The Virgin of Clan Sinclair (12 page)

“Do you think we all believe in ghosts?” Gadsden asked.

She glanced at him. Now was not the time to recall the feeling of her breasts pressing against his chest, of his fingers on her skin, his lips trailing kisses along her throat.

Or her earlier image of him unveiling her, inch by inch.

Her cheeks warmed.

“Do you believe in ghosts?” she asked him.

“Not the incorporeal ones,” he said. “Only those of memory and mind.”

“Are you a haunted man?”

He didn’t answer her, merely sat there, his gaze steady on her. To her surprise neither her mother nor Macrath said a word. Or perhaps they did and she didn’t hear anything.

She was caught by his gray eyes, snared and netted until she could almost imagine she was at his feet, head bowed, swearing allegiance to
him
.

He’d raise her up with both hands on her arms until she stood before him, clad only in her gauzy tunic. A slave brought to the man who declared himself her master.

“Please forgive us,” Mairi said as Logan pulled apart the sliding doors into the dining room. “Logan would have been here early but for me. Our tardiness is all my fault.”

Ellice blinked, looked away, forcing a smile to her face as Mairi entered the room like a gust of wind.

“It’s actually all your fault,” Mairi said, looking at Ellice.

Her eyes widened. “It is?”

“Your book.” Mairi glanced at her brother. “It’s magnificent. I can’t wait to publish it.”

“You like it?” Ellice was very careful not to look in the earl’s direction. She could almost feel the anger rolling off the man.

“Like it? I love it. It’s earthy, spell-binding, and enchanting. In one sitting I nearly read it through. It’s like a fairy tale wrapped in an erotic binder. You’ll be the toast of Scotland.”

“Or the scandal,” Logan added.

“Oh dear, you’ve read it, too?” Could her face get any hotter?

Her mother looked at Mairi, then Logan, and finally at her.

“What book?”

She hadn’t considered explaining
The Lustful Adventures of Lady Pamela
to her mother over venison and vegetables. Not with witnesses and especially not with the Earl of Gadsden glaring holes in her.

She could almost feel his gaze searing her skin.

“I’ve written a book,” she said, staring down at her plate. How could anyone possibly eat at a moment like this?

She wanted to jump up, hug Mairi, then do a little dance around the dining room. At the same time, she wanted to fold her arms over her head and wait for the inevitable storm of protest and censure.

Dear God, her mother would want to read the book.

She sent a look to Mairi. She probably looked like a rabbit just before it was shot.

“Ellice has written the most wonderful book,” Mairi said. “It’s a little different from what we normally publish but we’ll talk more about it later.”

Somehow, they had to stop her mother from reading the book.

The image of Enid on the settee, intent on each page, was enough to chill her to the core. She would never again be able to meet her mother’s gaze.

“How have you learned such things? No daughter of mine would ever think to remark on a man’s limbs, let alone his . . . cock,” she said, her voice choking on the last word. “You weren’t raised in such a manner, Ellice. How could you have written such filth?”

No doubt she’d get the same reaction from a good many people. Yet perhaps there would be just as many who were enchanted by Lady Pamela’s courage and daring.

“Don’t you think so?” Gadsden asked.

Ellice looked at the earl across the expanse of snowy linen.

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t paying any attention,” she said, giving him the truth. “What were you asking me?”

“I apologize for the manners of my daughter, your lordship,” her mother said, sending a narrow-eyed glance at her.

She was going to be chastised about the whole evening, wasn’t she? Her mother was probably planning the lecture now.

“I was saying,” the earl said, “that it must require a bit of an imagination to dream up a book, especially one of such a carnal nature.”

Oh dear heavens, must he use the word “carnal”? Her mother’s face was turning red.

“Whatever does he mean, child? What have you done, Ellice?”

At the moment she didn’t have an answer for her mother.

Someone had placed a noose around her neck and she was being strangled. Any moment now she’d feel her feet leave the floor to dangle uselessly beneath her.

R
oss thought dinner at Drumvagen the most interesting social experience of his life.

Mairi was as he remembered, one of the most charming women he knew. He thoroughly enjoyed the conversation among Mairi, Logan, and Macrath, and wished he had the occasion to meet with them more often.

Another interesting dynamic was that of the housekeeper and the Dowager Countess. When Brianag came into view, Enid made a show of being unable to cut her meat. When dessert was offered, she pushed away her plate, looking disgusted. Brianag countered by slamming the platter of Scottish candy in the middle of the sideboard and muttering something that sounded suspiciously like an English oath.

At first, Ellice barely breathed. She didn’t look up, smile, converse, or otherwise attempt to be personable. She was simply there, and despite her efforts to remain invisible, his attention was drawn to her again and again.

Now she had a panicked look on her face and wouldn’t look in her mother’s direction.

The countess didn’t know about
The Lustful Adventures of Lady Pamela,
that was evident. Otherwise, Mairi would have continued her praise for the manuscript. How was she going to explain the book to her mother? Or to anyone else, for that matter? Yet she’d neither asked him for anything nor had she accepted his offer of money.

Ellice was an odd and unsettling woman, one he’d do well to forget as soon as possible. She was a contradiction, one who incited him to be someone he wasn’t. She smiled at him and he forgot who and where he was. He’d kissed her in the Great Hall and again in the gazebo and now he was torn between compassion and curiosity.

No, he most definitely needed to leave Drumvagen tomorrow.

First, he needed her to agree not to publish that damnable book.

Chapter 14

E
llice had never considered that it would be so uncomfortable sitting across from the Earl of Gadsden with her mother seated next to her.

He watched her constantly, his gray eyes daring her to remember the moments in the Great Hall. Or when he’d held her in the gazebo, her weariness forgotten beneath the surge of passion she felt.

As if she could forget.

She wanted to kiss him now, so much that she bit her lips, concentrated on her plate and tried to pretend he wasn’t sitting there, looking at her.

He was impossible to ignore.

She could just imagine the reaction of the others if she threw herself over the table, dragged the earl’s head down and kissed him like she wanted.

Her mother would scream.

Mairi might applaud.

Logan would smile, while Macrath would look shocked.

What would Gadsden do? His lips tilted up on one corner when she glanced at him.

She wanted to kiss the smile off his mouth, sit on his lap and hold his head still so she could rain kisses all over his face. Then, when his eyes grew soft, she’d place her lips over his mouth, breathing against them softly.

“Kiss me, but slowly,” she’d say. “As if you don’t know how.”

“Will you school me in kisses, Ellice?”

She would smile against his lips, empowered by the Earl of Gadsden in thrall to her.

She could barely eat anything. She knew they were having venison because her mother kept commenting about it. Greens were on the menu along with some sort of aspic. She didn’t like her food to shake, but rather than offend Brianag, who supervised the cooking and the cook, she tasted some of it and managed not to wrinkle her nose at the sour taste before putting her fork down.

The earl ate with precision, taking a small bite, chewing it well. She watched as he swallowed, wondered what it was about his throat that fascinated her.

Lady Pamela would have fed him.

She would have held a bit of Scottish candy just out of reach of his mouth until his tongue darted out and licked it.

“Do you like that flavor?” she’d ask in a husky tone. “Or would you prefer the chocolate?”

“The chocolate, I think,” he’d say. “But place it between your breasts.”

She would have bared herself right there at the table, opening her bodice, the busk of her corset, and pull down her shift until it rested below her breasts, raising her nipples. Then she would have placed a tiny piece between her breasts, as a lure, a treat, a tease for his lips.

“You mustn’t touch me,” she said. “Only the candy.”

His eyes gleamed silver.

“What if I want a true sweet? Your nipples are tastier than any candy.”

She would shake her head slowly from side to side, her smile teasing.

She had to get out of here.

Ellice knew she was going to be lectured for what she did next, but it would be worth it to escape the dining room.

She stood and addressed the table. “If you’ll forgive me,” she said, “I’m feeling tired.” With no more explanation than that, she escaped.

As she walked quickly down the hall, she placed both palms against her hot cheeks. She really must stay out of his presence. Something about the Earl of Gadsden inflamed her.

He resembled her hero too well, that’s why. That was all it was. Nothing about the man attracted her otherwise.

She didn’t know him. He’d never once told her the name of his favorite book, what type of music he preferred, if he liked dogs, or if he was an avid hunter. Did he dance?

She sincerely hoped not since she was clumsy on the dance floor. What did she care if he danced? She was not going to be dancing with him.

All she knew about him was that he didn’t like her book and wanted to ensure it wasn’t published. Hardly reasons to feel kindly disposed toward him.

“You’ve got to stop her.”

Ellice turned to see him standing in the middle of the corridor, his napkin still clutched in one hand. Dear God, had he made a scene following her?

His cheeks were bronzed, his eyes a flat gray.

“You’ve got to stop the publication of the book.”

“Why, because you decreed it?” She turned into her room. The more distance she put between them the better.

“I thought you understood.”

She turned to face him. “I understood that you don’t want it published. I do.”

“There you are,” he said, his lips curving in a smile. “I wondered where you disappeared. I much prefer this Ellice to the one in the dining room.”

She blinked at him, surprised.

“It’s your mother, isn’t it? Are you reminded of who you should be around her? Not the person you really are, of course.”

She frowned. He said the most outlandish things at times. At least she kept the brunt of her imagination on the page.

“Go away, your lordship,” she said, opening the door to her sitting room. “Go bedevil some other poor woman.”

“No other poor woman has written a book like yours. Change the hero.”

She turned to him again.

“What?”

“Give him red hair and a lisp. Make him limp from the wars. Give him a rakish scar. Do not make him an earl with gray eyes and black hair.”

“People won’t associate my book with you.”

“Why wouldn’t they? You even made Lady Pamela’s home sound like Huntly.”

She walked into the sitting room, unsurprised when he followed. She’d need a net and a bevy of men with spears to keep the Earl of Gadsden away at the moment.

“Next, you’ll be wanting me to change Lady Pamela’s name.” She turned and faced him. “Your wife’s name wasn’t Pamela was it?”

“Cassandra.”

A lovely name, perhaps she’d use it in another book. She could just imagine the earl’s irritation when she did that.

“You really have nothing to worry about. Donald isn’t a widower.” She tilted her head and regarded him. “I’m sorry that she died.”

His only response was to continue to stare at her.

“Am I not supposed to be sorry?”

“It was five years ago.”

“Don’t you miss her?”

He didn’t answer.

“Five years is hardly long enough to mourn someone you loved greatly, is it? You should always carry a bit of her in your heart. Perhaps until the day you die.”

“What rot.”

“You didn’t love her.” She shook her head at him.

“Change the hero. Better yet, have it published anonymously.”

“If I hadn’t been in your carriage, you would never have read the book or even known about it.”

“Ignorance is bliss, you mean?”

She nodded, backing up to the settee in front of the fireplace. Unlike the parlor, there was no fire in this room and the air was damply chilled.

“You would never have known about it. No one else will make any connection to you. You aren’t, your lordship, as important to everyone else as you think you are.”

He advanced on her one predatory step at a time.

“You don’t understand. Someone would read it and speculate. The gossip would start and the rumors begin. People would wonder.”

“You’re the Earl of Gadsden. People wouldn’t talk about you.”

“Because I’m the Earl of Gadsden, people
will
talk about me.”

She didn’t understand that comment at all.

“Very well, let’s say you’re correct.” She held up her hand to forestall his comment. “Just for a moment, we’ll pretend. Even so, the election is a few weeks away. My book won’t be published that quickly. You’ll be elected long before anyone sees the book.”

“Do you always get your way, Ellice? Do people merely bow down before you?”

She laughed at the thought that she had influence over anyone.

Reaching out, he gripped her arm, pulling her to him so fast she didn’t have a chance to protest. He didn’t kiss her, though, merely held her close, her breasts pressed against the wall of his chest. He was an imposing man when viewed across the room. Up close he was almost overwhelming.

“Shall I simply forget the looming scandal because you smiled at me?” he asked, bending his head.

She closed her eyes, waiting for his kiss.

He brushed his lips over her forehead as he released his grip on her arm. The message was clear. She was free to go, to escape him. She needn’t wait to flee as the minutes ticked by. She had no reason to worry about a purloined kiss.

She opened her eyes and tilted her head back. His eyes were direct and unflinching.

“Do you really not miss her?” she whispered.

He didn’t answer, only bent his head, his mouth hovering over hers.

I’ll change the hero’s appearance.
The words never came. Not after his mouth greeted hers again.

Colors swirled behind her lids as the room spun. She reached up and grabbed his shoulders for balance.

She forgot how to breathe.

Her heart pounded faster as fire raced through her.

Of its own volition, one hand moved to rest against his heated, bristly cheek. She would forever feel him against her palm, know the contour of his jaw, the silky touch of hair at his temple.

He pressed against her until the settee was at her back.

She could have pulled away. She could have simply turned her head, breaking the kiss. She could have closed her eager mouth, bid her tongue to cease tasting his lips.

She could have clenched her hands into fists and beat against his chest in protest.

Instead, she sighed or moaned, the sound an audible indication of the delight she was experiencing.

Her lips had never been so sensitive. Her mind was silenced, thought replaced by wonder. She wanted to taste him, fill herself with him.

When he placed his hands at her waist, she wanted to be naked for him. Instead of silk, let him feel her skin. Let him know every inch of her so that he might identify each breast, a hip, her inner thigh.

Let him be the author of her pleasure.

“Oh dear God in heaven,” her mother said.

“See, I told you,” Brianag replied.

She jerked away, staring up at Ross with blinking eyes. She didn’t have to turn to see disaster on the threshold. She knew without looking that her mother was there, wearing an expression of such horror that one would have thought someone had died.

Brianag was there, too. Did she wear a look of triumph on her face? She’d finally bested the Dowager Countess of Barrett by revealing her daughter as a strumpet.

Ellice gripped Ross’s jacket, hoping her knees would support her. Hoping, too, that he could simply look at the women and they’d disappear. Poof! They’d magically be sent to France. Would that be far enough away?

She pressed her forehead against his chest, still breathing hard, still adrift in the languor of budding passion.

Why hadn’t they closed the door?

Why hadn’t they gone to his room?

Perhaps she should feel some degree of shame that she wasn’t condemning herself for kissing him. She wasn’t that much of a hypocrite. She’d thoroughly enjoyed it and wanted to do it again.

A great many times, in fact.

He placed his hands on her shoulders and gently pushed her away. She didn’t want to go, but she reluctantly did, looking up at him to discover a wry smile on his face.

Their gazes caught and clung. In his, she glimpsed a shining bit of humor. What did he see in her eyes? Longing? If she could have taken him to her bed at this moment, she would have.

She would pray for her immortal soul later. Right now she had to face her mother.

“I think you and I need to talk,” Macrath said.

Oh, dear. Not only did she have to explain to her mother, but now Macrath.

She peeked around Gadsden to find Macrath staring at the earl’s back.

Could this get any worse?

“My girl is ruined,” her mother said, clenching her hands together and beginning to weep. Her face crumpled like the linen handkerchief she wadded in one hand. “Ruined by a Scottish reprobate.” She sent an accusing look at Macrath. “You promised we would always be safe here. Is this what you call safety, Macrath Sinclair?” Her gaze shifted to Gadsden. “If this is a friend of yours, I hesitate to think what your enemies might be like.”

The Dowager Countess of Barrett drew herself up, calling upon decades of intimidation of servants and tradesmen, not to mention her husband and children. Her eyes were hard as stones as she regarded Macrath.

He wasn’t the type to flinch under such scrutiny. Instead, he faced her eye-to-eye.

Holding her handkerchief in a death grip, she lowered her voice until Ellice could barely hear her. Her face was splotchy and red, her lips thinned. There wasn’t a trace of tears in her eyes, only fierce determination.

“I won’t have it, Macrath. I won’t.”

“Leave it in my hands, Enid,” he said. “You and Ellice are both members of my family now. I’m sure it’s not as bad as it looks on the surface.”

Ellice closed her eyes. Her mother was going to explode. Only Brianag had been the recipient of her infamous rages until now. Macrath, by trying to mollify her, had pushed Brianag aside and now stood front and center before Enid, target number one.

“Not as bad? Not as bad?”

Brianag, standing tall behind the two of them like a totem, looked vastly pleased with the situation. Her wide mouth, normally curved down at the corners, was now curved in a smile. But the look in her eyes warned Ellice that she was in for dire treatment. She’d embarrassed Macrath Sinclair and for that there would be punishment.

Her clothes would be laundered with a double measure of starch. Her bedsheets would be shorter than usual. Her rooms would be filled with dust, her food cold and inedible.

No doubt Brianag would also make some sort of sign in the air and curse her with a garbled Scottish oath, uttered in a language Ellice couldn’t translate.

Yes, she was most definitely in disgrace.

But that wasn’t the worst of it. No, that came when her mother refused to be calmed, when she turned once more and leveled such an intent look on her that Ellice felt singed by it.

In that instant she realized how much of a disappointment she was to her mother. She wasn’t beautiful, talented, poised Eudora, who had died in the smallpox epidemic.