The Virgin of Clan Sinclair (25 page)

“What do you mean?” he asked, frowning at her.

“Dresses,” she said, throwing her hands up. “And horses. I have to choose a horse. I have to approve the staffing recommendations of your majordomo and the days off for the maids and the gifts to the poor, not to mention inspect the food storage, approve the plans for the new garden, and plan the clearance of the debris on the riverbank and the lake.”

She scowled at him.

“I’m sorry,” he said, surprised at her litany. “I’ve been doing all that, but they were my mother’s duties before my father died. I guess the staff thought you would assume her position.”

She looked away then back at him. “If I don’t, I look like a layabout.”

“No, just unprepared.”

Her scowl deepened. “Well, I’m not that, your lordship. If Huntly is my home, I’ll be its chatelaine.”

“What do you mean, ‘if’?”

She folded her arms and regarded him with a stony stare. Her chocolate brown eyes now had the appearance of a curiously earth-colored shale he’d seen in the Highlands.

“I don’t feel like a wife, your lordship. How can I feel like a countess?”

He didn’t know what to say to her.

“Why haven’t you come to me? What have I done?”

“Nothing.”

“Surely not nothing,” she said, frowning at him. “I must have done something to scare you away from my bed.”

“I’ve been busy.”

“Too busy to bed your wife?”

“Have you always been so candid?”

“Have you always been so guarded?”

What would she say if he told her the truth?

“I want you in my bed but not my heart,” he said, daring himself. “If you’re in my thoughts they’ll only be libidinous ones. I do not want you to disturb me during the day when I’m writing a position paper or my correspondence.”

Her eyes widened.

“I do not want you to bother me otherwise. I will not be concerned about your happiness or your contentment. I will not
worry
about you, Ellice.”

“In other words, be your countess but not your wife.”

“If that’s the way you choose to interpret it,” he said. He turned before he was tempted further to pull her into his arms. “I’ll come to you tonight.”

“Will you?”

He glanced over his shoulder at her.

“You’ll find a locked door,” she said, following that surprising statement up with a scowl. “I’ll not be ignored for a week then used when you have a craving.”

He grinned at her, more amused than he’d been in a week.

“Very well, Ellice,” he said. “That’s one.”

Chapter 28

“I
’ll come to you tonight.”

If he had said it in another tone, she would have smiled, gone to him and kissed him, and asked if they had to wait until tonight. But in that particular voice, as if she were a servant who had stolen a silver fork, and with that look in his eyes, dismissive and sharp, she wasn’t inclined to welcome him.

That’s one.

He evidently remembered their contract. She returned to her rooms, took the document out of her papers and studied the terms she’d written.

Ross Forster, Earl of Gadsden, hereby agrees to allow Ellice Traylor, soon to be Countess of Gadsden, the ability and the time to write, what she will, when she will, where she will. However, she will not attempt to publish said writings without his express permission.

Ellice Traylor, soon to be Countess of Gadsden, has the ability to renege on this contract if the Earl of Gadsden does not materially agree to its provisions. He is to treat her with respect at all times, given the nature of their relationship. He is not to ridicule her or belittle her in any manner.

In exchange, she will agree not to publish any of her works.

Why had she ever thought of this foolish contract?

As it was, she might as well have gone to bed early. She remained in her sitting room, waiting for his knock, but he never came.

Her righteous indignation lasted until the next morning when she discovered that Ross had left Huntly.

“What do you mean, he’s gone?” she asked as she stood above Pegeen, who was hemming one of her new dresses.

“His lordship left this morning,” the maid said from her position on the floor.

The seamstress had provided the dress in a matter of days. Rather than wait for the woman and her helpers, Pegeen was pinning it.

Ellice made herself stop moving. The sooner the task was done, the sooner she could remove the dress and put on one of her older garments.

“Did he say where he was going?”

Dear God, had he gone to Drumvagen? Was he armed with a dozen excuses why this marriage could not continue? Could such a thing even happen? Could he wave his hand and she would magically be Ellice Traylor again?

She’d heard of annulments, but surely he couldn’t accomplish such a thing.

“I’m sorry, dear Ellice,” Macrath would say. “He said you didn’t suit.”

“I didn’t suit?”

Virginia’s face bore an expression of pity, her eyes filled with tears. “I’m so sorry, Ellice. He wasn’t pleased.”

“What did I do?”

“You refused him. The Countess of Gadsden can never refuse the Earl of Gadsden. If so, she magically isn’t a princess anymore.”

“What utter rot.”

Pegeen looked up. “I beg your pardon, your ladyship?”

She shook her head. “Nothing, Pegeen. I’m just indulging in a little wool gathering.”

Pegeen smiled around the pins in her mouth and returned to her task.

She didn’t take attendance on him. But wasn’t he supposed to be attentive to her? What if she needed him? What if something dreadful happened and he needed to be with her?

“Was she taken ill?” he’d say.

“Suddenly,” the doctor said. “She called for you but you weren’t there.” The man turned and looked at Ross, eyes narrowed, mouth firmed. “Where were you, sir, that you denied your wife comfort in her hour of need?”

“With another woman, of course. Her breasts are larger and her hips wider. She didn’t refuse me.”

“We’ll have you out of this in just a minute,” Pegeen said.

She nodded, feeling her face warm.

Had he been with another woman? Surely not. Not with his dislike of scandal.

Or perhaps this was his way of paying her back for daring to say no.

Had Cassandra ever told him no? If she’d run away with Ross’s father, it’s possible she did. How could a woman love one man and lay with another?

Was that why he was so adamant about not being refused her bed? Was it a test of some sort? If she lay with him, then she wasn’t in love with someone else.

Did men actually think that way?

She should have simply told him that she knew about Cassandra. She had no intention of living in Cassandra’s shadow, and was a vastly different person than his first wife.

As far as she was concerned, Cassandra wasn’t a paragon of virtue and wasn’t to be pitied simply because she’d fallen in love with the wrong man.

She had fallen in love with the wrong man, after all, and no one pitied her.

Her thoughts ground to a halt.

In all her thoughts of him she never imagined that it would strike her like this.

She knew only too well that love wasn’t a gentle emotion. She’d seen it all around her, tumultuous and passionate. But she’d never considered that she would come to love such a stubborn, autocratic, foolish man.

Above all, a foolish man who didn’t want to
worry
about her.

R
oss left Huntly at dawn, telling himself it was better to remain away from his wife for a while. Although Huntly was less than an hour away from Edinburgh, he maintained a small town house in New Town, and that was his base of operations for the next three days.

The election for representative peer would be held among the nobility of Scotland, so it was to them he turned. He visited with the Duke of Campbell, the Earl of Donsett, and a half-dozen others to gauge his chances.

Logan Harrison had thought Ross would win election, and by week’s end he was comfortable in that opinion as well.

The taste of victory wasn’t as sweet as he’d expected, however, and that disturbed him almost as much as his longing for home.

Each night, as he stood at the window of his second floor bedroom, looking out toward where Huntly lay, he wondered at his feelings. What did he most want? His home or his wife?

Three days later he finally concluded his business and left for home with only one stop in between.

McMahon’s Emporium took up one city block, the shop so large it rivaled any store he’d visited in London.

As Ross entered, he noticed that a wagon was leaving and wondered if it was heading for Huntly.

His mother’s contribution to Mr. McMahon’s fortune had been immense, enough that he was irritated by the time he met the man.

Jack McMahon, however, was not the man he expected. He was short, nearly bald, and had a genial expression similar to a Buddha statue he’d once seen.

He couldn’t imagine this man taking advantage of anyone, which was a clue that McMahon was probably a master at it.

“I expected you long before now, sir,” he said, surprising Ross as he led the way into his office.

Here, too, Ross was surprised. The emporium was crowded from floor to ceiling with items from around the world, the air perfumed with heavy spices. This space was clean and free of clutter. On McMahon’s desk was one stack of paper, an inkwell, a blotter, and a lamp. Behind him, a bookshelf was filled with a selection of leather-bound books, ledgers from the look of it.

Instead of taking his place behind his desk, McMahon sat on one of the chairs in front of it, gesturing to Ross to join him. Without asking, he turned and poured a measure of whiskey from a decanter on the credenza behind him into two glasses, placed one on the desk in front of Ross and began to sip from his.

“You expected me earlier?” Ross asked, ignoring the whiskey.

“Indeed I did, sir.” McMahon stared down into the amber liquid. “She’s your mother and all.” He looked up at Ross, his hazel eyes earnest. “She’s a lovely woman, your mother. I’ve thought so from the very beginning.”

“Have you?”

McMahon nodded. He stood, walked around to his desk and opened a bottom drawer. He took out a metal box, leaned over and placed it on the desk in front of Ross.

“It’s all there. Every bit of money she’s paid me in the last year.”

McMahon sat back in his desk chair, reached for his glass but only studied it.

“A man should be honest, sir, in his dealings with others. I’d never cheat a soul who walked into my shop. I feel the same about my competitors.”

Ross remained silent.

“I’ve never lied to my sister or to my mother, may she rest with the angels. But as for me, sir, I’ve not been as honest with myself.”

McMahon leaned back in his chair, his gaze fixed on the ceiling.

“I tell myself that I only see the countess because she gives me tea and asks about my sister and my shop.” His head tilted forward, his gaze meeting Ross’s. “But that’s not the reason.”

He moved the glass an inch to the left, then an inch to the right. Finally, he glanced at Ross with a sad smile.

“I stayed away for a whole week once, I did. Made myself do it. Sent the lads to Huntly.” He nodded as if he’d asked and answered a question to himself. “But I was miserable, I was. I was lying to myself, and a man should be honest to everyone, especially himself, don’t you agree?”

Ross found himself nodding.

“Did she ask you to come?”

Ross shook his head.

“I’m glad of that, I am. But it couldn’t last. She, such a great lady, and me just a merchant.”

He took a sip of his whiskey and met Ross’s gaze. “I won’t be back, your lordship. I’ll promise you that.”

Ross didn’t move to pick up the strongbox or open it. Instead, he had the uncomfortable feeling of having barged into a situation he should have ignored.

He’d grown up knowing his father was unfaithful. At first he’d been incensed on his mother’s behalf. Later, he was angry at her for tolerating his father’s behavior.

Through it all, she’d probably been lonely.

Why had he never considered that? Why had he never thought that Mr. McMahon offered her something no one else could—male companionship.

He stood.

“Mr. McMahon,” he said, “I’ve no objection to your visits. Or to my mother’s purchases. The one thing I would ask of you is to limit the number of those purchases. Is there any way I could convince you to take back some of what my mother has bought?”

McMahon’s smile was sudden and amused. “Aye, that I could do. Those birds alone will drive a man barmy.”

Ross reached over and pushed the strongbox toward McMahon with one finger.

“I don’t believe you tried to cheat my mother.”

“She’s a lovely thing, she is,” McMahon said, staring at his clenched hands. “I got in some jeweled reticules that reminded me straight away of her.”

“I’m sure my mother would appreciate seeing them.”

McMahon looked up at him, his eyes not unlike one of Huntly’s hounds. “Are you sure, your lordship?”

Ross extended his hand.

“I am. While you’re at Huntly, however, I’d appreciate your saying nothing about this meeting.”

As he made his way back to Huntly, the merchant’s words were like a whisper from his conscience.

McMahon had known he was lying to himself. When was he going to admit the same? Avoiding Ellice hadn’t stopped him from thinking about her, wanting her, lusting after her, and even missing her. Avoiding her had only proven one thing: his marriage wasn’t what he’d planned on it being.

He’d expected to marry Ellice and banish her to the back of his mind while he was about the business of his life, just as he had with Cassandra. If he won the election, he would take Ellice to London if she wished to return to the city. If not, she could make her home at Huntly and he’d represent Scotland in the House of Parliament.

Neither of them would take a lover. Instead, they would meet periodically to assuage any physical needs. In that way they would manage a life together.

His plan had been doomed to failure the minute they married. Ellice refused to retreat to the place he’d carved out of a busy life for her. Instead, she marched up, front and center, and demanded his attention.

Avoiding her was not working.

There was only one thing to do: admit when he’d been bested.

V
irginia smiled, extracted the items Mairi had sent her, and couldn’t help but laugh when she assembled everything on the top of her bureau.

Between Brianag, Dr. Thorburn, and her sister-in-law, she was armed for battle.

Battle it would be, she suspected, but one she was determined to win.

She adored Macrath, but he was being the most obstinate man. He had a core of stubbornness and it had helped make him who he was. She never considered that she might come face-to-face with it and have to wage war for her own happiness.

They were both miserable and both determined that the other not realize it.

She’d lain next to him for years now. She breathed in tandem with him. She’d borne his children. He was part of her, just as she was part of him.

He might as well surrender now. She was going to win. She took another look at the items she’d accumulated and grinned.

“T
his was my grandmother’s favorite room,” he said.

Ellice turned to see Ross at the doorway.

Carefully, she tucked her writing beneath the blank pages, put her pen away, and waited for his further comments.

He didn’t say anything as he entered, merely smiled up at the portrait. He carried something in his right hand, a parcel fastened with twine that also served as a handle. She looked at it curiously, but he didn’t mention it.

“I like her,” she said. “I’ve grown accustomed to her looking down at me.”

“I think she would have liked you,” he said, surprising her. “She was from England, too.”

She glanced at the empty chair, hoping he would sit. When he did, placing the parcel beside the chair, she felt her smile bloom. What a silly girl she was, to be pleased that her husband sat with her.

“I think, sometimes, that she was a bit surprised to find herself here at Huntly, especially married to my grandfather. He was larger than life. He liked to fish, so he created a lake and had it stocked. He wanted to expand Huntly, so he added the buildings that are now the library and my mother’s home.”

“If he liked to climb mountains, would he have created one of those, too?”

He chuckled. “According to my grandmother, he would have. I never knew the man, only learned of him from others.”