifted her hand and turned it, showing the bandages. “It was nothing. A clumsy accident.”
    “Nonetheless, Lady Forbes was discomfited and wished me to express her regret over the unfortunate incident.”
    “I am certain she did not sleep a wink. However, there was no incident, sir. A glass broke. I happened to be holding it at the time.”
    “Indeed. And you are right; there were other, more pressing concerns at Culloden House this morning. It seems someone took the liberty of creating some mischief.”
    “Mischief? How so?”
    “One of the guests mentioned he saw you in the vicinity of the Lord President's library last night shortly after midnight,” he said, deferring a direct answer. “Is this true?”
    Anne pursed her lips as if perplexed. After a moment, her brow cleared and she nodded. “Yes, I believe I may have been, though I could not swear to the exact hour. I'm afraid I overindulged at the supper table and was feeling uncomfortable. I sought a quiet hallway, hoping a few turns might help. Unfortunately, it only left me feeling somewhat light-headed, and”— she held up her hand—“thus the accident.”
    “Did you happen to see anyone else in the hallways while you were … walking off your discomfort?”
    “No, I don't recall… wait. Yes. Yes, I saw a young couple emerging from one of the rooms—I'm sorry, I do notknow the manor well enough to tell you which one—but they seemed as startled to see me as I was them. I believe they had also been seeking a few moments of privacy away from the noise of the ballroom.”
    Worsham nodded slightly to acknowledge the supposition. “Major Bosworth was the one who reported seeing you in the vicinity. He did, however, neglect to mention he was not alone.”
    “I'm not surprised,” Anne said evenly. “I doubt Lord Ian MacLeod would be any too pleased to hear his daughter had been anywhere private with an English officer. Neither would her betrothed.”
    The pale blue eyes narrowed again. “Whereas a married lady seeking a liaison with an individual of her own ilk would raise fewer eyebrows?”
    Anne returned his gaze without so much as blinking. “I warrant that would depend on the identity of the individual as well as on the nature of their liaison.”
    “An interesting choice of words, Lady Anne. Forgive my temerity in asking, but what was the nature of your liaison with John MacGillivray?”
    Anne's reaction was completely involuntary as she glanced at her husband's face. It was not much of a flicker, over in the flash of an instant, but it had the same effect on Worsham as the scent of fresh blood to a hawk.
    “MacGillivray?”
    “Yes. You were observed whispering together outside the dining hall moments before the hour in question.”
    “I do not recall that we were
whispering
, sir, although I expect he may well have paused to bid good-night. I hardly remember.”
    “You did not see him again downstairs?”
    “No. I