The Devil of Clan Sinclair (25 page)

He had no intention of allowing Alistair to be taken from Scotland. Nor was he going to let Virginia return to London.

A boy needed his mother. Macrath knew he needed her, too.

She was a widow. She should be married. He was in need of a wife. What better solution than to have Alistair’s parents marry?

Of course, that still didn’t solve the problem of Alistair being the eleventh Earl of Barrett. He would have to dissuade Virginia from maintaining the ruse. His son could survive any lingering gossip about his birth. After all, he’d be reared in Scotland, away from petty English minds.

The screeching sound of metal against metal pulled him from his thoughts.

“That can’t be right,” he said, walking to Jack’s side.

“I think the clearance is wrong. How much do we have on this side, sir?” Jack asked.

He retrieved his drawings and handed them to the other man.

At least Jack was intent on the job at hand. A change from how he’d been for the past few weeks. He wondered if Jack suffered from the same malady bothering him—a woman.

What was it about Virginia? How did she, above all other women, have the power to change his mood? If she wept, he searched his mind for things he might have said to upset her. If she laughed, the outlook for his day was brightened.

No one should have that much control over his emotions. No one ever had before now.

Sam lit the first lamp by the door. Before he could light the second, Macrath stopped him.

“We’ll have an early night tonight,” he said.

His men were at the cottage, bringing Virginia and her belongings to Drumvagen. He suspected she wouldn’t like it, which meant he had an opportunity to discuss the matter with her.

He would plead his case and convince her to remain at Drumvagen.

Jack put down the plans and glanced at him.

“You’re sure, sir?”

He hadn’t been sure about anything since meeting Virginia, but he wasn’t about to admit that to anyone. He only nodded, left them to the business of straightening up, and strode to the house.

Chapter 27

H
ow dare Macrath act in such a way?

Anger fueled Virginia’s walk to Drumvagen. Still, the journey seemed twice as long as it normally did, only because she was aware of the passing minutes. She wouldn’t put it past Macrath’s men to start packing her things and bodily remove Hannah and Hosking.

Everyone went out of their way to satisfy Macrath’s wishes.

Darkness had fallen by the time she arrived at the top of the grand steps. The lamps beside the door were lit, however, pushing back the shadows. For a moment she stood there, going through her arguments.

One never went into battle with Macrath without being fully prepared.

She would be more comfortable in the cottage. He didn’t need to know she would feel safer as well if she were away from him and his influence on her.

How dare he just decide where she would live, snap his fingers, and expect it to be carried out just like that? What about asking her?

She straightened her shoulders, grabbed the ring in the dragon’s mouth and let it fall.

The knocker echoed in the silence. Even the seabirds were quiet. Were they gone for the night? Or did they congregate somewhere, watching and anticipating this confrontation?

Macrath didn’t open the door. Brianag did.

“Where is he?”

The housekeeper’s eyebrows wiggled. “He’s in the Clan Hall,” she said, but didn’t step aside.

“I need to see him.”

“Do ye now? Fancy was a bonnie dog but fortune took the tail from it.”

She truly wasn’t in the mood for Brianag’s Scottishisms, but she’d never been to the Clan Hall and didn’t know where it was.

The woman seemed to know it, too, because a smile split open her craggy face. She turned and strode down a corridor to the left.

Virginia didn’t have any other option but to follow, and hope the housekeeper wasn’t leading her to the dungeon.

Brianag stopped, waving her toward an arch.

“Say but little and say it well,” she said before walking away.

She stared after the woman. What did that mean? Did Brianag try to be confusing?

She walked into the Clan Hall, her anxiety fading in the face of such beauty. Here was the true heart of Drumvagen. High white walls covered in tapestries and paintings led to a ceiling timbered in dark wood beams. Two rose marble fireplaces, each as tall as Macrath and as wide as a settee, stood on opposite sides of the room. Narrow windows were cut high up in three walls, revealing a night sky sparkling with stars. During the day, light would flood into the room, touch the upholstered furniture arranged around mahogany tables, and illuminate even the darkest canvas.

Now, lamps scattered throughout the room colored the walls a pale yellow and beckoned her inside.

Had Macrath commissioned those portraits? Or were they from his family? Or had he simply purchased them because he liked the faces and the colors?

Questions she might ask him if they ever talked again like they had in London or those magical moments in the grotto.

Crystal bowls filled with cloves and other spices—Macrath’s scent—rested on tables beside comfortable looking chairs. Shiny brass andirons shaped like dragons perched in the fireplaces, while ceramic vases painted blue and looking foreign rested on the hearth and mantel.

Rather than placed against the wall, the furniture was arranged in seating areas, encouraging a visitor to sit before the fire and talk. Each settee was upholstered in a fabric she’d never seen, colors resembling autumn leaves embroidered on an ivory background.

The room was blessedly uncluttered and spacious. A warm and inviting room she would be proud to call hers.

She froze.

Macrath was sitting near the cold fireplace in a high-back chair watching. The setting reminded her of London, enough that she wondered if he’d staged it that way.

His eyes were intent on her, his hands relaxed on the carved arms of the chair. He wore a white shirt and dark trousers, but there was no doubt he was the master of Drumvagen, its laird and its devil.

A worthy adversary, her father would have said.

She took a deep breath and entered the room, coming to his side and taking the chair next to him before he asked her to sit or even invited her to do so.

“Did you know Drumvagen has fifty-two rooms?”

She shook her head. “No.”

“It has thirty-two fireplaces, ninety-six doors, two hundred fifty-six windows, and a total of twenty-two hundred panes of glass. That’s only the main house, not the outbuildings.”

“Did you memorize all that?”

“I own it. Don’t you think I should know what I own?”

“You don’t own me,” she said, putting her knees together and placing one hand atop the other on her lap, a pose she’d been schooled in by all her governesses.

“I do not.”

His tone was agreeable, but the sharp look in his eyes said something entirely different.

“I’m not leaving the cottage.”

“Ah, but the cottage is not up to your standards.”

“I don’t recall saying that,” she said.

A quirk of his lips irritated her. Had she amused him?

“Very well,” she said, remembering the litany she’d leveled at him about the conditions of the cottage. “The roof is repaired, you’ve had planks placed across the floor. I’m comfortable there.”

“Yes, but you’re my son’s mother. I would say you deserve the best.”

“I don’t want to move.”

“But you have,” he said, smiling lightly. “I expect the wagon to arrive momentarily with your possessions.”

“I told them not to move anything until I returned.”

“I told them to ignore anything you said.”

She frowned at him. “Let me go back to London.”

“Alistair needs his mother.”

“Yes, he does,” she said. “In London.”

“He’s not going anywhere. Nor are you.”

“How do you expect to keep me here?”

He smiled. “Charm? Seduction? Cogent arguments?”

She didn’t doubt all three would work, the first two faster than the third. Even now her heart was beating rapidly and her palms were sweaty. He had that effect on her. He seemed to know it, too, if his smile was any gauge.

“If I allow you to seduce me, will you let me leave?”

“With Alistair? No.”

She’d known the answer to the question even before asking it.

“What if I seduced you?” She fixed a smile on her face, keeping it there by will alone.

His smile slipped a little but the expression in his eyes didn’t cool by one degree.

Perhaps he was the devil, indeed. She was not, however, an angel.

“You did before, as I recall.”

Her fingers curled against her palms. Looking down, she marveled at the perfection of the flagstones. How many maids labored here to make everything tidy and dust free, to keep all the brass polished? She had no doubt Brianag was a martinet.

“Virginia.”

She would not look at him.

“You have a choice, Virginia. To occupy my room, or the suite across the hall.”

Suddenly he was there, standing in front of her chair. He pulled her up to him, and in the next instant was leaning close, his lips against her temple.

“Please do not,” she said, pulling away from him.

“Why? Have you developed a distaste for my kisses?”

She walked toward the fireplace. Perhaps she should grab a poker for protection.

“What good does it do to kiss you? To lose myself in your kisses? I’ll surrender to you and you’ll take me to your bed. In the morning there would be the same problems between us.”

“At least we’ll have the memory of pleasure,” he said, taking a step toward her.

She glanced over her shoulder at him and shook her head.

“You don’t understand,” he said. “You’re a temptation. A drug. You’re whiskey.”

She faced him. “You’re foolish. Boyish. Rash.”

“Perhaps all three,” he said. “Being around you strips me of my sanity, my reason, and my age. I want to run with you, hand in hand. I want to laugh with you. I want to kiss you senseless and come in you until I’m satisfied.”

“Stop.”

“No,” he said, reaching out and gripping her shoulders, gently pulling her toward him. “I don’t seem to be able to stop where you’re concerned. I tell myself I should still be enraged at you. I should remember you betrayed me in the worst way a woman can betray a man. You’re likely to do it again. Then I remember the girl I met in London, the one who wanted desperately to talk of broadsides, murder, and politics.”

“I’m no longer interested in any of those,” she said, pulling away from him and putting several feet between them. “I’m not that girl.”

Just like that, Paul was there, his words etched like crystal in the air. Just like that, the excitement of bantering with Macrath was gone.

“I’ll take the suite,” she said. “The one I occupied last year.”

“My wife’s rooms.”

She turned and stared at him.

Before he could say another word, she gripped her skirts with her hands, leaving the Clan Hall like the devil was truly after her.

M
acrath watched as his men arrived with Virginia’s belongings. Since most of the items were those he’d furnished for the cottage, they weren’t taken to her suite. Only two valises went to the rooms he’d created for her, and he suspected one of them belonged to Hannah.

Hannah frowned at him as she stomped up the steps.

He waited until she went up the servants’ stairs before going to Virginia’s suite. He didn’t want another confrontation with the protective maid tonight.

He only wanted an answer. What had he done? What had he said? In a second Virginia’s face had changed. Her eyes had dulled and she’d nearly run from him.

He wasn’t going about this courting the right way.

Nothing worthwhile was easy, however, and he anticipated winning Virginia Anderson Traylor. He wouldn’t have to go to her father, only her, and he wasn’t above using every means at his disposal.

Did she want money? He was wealthy.

Did she want a title? More than one earl had been created because of his contributions to the Empire. He’d start making overtures, letting it be known he wouldn’t be adverse to the Queen doing the same.

Did she want to travel? He’d show her the world.

Did she want to talk politics? He’d take her to Parliament.

Did she want freedom? As long as she stayed with him, she could do as she wished. She could smoke cigars, wear trousers, and swear like a sailor.

Anything she wanted he would give her.

He was going to make her enthusiastic about remaining in Scotland. Most of all, he wanted her to be eager about remaining with him.

He knocked on her door. When he heard her voice, he entered the sitting room. He debated about leaving the door open, then decided it was too late to be circumspect now. Everyone in the house, and probably the village, knew Alistair was his son. They probably already assumed he and Virginia were lovers again.

The room smelled of roses, like she’d never left it.

Virginia stood at the window, the fingertips of one hand pressed against the glass. Beyond her, stars winked behind riffling clouds. Another storm was coming. Would there be a matching storm in this room?

“Are you settled in?”

“Yes,” she said. Just that and nothing more.

He would have to pry the words from her mouth.

Annoyed, he advanced on her.

“What did I do?”

She glanced at him. “What did you do? Except refuse to release my son and keep me prisoner?”

He’d seen Virginia’s many emotions, but never anger. She’d been contrite, sad, amused, and fiercely protective of their son. He had never seen her cloud-colored eyes flashing their own kind of lightning until tonight.

“Are you a prisoner?”

She walked away from the window, marking each object in the room with a delicate touch of her fingertips. Her palm swept across the front molding of the bureau. At the secretary, she halted to straighten the blotter and a journal.

Returning to the window, she stood there for a long moment before finally turning to face him.

“It’s a luxurious prison, but it’s a prison all the same, Macrath.”

“You’re an honored guest,” he said.

Her slight smile was mocking. She’d never been derisive before.

When had she become so adept at putting him on the defensive?

“Have you come to seduce me, Macrath? Charm me into remaining at Drumvagen.”

“If I have?” He planted his feet apart, gripping his hands behind his back.

She was no longer the girl he’d known in London. Marriage hadn’t changed her as much as motherhood. He’d seen what she was willing to do for Alistair. The kitten had become a lioness.

Strange, she was only more fascinating.

“My marriage was never consummated,” she said, turning back to the window.

He remained silent, waiting.

“Lawrence paid his servant to bed me,” she said. She quickly glanced over at him and away.

“Did he?” How calm he sounded when he wasn’t feeling especially calm. The image of Lawrence in her bed hadn’t been one he wanted to contemplate, yet here she was, giving him another vision to lay over the first.