The Devil of Clan Sinclair (28 page)

She watched him walk away. How could a man be as attractive from the rear as he was facing her? His shoulders were broad beneath the white shirt, his back tapering to a lean waist, long legs, and beautiful derriere. His neck fascinated her, as did the shape of his head, his arms, even his large hands. What didn’t intrigue her about Macrath Sinclair?

He had such energy. Surely everyone knew he was a different sort of person the minute he walked into a room. Macrath was a magical being, someone who’d decided on his course in life and would do everything in his power to reach his goals.

Macrath Sinclair was not a normal man or an average one.

Who was she to think she could resist him?

Because he would have stepped away the moment she asked. He would have kissed her cheek and left her. He would have smiled and walked away.

Why was it so impossible to refuse him?

How much easier when they remembered their hurt rather than the passion between them.

She should stand right now, leave this place and return to Drumvagen. Instead, what she truly wanted was for him to love her. Perhaps for the last time.

I
f he had any sense at all, he wouldn’t have sought her out, knowing what happened when he got too close to Virginia. Macrath’s mind simply relinquished any will to his body. He wanted her desperately, and all the pent-up celibacy of the last year strained to be released.

The fact he hadn’t bedded her in the last week was a damn miracle. Right now he was tired of being superhuman.

“There’s nothing there,” he said, returning to the gazebo. “Perhaps a curious hawk. Or a rabbit, hiding in the leaves.”

Her smile was a beautiful thing, moving him to place a kiss on her forehead. He wished he could stop time, freeze them both in tender foreplay.

She pulled away. Before he could marshal his arguments why he should continue to kiss her, she startled him by walking to the back of the gazebo, sitting, and starting to unfasten the rest of the buttons on her bodice.

He came and sat beside her, replacing her hands with his.

She didn’t speak or dissuade him, for which he was grateful. Instead, she smiled at him again, making him dumbstruck with acute lust and love at the sight of her.

Lowering his head, he placed a kiss at the base of her throat, then trailed a line of kisses down to the top of her black edged shift.

She shivered in response, another reaction for which he was thankful.

He possessed a mechanical mind, but the busk of her corset almost defeated him. Finally, it separated, allowing him to see her shift, and below, the shadow of her glorious breasts.

“I remember loving you in the middle of the day,” he said. “In the bright sunlight.”

She looked away, and he turned her face with a finger to her chin.

“There’s nothing to be embarrassed about, Virginia. I thought you were magnificent. It’s one of my favorite memories.”

Her cheeks bloomed with color. “I like to think Elliot was conceived then.”

Bending, he placed his lips around one nipple, gently sucking.

“They’re larger,” he said, drawing one fingertip over the slope of a breast and down to the nipple.

“An effect of bearing your son,” she said.

Such a comment should not have had the effect of hardening him even further, but strangely, it did. He wanted her now. He wanted to simply widen her legs, loosen his confining trousers, and enter her. He’d hold her, looking into her eyes as he buried himself to the hilt.

Instead, he bit back his impatience and looked away, concentrating on the thick growth of trees until he could control the lust surging through his body.

Her fingers danced along his jaw, traced the edge of his bottom lip, teasing until he looked at her.

“Won’t you kiss me?”

“I’m trying to be restrained,” he said.

She leaned forward. “Don’t,” she whispered. She smiled at him almost pityingly and placed her fingers against the placket of his trousers, pressing gently.

“Not as restrained as you think,” she said. “I feel the same, only my desire doesn’t show.”

His smile answered hers. “Not true,” he said, reaching out and gently flicking an aroused nipple. “It just shows in different ways. Shall I show you where else?”

Her eyes widened.

Spreading her legs, he moved between them, a hand on each stockinged knee.

He reached in to the slit of her pantaloons, palming her. “You’re damp,” he said.

She nodded, her smile having vanished a few seconds earlier.

“If I were to move my fingers just so,” he said, pairing the action to the words, “I’d find you swollen and sensitive.”

She licked her lips.

One finger trailed through her intimate folds to the opening, stroking softly. She closed her eyes, biting her lips. He coaxed a kiss from her, inhaled her breathy sighs, and spoke into her mouth.

“If I were to enter you now,” he said, gently inserting a finger into her, “you might gasp aloud. Or feel a surge of lust.”

Her eyes flew open. “Do you feel lust for me?”

How could she ask that question?

“Endlessly,” he said. “Eternally. When I was sailing to Australia, when I was sailing home.”

“But not in Australia?”

The question startled a laugh from him.

“Perhaps I met an attractive aborigine,” he said, “and she caused all thoughts of you fly from my mind.”

She drew back, frowning at him again. “What’s an aborigine? And why have you given me such a conundrum?”

“Why are we talking?” he countered. “When I could be inside you?”

Her face flamed brighter but her eyes sparkled.

“What conundrum?” he asked.

Her answer was breathless. “I wonder why you weren’t lusting after me in Australia, while I should be grateful you weren’t. After all, I’m not entirely certain I should want you lusting after me.”

“What a pity,” he said, words nearly beyond him at the moment. “When it’s evident to a blind man I do.”

She kissed him without any further talk of aborigines or the propriety of lust.

Then, even thoughts faded beneath the sheer bliss of loving Virginia. When she moaned, he stood with her in his arms. Sweeping the leaves away with his foot, he placed her on the floor of the gazebo. Perhaps this wasn’t the best place for a tryst, in the middle of the woods, but it was too far to Drumvagen.

He needed her now.

He wasn’t certain whose moan indicated fulfillment first. All he knew was the world dimmed and receded. For a time there was only her and the knowledge he couldn’t live without Virginia.

S
tretching his legs out before him, Paul peered up at the canopy of leaves. Pity he’d never learned about trees. He’d no idea if he rested beneath an oak or a pine.

He’d picked a place not far from Drumvagen to have the carriage and coachman wait, but the day was too lovely not to take advantage of the sun and the solitude.

He leaned back against the trunk, closed his eyes and let himself drift off on a cloud of thought. He was waiting for William to return, and until he did, he would simply enjoy the sunny Scottish day.

“Begging your pardon, sir,” William said, waking him from his semidoze.

He blinked open his eyes to find the younger man standing there, twisting his hat between his hands.

“Ah, you’re back. What have you discovered? Any signs of the grotto?”

From what he’d learned in Kinloch Village, the grotto led directly into Drumvagen.

“No, sir. I couldn’t get close enough to the beach. There were people around.”

He nodded, not showing his surprise or displeasure.

Difficulty did not deter him.

Paul was under no illusion Virginia would want to come with him. He’d been right in front of her and she’d never seen him. After a month or two at sea, however, she’d understand he was the right man for her. At first she wouldn’t be so compliant.

William looked away, his mouth twisting. “There’s something, sir.”

He stood. “Well, what is it?”

“The lady?”

“What about her?” Paul asked, adopting a disinterested air as he brushed the leaves from his trousers. He glanced at the younger man, surprised to see William’s face was flushed.

“Well, what is it? If you have something to say, say it.”

“I saw a lady like you talked about. Strange blue eyes and black hair.”

“Yes?”

“She’s a bit of an itch, isn’t she?”

Paul stared at him. “Why would you say that?’

“She’s dabbing it up with the toff, ain’t she? Acting like a Judy, she was, out in the open and all.”

“Was she?”

William’s speech took Paul back to his youth and a host of unpleasant memories.

“Him putting his Nebuchadnezzar out to grass right there where anyone could see.”

“Where was this?”

“In the woods. They’ve got a little building there and I saw ’em.”

“Thank you, William,” he said, keeping his voice calm.

“You still set on her, sir?”

He was still set on her. But if it was Virginia who William had seen, she’d have to be taught she didn’t cheat on him. Not with the Scotsman. Not with anyone.

“We’ll come back tomorrow,” he said. He would return every day for the rest of his life if he needed. He’d find this damn grotto and a way into Drumvagen. He’d find a way to get to her.

She was his, and he’d prove it to her.

Chapter 30

B
rianag’s distinctive voice came through the door, followed by a maid’s laugh. Despite the housekeeper’s glower, laughter was a common sound at Drumvagen.

Virginia was in Macrath’s library, a room she’d visited every day since the arrival of the crate of broadsides. When she wasn’t in the nursery, she was here, at least as long as Macrath was occupied with his new ice machine.

When she questioned him about why he worked so hard, he smiled at her, reached over, kissed her, and said, “I’m creating an empire.”

She only nodded, remembering their conversations in London. He’d told her about Drumvagen then, but in her mind she’d seen it as a black fortress, a formidable stronghold. Instead, it was a palatial estate set in a storybook setting.

The last few days had been enchanted ones. She pretended she belonged at Drumvagen, that it was her home. Her son, as its heir, was cosseted, and she, his mother, treated almost the same. Even Brianag had stopped grumbling around her and sent her a gap-toothed grin from time to time.

Macrath was the most enchanted part of it all, a prince in this castle. He made her laugh, and brought her to tears with his tenderness. They slept close to each other, and when she woke in the middle of the night, he was there when she wanted to touch him.

At dawn he loved her until the sky grew pink and the seabirds started their morning squawk.

This morning she’d been visited by her monthlies, which meant she’d escaped the consequences of this hedonistic week. No doubt this time of the month was the reason she was also so tearful. She could weep at the mention of the weather, a smile from Mary, or a question from Brianag.

Hannah noted her mood, but except for a quick look from time to time, hadn’t questioned her.

After cutting the rope binding the next bundle of broadsides, she grabbed half the stack and returned to her chair. How much easier to forget about her own life and read about the terrible story of the midwife who confessed, on her deathbed, to killing a dozen babies. Or the song written about the murder of poor Bessie Smith.

She started to read, caught up in the story.

Come all false hearted young men and listen to my song.

It’s of a dreadful murder that lately has been done;

On the body of a damsel fair, the truth I will unfold,

The bare relation of this deed will make your blood run cold.

The poor girl had gone into service and been courted by a young gentleman. On discovering she was with child, he’d lured her to a grove and killed her despite her pleas of mercy for their unborn baby. The young gentleman had slit her throat and now awaited hanging for the crime.

Saddened for the girl, she placed the broadside facedown on the table.

What would Macrath have done if she’d written him while he was in Australia? If he’d discovered she was with child, he would have whisked her from London and installed her here in Drumvagen as his wife.

Yet he’d never once mentioned marriage to her in all the weeks she’d been here.

Did he still distrust her?

There was so much left unsaid between them. She had never once told him how much she loved him. He had never said the words to her.

They lived in the
now
of their moments, afraid to recall the past, and with the future so uncertain neither mentioned it.

She lay her head against the back of the chair. Did it matter what he felt about her? Even if he confessed he adored her, what difference did it make?

Right or wrong, she’d created a birthright for Elliot. He was the eleventh Earl of Barrett, with all its attendant rights and honors. He could sit in the House of Lords. He would have her father’s fortune at his command.

Could she strip it from him?

He’s a Scot. Better a Scot than an earl.
She could almost hear Macrath’s voice.

She smiled. How arrogant Macrath was. How certain he was right in all things. Yet he’d had to be hadn’t he? From the time he was a boy, he’d had to help support his family. He’d done that and more.

He wanted a clan, the Sinclair Clan, known throughout Scotland for their achievements.

Elliot was Macrath’s firstborn son. How could she take the child away from the man? Look how he was with Elliot. He consulted with her and Brianag about his diet, was concerned if Elliot sneezed, and delighted in his every smile.

How could she be faced with this choice? Why hadn’t she thought about this moment, this predicament?

If Cliff House hadn’t been sold after her father’s death, she would have retreated there, taking Elliot with her. For a few years she would have hidden from the world, or at least from society.

She couldn’t remain at Drumvagen. Worse, Macrath hadn’t asked her to stay. As far as he was concerned, she could leave today as long as she didn’t take Elliot.

A soft knock on the door blessedly interrupted her thoughts. She called out, and Hannah entered, a silver salver in her hand.

“Your ladyship,” she said, “they’ve returned from Kinloch with the post. There’s a letter for you.”

Hannah presented the salver, bobbing a curtsy as if to remind her she was the Countess of Barrett. She felt less like a countess and more of a sham, a fraud, a cheat, and a liar.

The black-bordered letter rested on the tray, daring her to pick it up and open it.

What would Hannah say if she told her to take it away and destroy it? She didn’t want to open it. She recognized Ellice’s handwriting, but rather than anticipation she only felt a cold prickle of dread.

How could she possibly cope with any more bad news?

Slowly, she reached out her hand and picked up the letter, thanking Hannah. The other woman glanced at her curiously but didn’t say anything as she turned and left the room.

For a minute, maybe two, she stared at the front of the envelope before opening the letter and smoothing her fingers over the paper.

Dearest Sister,

I trust this letter will find you in good health and recovering. We have heard so little from you of late it is with misgiving I write you now.

Will you be returning to London soon? Or has your health worsened? Is my dearest nephew well?

Could you write and let me know when you’ll return? I know our mother’s cares would be eased by your presence. She has taken to sitting in the garden on a fine day, staring off into the distance. She will not hear talk of Eudora, not even to gently recall her. I worry about her so, and have no one to talk to of my concerns.

Lawrence’s cousin has visited, but Mother will not see him. She will not see anyone, I fear.

The staff seemed subdued by our loss. I have tried to remember all Mother’s lessons on economy, but she has not looked at the household accounts for weeks now. Without Albert here, I feel myself inadequate to the task. I would appeal for help from Paul, but he left us unexpectedly recently, having come into a fortune. Hosking is much missed here, as is Hannah.

Please, dearest Virginia, come home. I do so need someone to talk to, and I miss you and dear Elliot.

Your sister,

Ellice

Tears filmed Virginia’s vision. Lifting her head, she defied them to fall.

She hadn’t mourned Eudora properly. She’d never once thought of Ellice’s plight, or her mother-in-law’s deep grief. Instead, she’d been too immersed in her own misery to see the needs of anyone else.

She felt so sorry for her sister-in-law. Enid was evidently still grieving for Eudora, to the extent of forgetting about her other child.

Ellice’s comments about Jeremy, Lawrence’s cousin, disturbed her as well. What could he want? What could he suspect, for that matter?

She had to return to London. Somehow she had to make this right.

What could she possibly say to Macrath?

“I love you. I love you and I’m going to hurt you. More than I hurt you before. I’m going to turn my back on Drumvagen and you, and I won’t be back again. I beg you not to acknowledge Elliot as your heir. I beg you to let this ruse go on. Find someone else to love. Find the woman who will help you reach your dreams, Macrath. Be happy, my darling.”

No, she couldn’t imagine giving him that speech or leaving Elliot at Drumvagen. She wanted Macrath to love her. She wanted to remain here with him. She wanted Elliot to laugh, run, and explore the woods. She wanted him to point out a buzzard to Macrath and demand an answer for what it was. Why was the sky blue? Why was the grass the same shade as the trees in the forest?

She wanted to laugh with Macrath, discuss politics, read broadsides from Edinburgh, and argue over whatever came to mind. She wanted to share his big, wide bed, feel his arms around her at night, and know, somehow, that around him she was a different woman. One who was courageous, daring, and never afraid.

Was it too terrible to want to live her life with him?

Yet she had to leave. She had to leave Drumvagen and return to London with Elliot.

Her only recourse was to involve the authorities. Elliot was her son and Macrath had no legal right to keep him here. Perhaps being the Countess of Barrett would come in useful for the first time.

Involving the authorities, however, would put a wedge between her and Macrath, one that would never be removed.

Standing, she went to the bellpull and tugged on it. She would give Hannah instructions to pack their belongings, and tell Mary and Agatha it was time to return to London.

Only then would she go to Macrath and tell him of her decision. A conversation she dreaded but one that had to happen if she ever hoped to be free.

P
aul stood on a hill overlooking the ocean. All around him were clumps of tall green and brown grasses clinging to the edge. Below him the earth was scooped out as if by a giant spoon. At the base were rocks, gradually giving way to toast-colored sand.

“Are you certain you understood?” he asked, looking down at the beach.

“Yes, sir,” William said. “The grotto’s to the left. Down that bit.”

He was doubtful the other man had gotten the directions correctly. The beach was more rock than sand, ending in a formation of stone covered by lichen on one end and an outcropping of rock at the other.

“How do we get down?” Paul asked.

William shook his head.

Not a font of information, was he?

Was he supposed to slide down?

He turned to ask William if he’d thought to bring a rope and saw he’d moved a few feet away. “Here, sir,” William said, pointing to a divot in the earth.

Paul peered over the edge. Not as bad a descent as he’d feared.

“You stay here. Lower the basket once I’m on the beach,” he said, afraid the bottle inside might break during his descent.

William nodded and squatted on the edge of the grass, the basket in his hands.

Paul disliked nature, or perhaps it was simply the absence of civilization. He was a city man, born and bred.

He slid down the hill, annoyed it was the only way to reach the beach. Once on the rocks, he called up to William, who lowered the basket to him.

Now, to find Virginia.

“W
e’re leaving?” Hannah asked, her eyes wide. “We’re returning to London?”

Hannah had never questioned her instructions.

Virginia folded the letter, placed it on the table, and studied her maid’s thinned lips and slumped shoulders.

“Have you developed a fondness for Scotland, Hannah?”

“Drumvagen is a very pretty place,” her maid said. “Although I’ve been told the winters can be fierce.”

“You knew we weren’t going to remain here.”

Hannah nodded slowly, staring down at the floor.

“Is there a reason you don’t want to leave?”

“No, your ladyship,” Hannah said softly.

“You and I have gone through a great deal together.”

Hannah glanced at her, then away.

“You know my secrets, Hannah, and I trust them with you.”

Hannah nodded.

“I can’t stay at Drumvagen, but there’s no reason why you should not if you wish.”

Hannah took a deep breath, exhaled it on a sigh. “No, your ladyship. My place is with you.”

“Then we will both miss Drumvagen,” she said. And the men who lived here. “If you’ll also inform Hosking,” she added when Hannah turned to leave.

The maid nodded, hesitating beside the bookshelf. “Is there really a secret passage?” she asked.

Macrath himself had said there was no secrecy about the grotto. Otherwise, she would have deflected Hannah’s curiosity.

Virginia walked to where she stood. “Would you like to see it?”

She went to the door, opened it by pulling the sconce straight down. Once the bookcase was ajar, she and Hannah pushed it open.

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Hannah said, peering inside.

Virginia grabbed the lantern from the hook inside the passage, lit it and held it aloft. “Would you like to see where it leads?” she asked, daring herself.

Hannah smiled. “I would. It will be a grand adventure.”