The Devil of Clan Sinclair (29 page)

“Our last at Drumvagen,” she said.

She was grateful for Hannah’s company traveling down the long passageway. The last time she was here, she’d been desperate with fear.

“Oh, your ladyship, it’s magnificent!” Hannah said when they reached the opening to the grotto.

The bright afternoon was the perfect time to first view the stone room. Sun poured in through the chimney hole. The arched window revealed a view of a sparkling sea and glittering sand.

Virginia extinguished the lantern, set it on the stone floor and glanced away from the window embrasure. She didn’t want to recall those moments with Macrath. Not now, when she was leaving him.

Leaving Hannah to wonder at the marvel of nature, and strolled to the other entrance. She’d never been there before, had never thought to explore this short passageway. From there, she could see the beach, and beyond, the endless water.

The ocean was a patient predator, waiting, always waiting. The tide rolled in like a hungry tongue, licking at the sand, tasting the toes of her shoes. She backed away from the foam. The sea had a voice, or maybe it was the wind, tasting of salt, flicking her hair into her eyes. She pulled the loose strands away, tucked them behind her ear while staring out at the gray green Moray Firth, and beyond to the North Sea.

Macrath had said the ocean made him feel insignificant in comparison. How could he ever think that? He was the Sinclair, the Devil of Drumvagen, the taskmaster and genius who had vowed to create an empire when he was sixteen and done so by the time he was thirty.

Macrath was an entity to himself, a man who had created his life out of an idea, a dream. How foolish she was to think he would simply do what she wished because she wished it.

She didn’t want to summon the authorities. She didn’t want to appear before a magistrate, or whatever the Scots called their judiciary. She especially didn’t want to cause a scandal, one that would reverberate to England.

Hopefully, the threat of what she was willing to do would be enough to convince Macrath to release Elliot.

The tide was like a heartbeat, the sound of it rhythmic and almost hypnotizing. Gripping her skirts, she turned to the right, daring herself to step out over the sand, as close to the ocean as she’d ever been. Here, there was no vessel beneath her feet, only the tide lapping at her shoes.

She felt almost nauseous as she kept walking, hating the fact she was afraid of the ocean. Hating, too, the coming confrontation with Macrath.

Who was she to dare the ocean? What did she expect would happen, that the seas would part, the tide would roll back and allow her to walk on dry sand?

Who was she to dare Macrath?

At the end of the narrow beach was a rough black and brown arch, created by centuries of battering by the waves and tinged green where lichen clung to it in dramatic defiance. She headed toward it, her footsteps soundless on the sand.

When she could walk no farther, she turned to head back, congratulating herself on this small demonstration of courage.

“How fortunate I’m a patient man, even though my patience was wearing thin. I’d almost decided to lay siege to Drumvagen. But here you are, coming to me.”

Chapter 31

V
irginia froze, then forced herself to turn.

Paul Henderson stood there, his face made even more attractive with his smile. Anyone looking at him would think he was a genial man, unless you looked in his eyes and realized there was no humor there.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

“I’ve come to rescue you.”

She frowned. “I don’t need to be rescued.”

“I think you do.”

Paul took a couple of steps toward her, which was when she realized there was nowhere to escape. The outcropping of rock was behind her. The sea was to her right. A tall embankment was to her left. He was between her and the grotto, and it didn’t look like he was going to give way.

“I’ve come to take you away from this place, Virginia. I’ve booked passage to America.”

She took a step back. “I’m not going anywhere with you and certainly not America.”

Even though they weren’t far from the house, she was still alone with him. She most definitely didn’t want to be alone with Paul Henderson.

“I planned this out carefully,” he said. “By the time we get to America, you’ll have changed your mind. You’ll be with child, and grateful to be my wife.”

“Your ladyship?”

She glanced beyond him to see Hannah standing there, halfway between Paul and the grotto entrance. Before Virginia could shout a warning to her maid, Paul was after her. With the back of his hand, he struck Hannah, knocking her to the sand. She was up in the next instant, and he hit her again, this time with his fist.

Virginia launched herself at Paul then, beating him on the back and screaming at him to stop.

He easily flicked her away as he struck Hannah once more. When the maid didn’t rise, Paul grabbed Virginia by the arm, swinging her around until her back was against his chest.

“How protective you are, Virginia,” he said, his breath rasping against her ear. “I can only hope you’ll feel the same for me and for our children.”

He dragged her closer to the base of the hill, bent down and opened a basket she hadn’t seen until now. Throwing her to the sand, he knelt atop her chest. She struggled but was no match for his strength. When she would have screamed, he pressed a rag over her mouth and nose. She tossed her head from side to side, but he easily held her as he unstoppered a brown bottle and poured the contents on the cloth. The sickening sweet odor made her stomach roll.

He released her and stood. She told herself to move, to run, but she was suddenly adrift in a pleasant and frightening lassitude.

The last thing she noted was regret—that she hadn’t been able to save Hannah or herself.

T
he flywheel of Macrath’s new ice machine laboriously turned, gaining speed.

Jack and Sam’s jubilation was vocal and well-deserved. They’d all put in long hours to get the design to work. The steam engine powering the flywheel was loud, and they’d thrown open the doors both in front and back. The noise, if not their celebration, was attracting Drumvagen’s staff.

Macrath would have gladly celebrated with them had he not had something else on his mind.

How did he ask a woman to marry him when he was afraid her answer would be no? Twice, he’d come up with an appeal, and twice rejected it.

Perhaps he should simply fall back on the truth. She couldn’t leave him. He couldn’t allow it. He’d send Hosking back to London. Everyone in Kinloch Village would know not to give her aid or provide transportation. In other words, kidnap her and keep her here against her will.

He had not yet resorted to that. But he might, if he couldn’t convince her otherwise.

Wasn’t love supposed to make the world a better place?

His world had narrowed, compressed to two people—Virginia and Alistair. He didn’t care about going to France or traveling to India. He didn’t want to leave Drumvagen. If he had to travel, he’d take them with him.

Wasn’t love supposed to make him happier?

Wasn’t he supposed to be convivial? He didn’t want to talk to Jack or Sam. He didn’t want to hear Brianag’s concerns or questions. He didn’t want to greet a maid in the hallway or one of the young men he employed at Drumvagen. He felt like a thundercloud followed him wherever he went. He had never, even as a boy in the throes of poverty, been as gloomy a person as he was now.

He wanted to be with Virginia, talk to her, explain his new ideas to her. He wanted to tell her about his plans for Drumvagen, for finishing the third floor. Did they need a ballroom? Did she want a conservatory?

Was love supposed to enhance the senses?

He could smell Virginia’s perfume across the house. He could hear her soft footfalls on the upstairs carpet runner or the swish of her skirts as she slowly came down the stairs. Her throaty laughter lingered in his mind. He could feel her soft skin on his fingertips. He could too easily see her smile and the beauty of her eyes.

Except for those sensations, love made him miserable. Or perhaps the reason for his foul mood was the thought of living without the two of them. He could not consider life at Drumvagen without Virginia and Alistair. He couldn’t foresee the rest of his life, stretching out over years and decades, without the woman he loved beside him. Or being with the child who sparked amazement and an overwhelming protectiveness in him.

All his life he’d been accused of being stubborn, and he had readily admitted it. But allowing Virginia to leave him wouldn’t be obstinacy as much as stupidity. Somehow, he had to convince her to stay.

He couldn’t keep her prisoner here, and that’s what he was doing by refusing to allow her to take Alistair back to England.

Did he have the courage to offer her the freedom to choose? What if she chose to return to England? What if she left this afternoon, or tomorrow? He would have to take the chance. Otherwise, love became only a collection of letters, a word meaning nothing at all.

He’d have to be his most persuasive. Or, if that didn’t work, he’d be charming. She’d always thought him charming, although most people didn’t. They thought him too abrupt, too direct—not understanding that time was an enemy to him. He wanted to get what he wanted without delay.

Jack suddenly turned his back on the open door and the crowd that had been attracted by the noise of the ice machine. His assistant moved out of the way, making a point of hiding behind the wall of the machine before peering out at the onlookers.

Macrath rounded the corner and stood with hand pressed against the metal sheath.

“Who are you looking for?” he asked Jack. “Or avoiding?”

His assistant glanced at him, face reddening.

Before he said a word, Macrath smiled. “A woman?”

Jack nodded, then looked toward the group staring up at the flywheel.

“I thought your mood due more to someone in Edinburgh. But it’s closer to home?”

“Aye, sir. Or not.”

He didn’t know how to respond, so he kept silent.

“Women,” Jack said. “They’re confusing creatures.”

Now that he could answer. “True,” he said. “They are.”

“She says she likes you and you make her smile.” Jack glanced at him, his mouth twisted in a grimace. “Then, in the next instant, she’s crying on your shoulder. What’s a man to do?”

Macrath didn’t know if he should offer commiseration, advice, or simply keep quiet.

It seemed quiet was the answer.

“She could leave any minute, sir. Then what am I to do? Go to London after her?”

“Hannah,” he said, finally understanding.

Jack nodded. “Hannah.”

“Does she know how you feel about her?”

“How can she, sir, when I’ve no idea myself?”

Macrath smiled. “You’d be surprised what they understand, Jack. Sometimes even before we know what’s happening.”

Did Virginia know how he felt about her?

“What I don’t understand is why you’re avoiding her.”

“I’ve no sense around her, sir. I can’t think. I can’t speak more than a word at a time. My brain goes to jelly.”

He hesitated, then gave Jack some advice. “Maybe you’re afraid she won’t feel the same.”

“She might not.”

Macrath nodded. “There’s only one way of knowing, though, isn’t there? She’s not going back to London, Jack. That I can promise you.”

Jack grinned, his color mounting as he glanced at the door.

“Go,” Macrath said. “Find her and tell her how you feel.”

He watched as Jack threw his gloves down on the workbench, then pushed through the people at the door.

Maybe he should follow his own advice.

He’d gone about this all wrong.

He’d open up his heart and tell her how he felt. He’d expose himself to her. Women liked that sort of thing, didn’t they? Did it even matter what other women wanted? Virginia was the only woman he cared about. What did she want?

Forgiveness.

The thought rolled into his mind like a boulder and refused to budge. She wanted acceptance and understanding. If he gave those to her, maybe she’d also want him.

The second maid he’d stopped knew Virginia’s whereabouts.

“I saw her go into the library, sir,” she said, smiling brightly.

After thanking her, he entered the room, only to find it empty. He noticed the letter on the table and was tempted to read it but didn’t, dismissing his curiosity in favor of Virginia’s privacy.

The door to the grotto passage was ajar and the lantern missing from its hook inside the passage. Had Virginia taken it? For that matter, why had she gone to the grotto?

He smiled. Was she waiting for him?

She wasn’t in the grotto, but the lantern was, resting on the stone floor beside the passage to the beach.

The wind bearded the waves with a white froth and pushed the tide higher onto the shore. The blazing afternoon sun heated the air, glinting off metallic bits in the rock formations.

The beach was narrow here. Why had Virginia come in this direction?

When he saw the crumpled figure, he started to run.

W
hen she surfaced, Paul was smiling down at her, blotting her face with a handkerchief.

“There you are,” he said. “I understand you might be feeling ill. An effect of the chloroform, coupled with the motion of the carriage.”

She closed her eyes but the world didn’t steady. She could still feel him touching her face and the movement of the wheels beneath her. She wanted to be at Drumvagen. She wanted to be standing on the beach watching the waves rolling in. The problems she had earlier, before she saw Paul, seemed so much easier to resolve than this situation.

“You have to take me back,” she said. The words had to be pushed from her lips, seemed to hesitate there before leaping into the air. An effect of the chloroform?

“We’re not going back to Drumvagen. Or to London, my dear. We’re going to America. The two of us, together.”

“I don’t want to go anywhere with you,” she said faintly, nausea sweeping through her.

“In America, people won’t know you’re the Countess of Barrett. They won’t care. In America, I’m no longer a servant.”

“People do care who you are,” she said, keeping her eyes closed. Her sickness was easier to cope with if she didn’t see his smiling, triumphant face. “People will care you abducted me.”

“They’ll never know. You see, by the time we get to America, you’ll be carrying my child.”

She blinked open her eyes, staring at the ceiling of the carriage. A movement to her left made her realize they weren’t alone. A young man sat opposite them. She closed her eyes again, realizing the enormity of her situation. She didn’t just have to fight Paul, but a stranger as well.

Dear God what was she going to do?

She wanted away from him, as far away as the confines of the carriage would allow. Slowly, she sat up, pushed herself into the corner and drew up her legs. Thrusting her hands over her skirts, she pressed down on the hoop to collapse it. She didn’t want any part of her touching either man.

“Come, my dear, I know you’re feeling the effects of the chloroform. I would have done something else if I had thought you would be amenable.”

When he reached out for her, she batted his hands away and wedged herself into the corner even farther.

Please, God, let him leave her alone. Let him change his mind. Let him suddenly announce to the driver they were returning to Drumvagen.

“Why me? I’ve never given you any hint of affection. Why would you think I would want to go with you anywhere?”

“I’ve never forgotten our night together,” he said. “I remember how you kissed me. I knew, then, how you felt about me. Regardless of what you say now, Virginia, that was real and true.”

“I thought you were my husband,” she said.

“Except Lawrence couldn’t abide you,” he said. “When he offered you, I leapt at the chance.”

She’d been reared to respect the dead, but at this moment she loathed Lawrence Traylor.

“He was a fool,” she said. “A vengeful fool.”

“Oh, I can’t disagree,” Paul said. He reached into the basket and withdrew a flask, offering it to her. “Just a little medicinal brandy.”

She wasn’t going to drink anything he offered her, for fear it would be drugged. When she turned her head away, he laughed.