The Devil of Clan Sinclair (9 page)

Virginia turned and faced the armoire, frowning at the sea of black silk. It seemed like she’d worn nothing but mourning for years. First, for her father, and now Lawrence.

Her father had been such a distant figure in her life, she could readily imagine him still alive. As far as Lawrence, how did she pretend to mourn a man she’d never truly known?

Hannah was still standing there, patiently waiting.

“I’m not feeling well,” she abruptly said. She turned and walked toward the bed. “I believe I’ll rest. I didn’t sleep well last night.” Her face flamed.

“You do look feverish, your ladyship,” Hannah said, concerned.

She perched on the edge of the mattress and nodded.

“I think I’ll spend most of the day sleeping. I’m fatigued from the events of the previous week.”

She was, after all, a new widow.

The maid closed the armoire door and came to stand at the foot of the bed.

“Would you like me to fetch you some tea, your ladyship?”

“No,” she said, lying back against the pillows. “I would just like to be alone. Consider yourself off duty today, Hannah. Perhaps you can make friends among the staff.”

The expression of surprise on Hannah’s face was so fleeting that Virginia almost didn’t catch it.

“You needn’t call on me for the rest of the day,” she said firmly. “I’ll ring when I need you again.”

There, she’d used such a direct and forceful tone that Hannah could not help but obey her. The maid nodded, stepping away from the bed and moving toward the door.

“If you’re certain, your ladyship,” she said, glancing back once more.

“I am,” Virginia said. “I’ll be sleeping the day away.”

A few minutes later she heard the sitting room door close.

In a flash she was off the bed and donning one of the hated black dresses. Granted, she could have done so more easily with Hannah’s help, but then how would she have explained her plans?

If she hurried, perhaps she might catch Macrath in his chambers. She pulled on the bellpull, hoping against hope that Hannah didn’t respond to her summons. The maid who appeared at the door five minutes later was a stranger. The poor girl was out of breath, a sign of how quickly she’d raced up the stairs.

Virginia pressed the note she’d written into the maid’s hand. “Would you convey this note to Mr. Sinclair?”

“Yes, your ladyship.” The girl dropped a curtsy and disappeared without another word, racing down the corridor.

Virginia closed the door and leaned against it. Was she being the most foolish woman alive?

If she was, it felt wonderful. This whole day, from now until dinnertime, when she was certain Hannah would come to check on her, was hers. For these hours she could do as she wished. She didn’t have to be Virginia Anderson, daughter of Harold Anderson or the Countess of Barrett, wife to Lawrence Traylor, the tenth Earl of Barrett.

The bright sunny morning called to her. The blue sky beckoned her to come and explore. Let the breeze play with her hair, make her eyes water. She’d inhale her fill of it, glorying in Scotland. She’d hold Macrath’s hand, feeling the calluses of his large fingers and knowing just how tender they could be on her skin.

She wanted to eat something Scottish again. She wanted to taste the salmon she didn’t properly appreciate last night. She wanted to hear bagpipes she’d only heard in a ceremony in London. She wanted to smell the flowers lining the road.

Give her a taste of this land of Macrath’s.

She studied her reflection. Her bright pink cheeks truly did look feverish. What explanation could she give for her sparkling eyes and her smile? A smile had never come so naturally to her face or been so difficult to subdue.

Braiding her hair was an easy task. She tucked her braid at the back of her head, pinning it tightly, then loosened a few tendrils at her temple.

Until today she honestly doubted when people called her attractive. Her father’s money meant most people were blind to her flaws. Now, however, her pink cheeks accentuated the odd paleness of her eyes and the fullness of her lips. She looked like she held a delicious secret, one that amused her.

Dusting off her black leather shoes, she slipped them on and laced them, feeling her excitement mount.

For the first time in her life she was going to do what she truly wished and not what someone had planned for her.

Chapter 11

W
hen the knock came, Virginia thought it was the maid returning with an answer. But when she opened the door, Macrath stood there, smiling at her.

“I was sorry to hear you were taken ill,” he said, holding out his hand for her.

“It was a sudden thing.”

“I, too, have a need to rest.”

“Have you?”

“It’s come upon me suddenly.”

“Perhaps it’s contagious,” she said.

“I suspect it is, but limited only to us.”

They smiled at each other in perfect accord.

“I haven’t taken you from your experiments, have I?”

“They’ll always be there,” he said. “You won’t.”

She pushed that thought away as she placed her hand in his.

Would it be untoward to tell him how wonderful she felt? She was aware of herself in a way she’d never before been. Her breasts were sensitive; she was conscious of the contours of her lips. She remembered every single spot he’d kissed, praised, and worshiped with his fingers, and gloried in all of it.

Reaching up, she pressed her fingers against his cheek, her thumb tracing the edge of his bottom lip.

“I would not trade last night and this morning for anything. I want to thank you for it,” she said.

He grabbed her hand, curving the fingers inward toward the palm, and kissed her knuckles.

“Virginia,” he said softly. Just her name, spoken with such tenderness that she felt her heart expand.

How could he nearly bring her to tears with a glance?

Shame enveloped her, pushed her to confess. The minute she said the words, he’d send her away, she knew that well enough. But she’d already transgressed. What was wrong with another sin, one of omission?

“Come with me,” he said.

“Where are we going?”

“If we’re supposedly ill, I think we should avoid my staff, don’t you? Perhaps we’ll explore the woods or walk in the tide. I’ve so many things I want to show you.”

With that twinkle in his eye, she would go anywhere with him.

“Lead on, MacDuff,” she said, smiling brightly at him.

His laughter warmed her heart. “
Macbeth
?”

“My father insisted on a varied curriculum. I can even operate a sextant, a compass, and I know how to build the fire.”

“The perfect companion,” he said, tugging on her hand.

Where were they going? She wasn’t dressed for exploration. The silk of her skirts would no doubt be torn by the brambles and branches. Her fine leather shoes were polished and would probably be scratched by the undergrowth. Then, too, she was supposed to be a proper widow. She shouldn’t be gamboling about in the woods with Macrath, playing the hoyden.

A sign of her foolishness, that she didn’t ask. Nor did she care.

Reaching behind her, he closed the door, grabbed her hand, and they were suddenly away, laughing like children as they raced along the corridor and down the stairs. With each successive footfall the years fell away, and they were boy and girl. She could imagine that they were children of nature with no obligations other than to explore the world outside. They might spy a bird’s nest on an upper branch, watch the wind dance along the moor, or smile at the sight of a squirrel chittering angrily at them.

But Macrath didn’t lead her out of Drumvagen for the woods or the ocean. Instead, he turned left, strode down a hall and entered a library.

She only had time for a quick impression of bookcases, fireplace, two chairs, and a large desk before he went to the side of the room and pulled a sconce on the wall. A moment later a crack appeared behind one of the bookcases.

“A secret passage?” she asked, fascinated. “It’s like something out of a book.”

“Not just a passage. Something even better.”

Now was the time to remind him that she wasn’t excessively courageous. But it seemed like she was, especially with him.

“Would you like to see one of my favorite places at Drumvagen?” he asked.

She would do anything with him. Didn’t he know that? Hadn’t last night and this morning proved that?

Her face flushed as she nodded.

He lit a small lantern, held it aloft with one hand, and, turning back to her, held out his other hand. With no hesitation, she allowed him to pull her into the passage and close the door behind them.

“You know your way, I hope.”

“Else we are doomed to spend the rest of eternity wandering through Drumvagen,” he said, humor in his voice.

In the next moment it felt like the two of them were on a great adventure. As they descended shallow stone steps, a briny smell wafted up from below.

“Will you tell me where we’re going?” she asked, fervently hoping they weren’t heading toward the ocean.

“No,” he said. “It would spoil the surprise.”

“Not even a hint?”

“No hints.”

“Are you normally this stubborn?”

“Yes,” he said, although he didn’t sound the least apologetic about such a character flaw. “I like to get my way.”

As they descended into the darkness, she said, “Perhaps you’re Hades and I am Persephone.”

“I’ve no pomegranate seeds,” he said. “Besides, I’ve already had my way with you.”

“Should a gentleman say such a thing?” she asked, uncertain whether to be amused or affronted.

“I’m not a gentleman with you,” he said. “I’m not the owner of Drumvagen. I’m only Macrath. And you are not a countess, an American, or a widow. You are simply Virginia.”

Warmth traveled through her at his words. He was right. If he hadn’t been, she wouldn’t have lied to Hannah, pretending illness and fatigue. She wouldn’t be here now, clutching her skirts with one hand and his hand with the other, descending into blackness, the lantern giving off only a small circle of yellow light.

The air grew cooler as they descended. Sounds faded until their breathing was loud in the silence. A brine-tasting breeze sought them out, urging them forward. Sand crunched beneath their feet.

The staircase expanded, the passage becoming larger and lighter. He stopped, extinguished the lantern and placed it on the ground. Taking her hand again, he led her down into a sunlit room of stone, the shape reminding her of a mushroom. At the top was an opening allowing sunlight to stream inside the space. Even more amazing was the window on one wall. A wide arch had been cut out of the rock, so perfectly created that it possessed a sill. Here someone could sit and draw up his legs, staring off into the distance where the ocean met the horizon.

“It’s a grotto,” she said, amazed. Her voice echoed back at her.

He smiled. “It’s an effect of the stone,” he said.

He dropped her hand as she turned in a circle to see everything. The room was almost perfectly round. Besides the window and the chimney hole, there was another opening in the other curved wall.

“Where does that lead?” she asked.

“The beach.”

“I can imagine why it’s your favorite place at Drumvagen. Did you come here as a boy?” she asked.

“The only place I knew as a boy was Edinburgh,” he said. “I purchased Drumvagen five years ago.”

Surprised, she glanced at him.

“I wasn’t always wealthy,” he said. “It’s a recent event for me.”

Wealth was not a subject of polite conversation. Either you had it and everyone knew it, or you pretended you had it, and everyone allowed you the pretense. But it was never openly discussed.

When had they ever ascribed to societal rules when it came to what they talked about? No topic was considered off limits between them.

“My father was like you,” she said. “I don’t think he had much respect for people who inherited their money.”

He smiled slightly. “I don’t think your father had much respect for anyone except himself.”

His comment startled a laugh from her.

“Why did he settle on Lawrence?”

“I think he was impressed by my mother-in-law. She can be very persuasive.”

“At least your father got the title he wanted,” he said.

“He didn’t have long to enjoy it.” She glanced at him. “But you don’t know. He died two months after my marriage.” Poor Mrs. Haverstock had never had a chance to charm him, since she’d been dismissed just before Virginia’s wedding, along with her American maid.

“My own parents have been gone many years,” he said. “But my sisters and cousin have tried to make up for the lack.”

“Have they succeeded?”

“As far as they’re concerned,” he said. “If your father had approved my suit, they would have swooped down to London to look you over before our wedding.”

“And if they hadn’t approved of me?”

He smiled. “I would have sent them back to Edinburgh,” he said. “They would’ve remained silent, only because I contribute to their household in a significant fashion.”

“In other words, you would have bribed them.”

“Which is what your father did,” he reminded her.

“It was easier being Virginia Anderson from America. As an American, I was expected to be a little odd. ‘Those Americans, what can you expect from them? They come from the colonies, after all.’ ”

He laughed at her perfect British accent.

“As a countess, I have a whole other set of rules to follow.”

“You would like my sister, Mairi,” he said. “She cherishes being a little odd.”

She turned to him. She only knew Ceana, who always seemed a conformable type of person.

“Mairi’s determined to run the printing company. So far, she’s making a success of it.”

“You’re proud of her,” she said, surprised.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

Her father had never been proud of any of her achievements, not that there were many to laud. Nor had Lawrence ever cared enough to ask what she’d done or even wished to do.

Suddenly, she wanted Macrath to be proud of her. She could hardly do that on this journey to Scotland, could she? What she was doing was wrong in so many ways, she owed him an apology now. Or perhaps an explanation.

“I think it’s easier for a man to create his own destiny. Like you,” she said, nearly desperate to stop her thoughts. She’d much rather talk about him than think about what she was doing.

He moved to the window and she followed. Leaning against the sill nature had created, he stretched out his legs, smiling into the distance “I had it in my mind to create an empire so that people would always know about my achievements.”

“They would revere you,” she teased. “They might even bow down in front of your picture.”

“I need to get my portrait painted,” he said. “In order for them to do that, of course.”

“Of course,” she said, smiling. “However, I think they’ll remember you even if you never get your portrait painted. You’re an unforgettable man.”

Without looking at her, he stretched out his hand. She took it, threading her fingers with his. What a wonderful person he was, and how quickly he’d become lodged in her heart again.

She looked around. “Is it a secret? Does everyone know about the grotto?”

“I would imagine a great many people know,” he said. “After all, Drumvagen stood empty for years.”

“Did it?”

He nodded. “Evidently, the first Earl of Pembarton and the architect argued about money. The house was unfinished, open to the elements, and nearly a ruin.”

“Until you came along,” she said. “Perhaps it was meant to be. Drumvagen needed an owner, and you needed a house.”

“I was looking for a castle,” he said.

Startled, she glanced at him. Rather than meeting her eyes, he looked away, almost like he was embarrassed.

“When I was a boy in Edinburgh,” he said, “I always thought it would be a wonderful thing to own a castle. To start my own clan. Perhaps I thought of myself as the Sinclair, laird of all he surveyed.”

“A clan?”

“Who doesn’t want to leave some part of himself behind? My father was much beloved in Edinburgh. I think I wanted the same, but in my place, on my terms.”

She looked around. “I think you made a better choice,” she said. “A castle would be drafty and cold. Drumvagen is not only magnificent, but it’s a comfortable place to live, even being so close to the ocean.”

“You don’t like the ocean?”

“I don’t like the ocean.”

He stared out the window. “The ocean makes you feel as small as a grain of sand. I worry about the factory in Glasgow, or how sales will go on the Continent, only to look at the ocean and realize all my cares and concerns aren’t important.”

“While I look at the ocean and think of all the people who died.”

He glanced at her.

“My father owned several ships. I happened across a manifest one day,” she explained, deciding not to tell him she had broken a rule by being in her father’s office. But she’d wanted to leave him a note, someplace where he could not overlook it. A note he would have to read. She didn’t want to go to England, but he’d been stubbornly refusing to hear her pleas.

“One of his captains reported there had been seven births and twelve deaths aboard ship during the voyage.”

She glanced down at the sand laden floor and fluffed her skirts. “He listed all their names, how old they were, and how they’d died.” She folded her arms then unfolded them. “They’d been buried at sea. I remember the manifest when I look at the ocean.”