To Sin With A Stranger Read Free Page B

gathering of gentlemen.
    Sterling set his hands on his lean hips and waited with interest for what she would say to the Englishmen, who were already grumbling about her interruption of their evening’s sport and wager.
    The woman glanced warily over her shoulder at Sterling. Her breath came fast, shallow. Aye, she feared him, though she was taking great pains to conceal it. At least that showed she had some common sense.
    Sterling’s ebony-topped head and muscled shoulders rose above every other gentleman in the room.
    As did his three brothers’.
    In truth, as he compared his brothers to the delicately polished members of the
ton
, the Sinclairs almost appeared another race entirely. They were a far larger, stronger version of the pale gentlemen standing in a heaving, clamoring ring with guineas poking out from between their untested hands.
    But Sterling and his brothers and, aye, his sisters too,
were
different, and soon everyone would know it.
    They were Scots, after all.
    And more importantly still—they were
Sinclairs
.
    The miss shook her pamphlets high above her pretty little head again. “How is it that you fine citizens see fit to throw away your hard-earned coin on a contest between ruffians, when your money could do so much good elsewhere?”
    “It’s quite simple, miss,” replied a lean, knobby-kneed gentleman standing no more than a yard from her. “My money wasn’t
hard-earned
. I’ve never worked a day in all my years.” The crowd chuckled at that.
    She straightened her spine and appeared, to Sterling, to grow in height by nearly a hand’s width. She now stood nearly as tall as his sisters. “Then perhaps you do not know what it means to go hungry. To see your children die because you haven’t the money to summon a physician.”
    “And you know of this, lass?” Sinclair folded his arms over his broad chest. “You’re dressed well enough and don’t appear in want of anything.”
    She whirled around. Her eyes flashed with annoyance. “I do not speak of myself, but of the widows and orphans of our soldiers.”
    “And you reckon that interrupting a fight, a night’s entertainment, is the way to convince these gentlemen to dip into their bulging pockets for your cause?” Sterling coughed a laugh. “Lassie, if that’s your daft notion, then you’d best leave.”
    Gentleman Jackson nodded to a stocky matched pair of low-browed grunts. “Escort the lady to the street, please.” He turned and looked at the buxom redhead who was busily refilling patrons’ glasses. “Maggie, see her to the corner so she can find a hackney.”
    The men closed down upon the young woman, then gently, yet firmly, grasped her upper arms and marched her toward the door. She turned her head and met Sterling’s eyes with a furious glare. “You’ve not seen the last of me, Scotsman!” she warned.
    “Do you promise, dearie?” Sterling called back. He watched her thrash fiercely against the men dragging her from the club. “Ah, don’t struggle, miss,” he called out to her. “You’re apt to make more money for your
cause
on the street corner anyway.”
    The crowd erupted with laughter and gibes as the woman was escorted through the doorway.
    Sterling sucked his swollen lips inside his mouth, watching the doors until Gentleman Jackson’s men reappeared a few moments later. He was curiously relieved when they returned so quickly, without the young woman with the blazing doe eyes.
    “Sterling.” Grant was tugging at his arm, urging him back to the square. “The bout. Come on. It’s time to end the game.”
    “Time to end it.” Sterling shook his head, shook the image of her from his mind. Gentleman John Jackson set the pugilists to the chalk lines once more and signaled the battle to begin anew.
    The Irishman heaved forward, but Sterling’s stitched hand thrust up from below, delivering the blow he’d intended before the feisty miss had walked between them.
    Eyes rolling white into his head, the