The Virgin of Clan Sinclair (5 page)

He frowned at her, resuming his stalking march to the door.

“Truly, there isn’t. I’ll simply go now, and you can return to the house.”

“You expect me to ignore the incident?”

“Well, not ignore it exactly, but is there a reason to tell anyone?” she asked, following him.

Donald had a small dimple on his right cheek. This stranger showed no sign of smiling. He brushed his fingers through his thick black hair, a habit Donald had as well.

“Were you fired? Did Sinclair give you an ultimatum to leave Drumvagen?” he asked, glancing at her.

“Do you always treat people’s questions like bits of fluff in the air? You bat them out of the way when you don’t want to answer.”

“If you think that I’m going to continue this conversation with you, miss, you’re mistaken,” he said, almost to the door.

“My name is Ellice,” she said. “My mother’s name is Enid and my sister’s name was Eudora. My mother has a penchant for names that begin with E. It could have been worse, I imagine. I could have been named Ephine or Eustacia.”

He ignored her and opened one of the double doors. The rain was making a lake of the path to the house.

How could she possibly dissuade him from telling Macrath? By his carriage, he was a man of means. She doubted there was enough money in her strongbox to change his mind.

What was she going to do?

She could hear her mother now.
Why can’t you be more like your sister? Eudora would never have countenanced such a foolish idea, Ellice. She would never have hidden in a gentleman’s carriage. I despair of you, I truly do. You were not reared with such flibbertigibbet notions.

“You can’t tell him,” she said. “Really. You can’t. Please.”

He glanced at her. “Sinclair doesn’t appear to be a cruel man,” he said. “I doubt you’ll be punished.”

“He won’t understand.”

She hadn’t left a note and she should have. She hadn’t considered that she would have to explain her actions to Macrath face-to-face. All she’d thought about was leaving.

The man didn’t look the least affected by her plea. She’d often wished to possess that kind of sang froid but had never been able to master it.

“I’m certain he’ll understand if you explain it to him, something you haven’t bothered to do with me.”

She blew out a breath. He was going to tell Macrath regardless of what she said.

“To better yourself is always a fine goal. You shouldn’t be afraid of him.”

“I’m not afraid,” she said. She didn’t want to explain about her book.

The book she’d left in the carriage compartment.

She turned and stared back at the carriage. Oh, no, what had she done?

“Go on ahead,” she said, stepping back from the open door.

“No,” he said, eyeing her with a narrowed gaze. “I don’t think so. I suspect that the minute my back is turned, you’ll disappear.”

“You are a magistrate, aren’t you? Why are you so determined to tell?”

“Why did he dismiss you? Were you guilty of theft?”

“Of course not!”

“Did he find you where you weren’t supposed to be?” His eyes took on the frost of a Scottish January. “Like in the beds of his guests?”

She blinked at him. He truly did think she was an adventuress.

“You consider the matter amusing?” he said.

Her smile melted.

“Very well,” she said, gathering up her skirts, too long since her bustle was in the compartment of his carriage. She would have to retrieve her undergarment and her book as soon as possible, but for now she had to face the situation she’d created.

At least, that’s what Lady Pamela would have done. She put her chin up and walked through the rain, praying for a little more courage.

Chapter 5

W
ithout caring if the stranger followed her, Ellice headed for Macrath’s library. If Sinclair wasn’t there he’d be with Virginia or even in his laboratory with his associates.

Macrath Sinclair had become wealthy by inventing a way to make ice. As a boy he’d had an idea, and made it happen through sheer perseverance and hard work.

She’d always admired him. Plus she liked him, which was a good thing since Virginia had always been like a sister to her.

He had not hesitated to include her and her mother in his family, had made them welcome at Drumvagen and ensured their every wish was granted.

Except, of course, the most important one—to have some control over her own life.

Mairi would have understood how she felt. Mairi had devoted herself to the cause of women’s suffrage and women’s rights for years now. She had founded the
Edinburgh Women’s Gazette,
a paper devoted to women. She published anything of interest to a woman, from political leanings of various politicians—who were determined not to allow women to be treated fairly in society—to recipes and tips on how to manage a home. In fact, it was Mairi’s publishing company that had published her mother’s and Brianag’s book.

Mairi would have understood.

Unfortunately, Mairi wasn’t here right now, and as Ellice stood before Macrath’s library door, she wished he wasn’t, either. Why hadn’t she waited until Macrath and Virginia visited Australia again to be rebellious?

If only her mother hadn’t been adamant that she find a husband now.

Virginia was about to give birth to her third child, which meant Macrath wasn’t going to budge from Drumvagen for months, if not years. He would do anything to keep Virginia safe, an attitude he had for all the women in his family, even her, which meant he wasn’t going to understand.

But as much as she admired Macrath and Mairi’s husband, Logan, she didn’t want to be smothered by them.

Macrath would have wrapped his wife in bunting, but Virginia had a way of looking at him, the message in her gaze all too evident.
Back off, my darling husband. I am no schoolgirl unable to make decisions
.

Ellice’s problem was that she was still a schoolgirl in Macrath’s eyes.

“Are you afraid?” the stranger asked from behind her.

He was standing much too close. She could almost feel his breath on her neck.

Lemons. He smelled of lemons and leather.

What would he have done if she’d leaned back against him? Would he have supported her in his arms or would he have stepped away? Would he question her or lecture her?

She might turn and wrap her arms around his neck, lean in for a kiss in a way she’d imagined so many times before. His mouth would envelop hers, his tongue brushing against hers, his lips soft yet hard.

The taste of his mouth would fascinate her. His tongue would brush against hers, stroking that fire building inside. Her head would swim, but she’d pull back, look at him coolly just as Lady Pamela would.

Her palm would rest against his heated cheek and she’d say, so calmly that it surprised even her,
That was wonderful. I’ve dreamed of your kiss.

Then, as he moved toward her, she would shake her head.
I’ve no time now,
she’d say, and move away in a gliding motion, leaving him to stare, desolate, after her.

“Ellice?”

She blinked her eyes to see the library door open and Macrath standing before her.

“What’s wrong?”

When the stranger gently propelled her into the room by pushing on her shoulders, Macrath’s eyebrows drew together in a most forbidding frown. She’d seen that expression before but it had been directed at something inanimate, Macrath’s plans or a bolt that would not line up where it was supposed to go.

Behind her, she heard the stranger say, “She hid in my carriage. She wanted to go to Edinburgh but my staying here defeated her purpose.”

Macrath stepped back.

“Ellice, is that true? Were you hiding in his lordship’s carriage?”

“His lordship?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder at the stranger.

“Ross Forster, the Earl of Gadsden,” Macrath said.

Gadsden should have told her, but no, he’d remained silent.

She frowned at the earl, but her irritation didn’t change his expression one whit.

Both men looked at her until she realized she was supposed to sit. She didn’t want to sit. She wanted to run upstairs to her room, close the door, and put a chair in front of it so no one could disturb her. If she wanted, she’d fume. Or perhaps she’d even weep. Or she might do both. She felt too close to tears at the moment and that angered her.

Instead, she pretended that she wasn’t the least disturbed—much in the way Lady Pamela would behave—and moved to one of the comfortable chairs in front of the fireplace.

Virginia often sat here reading. She wasn’t here today and hadn’t been for the last week. Her time was near and no one was taking any chances with her health. Her first child had been born after only four hours of labor. Her second had been half that.

“I’ll have the baby before anyone realizes,” she’d told Enid last week, and although she laughed at the time, she didn’t realize that’s exactly what everyone feared.

Macrath was well on his way to having the clan he said he wanted. The fact that his wife endured childbirth so well was a blessing. However, that didn’t take the worry from his eyes or make him any easier to be around.

Like now, when his blue eyes were as intent as the belly of a flame.

“Do you want to explain your actions, Ellice?” He waved his hand in the air as if to erase his words. “No, let me rephrase that. I want you to explain your actions.”

Macrath indicated the nearby chair, but Gadsden shook his head, evidently preferring to stand. When Macrath seated himself behind his desk, the other man leaned against a bookshelf, folded his arms and looked supremely unconcerned.

Why should he worry? He’d done the proper thing. A dastardly man would have compromised Lady Pamela in the stables. No, Gadsden had been suffocatingly proper, disappointingly so.

She’d been prepared to be even more of an adventuress, but he didn’t give her the opportunity. He hadn’t even tried to kiss her.

All she’d done was make the situation even worse, since her manuscript and her bustle now rested in the compartment of his carriage. However was she going to retrieve it?

“Ellice?”

She blinked up at Macrath, realizing he was waiting for an answer.

“I felt the need to go to Edinburgh,” she said. Would Macrath take that as enough of an explanation?

Evidently not because he leveled that stare at her and asked, “Why?”

“To see Mairi.”

He didn’t respond, merely turned and looked at Gadsden. “Mairi is my sister,” he said.

“And who is she?” Gadsden asked, glancing at her.

“She’s a sister as well,” he said.

The words bloomed in her chest, choking off her breath. She’d never expected Macrath to claim her like that, especially in front of a stranger.

She was not going to cry now.

“Then I should consider myself fortunate to be an only child,” Gadsden said.

Annoyed, she looked at him. What a horrid thing to say. But then, Donald had been as cruel when he was hurting.

Had she wounded him somehow? Was his heart more tender than it appeared?

“Why did you need to see Mairi?” Macrath asked. “Couldn’t you have sent her a letter?”

She stared down at her clasped hands. He would never understand the truth.

Drumvagen was a magnificent house but it was a prison, inhabited by jailers who dictated her every move. She couldn’t leave her room without being assailed by people who wanted her to talk more or less, walk faster or slower, tell them what was on her mind or hold her thoughts. Between Brianag and her mother and even dear Virginia, she could not simply
be
, and that lack of freedom had made her do something rash and impulsive.

She was never rash and impulsive. She was docile and agreeable. She was invisible. People could probably see through her, she was such a nondescript person.

Ellice stared at the front of Macrath’s carved desk.

What could she say about Drumvagen that wouldn’t offend him?

The door suddenly flew open and a wide-eyed maid stood there, breathing fast.

“Oh sir, Brianag says to come quick. Something’s wrong. There’s blood.”

I
f the weather had been better, Ross would have left Drumvagen, rather than be an intrusion into what was a private matter.

He removed his sodden clothes and dried himself, dressing in the clothing he’d retrieved from the carriage. Tomorrow he’d be home, and grateful for it. As it was, he’d been gone for two weeks, time enough to be about his duties.

Because of the condition of Drumvagen’s mistress, and the subsequent involvement of the housekeeper, a woman with a reputed skill at nursing, dinner was a tray in his room brought by a trembling housemaid.

He thanked her and ate, unconcerned that the fare wasn’t the equal of that found at Huntly. Few great houses employed a cook the equal of his, or had such massive farms from which to obtain its food.

For a time, he contemplated the storm, grateful that he’d changed his plans as it raged across the sky like a child having a tantrum. Perhaps it was a testament to how soundly Drumvagen had been built that the house didn’t even tremble beneath the worst of the thunder, only sat impervious adjacent to the sea.

Because of the cliff, there was no danger of ever being swamped by the ocean. Even so, the waves were the highest he’d ever seen, brought into stunning clarity by the streaks of lightning.

At the knock, he stood and walked to the door, thinking it was the maid come to get his tray. Instead it was Harvey, holding something in his hands.

“I’m sorry to bother you, sir, but I thought I should bring this to you.”

Harvey stepped forward, proffering a stack of pages wrapped in twine.

“What is this?” he asked.

“It was in the carriage, your lordship.” Then, to his surprise, the man’s florid face deepened in color. “And this, too, sir.” He reached into his coat and pulled out a garment, draping it over the pages.

Both men stared at it like it was poisonous. From the lace, he could tell it belonged to a female.

“It’s a lady’s undergarment,” Harvey said, his voice barely above a whisper. “It wasn’t in the carriage before, sir. I inspect the carriage every day, to make sure it’s proper and all.”

He was torn between assuring his driver that he hadn’t accosted a female in his carriage and explaining the stowaway. He did neither, finding himself curiously without words.

Harvey nodded and backed out of the room, closing the door behind him.

He removed the offensive undergarment with two fingers and draped it over a chair next to the bureau.

What had the oddly named Ellice penned? A series of love letters? No, the pile of paper was too thick for that, unless she had an insatiable yearning for a young man. Even so, that depth of written devotion would be excessive.

Love poems? He could see the young woman doing exactly that. She’d be passionate in any encounter, overly romantic, and no doubt demanding.

Why had she been intent on traveling to Edinburgh?

Curiosity was not a valid enough reason to have any interest in her thoughts, movements, or future. Certainly not a justification for wanting to read her poetry. No doubt it was very bad poetry as well.

His hand stretched out and fingered the twine. He untied the bow, turned over the first page and read:
The Lustful Adventures of Lady Pamela, a novel by Ellice Traylor.

So her name wasn’t Sinclair after all and she’d written a novel. No doubt one of those bits of literature where the heroine is trapped in a castle and her virtue is threatened by a ghost.

He found himself smiling.

He thumbed through the stack, beginning to read somewhere in the first third of the book.

His skin was hot, his cheek nearly blistering her palm. She stroked her fingers over his jaw, feeling her own heat escalate. Inside, she clenched, anticipating when he claimed her, thrust into her, bringing her to pleasure.

He stared at the page, his smile disappearing. He read farther.

His eyes were no longer cool but were the color of smoke, as if he felt the same fire.

His hands grasped her shift and effortlessly tore it in two. Her breasts swung free as she draped herself over him, her nipples stroking his lips, daring him to mouth her.

What the hell had she written?

He sat on the end of the bed, skimming a few more passages, then skipped forward.

His face was narrow, his eyes gray. Tall, with broad shoulders, he was a commanding man but it was his mouth she noticed first.

His lips were full but not too full. His lower lip ached to be teased. She’d nibble on him there, then sweep her tongue over his lips to acquaint him with her taste.

He’d know the rest of her by the time the night was done.

Still farther:

His hand teased her breast, cupping it, squeezing the nipple, making it swell for his lips. His mouth was hot, his tongue flicking back and forth.

“Yes,” she said. “Yes. More.”

Instead, he released her nipple, painted her with his tongue between her breasts, then down to her abdomen.

Her flesh shivered at his touch and she clenched her fingers on his arms.

His tongue darted into her navel.

He raised his head. Their eyes met.

“More? Do you want more?”

“Oh yes.”

Every stroke of his tongue weakened her. Every glance and knowing smile made her want to surrender completely.

She widened her legs.

“More,” she said softly.

His hands slid around her thighs to cup her buttocks and lift her for his mouth.

Ross stood and walked to the other side of the room, turning to stare at the pages spread across the end of the bed.

What the hell had she written?

His face was warm, his trousers too tight, and he couldn’t reconcile the voluble girl in the stables with the author of that book.