The Virgin of Clan Sinclair (26 page)

“I don’t remember my grandparents,” she said. “But I do recall my father. He was a tall, quiet man. He never spoke much to me or to anyone. He liked the garden and that’s how I remember him, sitting there staring off into the distance. I used to wonder if he were wishing to be somewhere else.”

“Where would he have been?”

She smiled. “Anywhere but London, I think. When he could, he escaped to the country. My mother didn’t like the country.”

“Yet she lives at Drumvagen, which is as distant from a city as you can be and still be in Scotland.”

“Circumstances change,” she said.

He didn’t respond, which was a disappointment. She wanted him to say something about their changed circumstances.

Instead, he stared up at the painting. “She once told me that I reminded her of him, that I was not only his namesake but had aspects of his character.”

He didn’t say more, and that’s when her sense marched away in a huff, allowing idiocy to brush off a chair, sit, and send words to her lips.

“You left Huntly,” she said.

He nodded.

When he didn’t continue, she frowned at him. “You’ve been gone three days.”

He smiled, a curiously annoying expression when she was trying to get an answer. He knew he was being irritating, too, if that gleam in his eyes was any indication.

“I only know because my maid told me. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have noticed.”

His smile broadened. “You missed me.”

“Most assuredly not.”

He stared at the cold fireplace, decorated now with a bouquet of flowers.

“Where did you go?” she asked.

“To Edinburgh,” he said. “To see about my chances for election.” He glanced at her. “A great many people congratulated me on my wedding.”

“Did they?”

He smiled, stretched out his legs and crossed his ankles.

“I also went to see this McMahon person,” he said.

She waited impatiently for him to continue.

When he didn’t speak, she reached over and touched his sleeve, a gentle push to encourage him to talk.

He turned to look at her.

“Did you meet him?”

He nodded.

Was she going to have to pull each word from him with tweezers?

“What was he like?”

“A very nice sort,” he said. “I’ve encouraged him to continue calling on my mother.”

That was a surprise.

“I think you women do it on purpose.”

Her eyes widened with the change of subject. “What do we do?”

“Confound us. Make us question everything we’ve ever known. Why are you here?”

“I’m writing.”

He shook his head. “Not that. Why here? Why not on the terrace? Or the Ladies Library or the Yellow Parlor? Why here? It’s the smallest room at Huntly.”

“Why did your grandmother like it?”

“She hated Huntly. Do you?”

“Hate Huntly?” she asked, playing for time.

He stretched out his hand and, surprised, she reached out with hers. He gripped her fingers.

“What can I do to make it more of a home to you?”

Should she tell him? Did he really want to know?

“Don’t ignore me. Don’t leave without telling me. Don’t stay away so long. You were angry because you thought people ignored me at Drumvagen, and you’ve done the same here at Huntly. If you’re angry at me, tell me why. Otherwise, I’m apt to imagine the most horrible scenarios.”

“What have you imagined?”

“You’ve become dreadfully ill and don’t want to concern me. You’ve fallen in love with a maid. I bore you.”

“You most certainly don’t bore me.”

“But there’s a chance you might be in love with a maid?”

He shook his head.

“Tell me your health is perfect, please, or I really will be worried.”

“My health is perfect.”

He hadn’t released her hand, was staring down at it with such an intent look on his face that she knew he wasn’t seeing her palm but something else.

Before he could speak, she said, “You don’t have to be concerned about me. I don’t want you to worry about me. I don’t want thoughts of me to take you from your duties. Truly.”

He frowned at her. “Why not?”

Was he trying to be contrary on purpose?

“It’s enough that you come to my room,” she said, confessing all. “I’ve missed you.”

He looked away then back at her. What was he trying not to say? She waited, hoping the words wouldn’t be unkind.

“I brought you a present,” he said, reaching down for the package and handing it to her.

“A present?”

Her fingers trembled as she unwrapped the parcel. Impatiently, she pushed aside the paper, staring at his gift in silence.

The dark wood was etched with a gilt pattern on the edge, the polished surface sloped and opening up to reveal a storage space for pens and paper.

“It’s a lap desk,” he said. “I thought you could use it if you’re somewhere else other than at your desk. Like here, for example.”

No one had ever given her a more perfect gift.

He stood, studying her in silence.

Reaching out, he held her chin gently, looking down into her face.

“I missed you, too,” he said.

“You didn’t come to my room,” she said, wondering at her own courage.

His smile was slight. “You refused me. Don’t you remember?”

I wouldn’t now.
Words that were too difficult to speak and so they cowered behind her smile.

He dropped his hand and turned away, leaving her sitting there staring after him.

Chapter 29

W
hen the knock came, Ellice opened the door, clad in a pale pink nightgown.

She’d brushed her hair, leaving it unbound.

He stood there studying her, his eyes darkening. Without a word he entered her sitting room, pushing the door shut behind him. The click of the latch was as loud as a rifle shot.

He’d come to her, just as she hoped.

“I have two more refusals,” she said.

“Yes, you do,” he said, walking toward her slowly.

She didn’t move.

When he was close enough to feel the warmth of his body, he stopped. She wanted to lean into him, press her cheek against his and feel his arms around her.

“It’s in the contract.”

“Yes, it is. I could say to hell with the contract, Ellice.” He bent toward her, fingering the bow at the top of her nightgown.

Slowly, he pulled on the bow until it slipped free, becoming two short pieces of ribbon. Her neckline gaped open, but since the material was diaphanous, it hardly mattered.

“I could say to hell with you, your lordship,” she said softly.

“Then you should say it now. Before matters proceed any further.”

Lady Pamela would joust with him, her words teasing.

What matters would those be, your lordship?

She might even be amused, the sparkling cascade of her laughter echoing through the room.

She wasn’t Lady Pamela. She was only Ellice. This handsome man was her husband and he’d come to her.

But it wasn’t marital duty that made her turn and lead the way to the bedroom. Excitement marked each step, her blood pounding through her body with such speed she felt light-headed.

He followed her, stopping in the bedroom doorway, his eyes boring into her.

She crawled up on the bed, sat, and waited for him.

“If you don’t want the nightgown ripped, I’d dispense with it,” he said.

How very proper he sounded. He could be speaking about the weather.
Do you think it will rain this evening? Oh, by the way, I’m going to ravish you.

His eyes glittered in the light. Should she ask him to extinguish the lamp?

Or should she be as nonchalant and wicked as he?

Leave the light burning, your lordship. I want to see your magnificent body.

For a moment she thought she’d said the words aloud because Ross removed his robe, tossing it to the chair in the corner. The silk clung for a moment then slid to the floor. He didn’t look as if he cared.

She certainly didn’t, not when he was standing there naked, light gleaming on interesting places on his body.

His chest was broad, the dusting of hair there making her want to run her fingers through it, play with his nipples, trace every line of muscle down his stomach.

His hands rested on his hips. Only one part of him moved, and that seemed to twitch as she pulled her nightgown off and tossed it to the floor.

She could feel his gaze on every inch of her flesh.

Slowly, he walked to her, a smile beginning to curve his lips.

As he reached her, she rose up on her knees and put her hands on his shoulders.

She loved him.

She loved this man with his silver gray eyes and his seductive mouth.

Emotion thrummed through her, her pulse racing so loud it was the only sound she heard. Words trembled on her lips but when he bent his head to kiss her, they vanished.

She planted both hands on his chest, fingers splayed. She wanted to touch him everywhere, where his chest tapered to a slim waist, to his hips, to the nest of curls at the base of his erection.

She wanted to stare and study, mark each play of muscle and bone and note where God in His perfection had created this man.

The ridged muscles of his stomach contracted when she ran a finger down them. Even Lady Pamela, with all her experience, would have been impressed at the size of his cock.

Her hands gripped him. How had he become so perfect, so hard in places and soft in others?

“Ellice.”

She looked up just as he grabbed her, tumbled with her to the bed.

“Now,” she demanded.

“Now?”

For this night he was hers. There was no past, no uncertain future, only the night with the rain drumming on the windows and the sound of the storm masking any sounds of passion.

She could make sounds of delight at the touch of his mouth on her breasts.

When he turned her on her stomach and kissed her from her heels to her neck, she could moan as loudly as she wished. At the scrape of his teeth on the tender flesh of her buttocks, she could yelp and turn, only for him to grin.

He growled deep in his throat, the animal sound startling her. She lay before him, thighs spread wide.

He stared at her as if he’d never before seen her, and perhaps he hadn’t, not like this, weak and powerful in surrender.

Laughing, she reached for him, wrapped her legs around his and, in a move that startled even her, turned with him on the bed.

She rose above him, moving until she was astride him. Not as perfectly as she wished, though. Sliding down his body, she dipped her head and licked him.

He thrust upward, his hands reaching for her.

“No,” he said. “I’ll not last.”

“I don’t want you to last,” she said, feeling victorious and joyful.

He grabbed her and abruptly reversed their positions again. Now he was rising above her, dominant, powerful, his eyes dark, his breath fast.

He pinned her to the bed and kissed her, stripping her of breath and turning his name into a low, throaty moan.

She arched toward him, demanding touch, recognition, a soft stroke of a finger. He kissed her still, murmuring against her lips when she pouted.

Locking her arms around his neck, she wiggled beneath him, teasing with her body. His erection nestled in the juncture of her thighs and she widened her legs. He pressed forward and she closed them, trapping him against her.

Finally, finally, his hand cupped one breast, a talented thumb flicking against her nipple. A moment later he bent his head to suckle at her breasts.

“Now,” she said. “Please.”

Grabbing her hands, he held them over her head and entered her slowly. He stilled her with a kiss, pushing forward until he filled her.

When the pressure and pleasure built, she was nearly insensate with it, tossing her head from side to side.

He whispered words of encouragement to her, of praise, of teasing. She couldn’t reciprocate because passion had stripped her of every thought. She was only feeling, becoming a glowing ember of need.

She gripped his arms with nails transformed to talons.

He left her and entered her again, his eyes still on hers.

When her lids fluttered shut, he said, “Look at me, Ellice.”

She tried, she really did. But her lids kept falling as pleasure rippled through her. Just when she thought she could feel nothing more, he began to increase his pace, strokes that pushed her over the edge.

The storm swallowed her screams of pleasure.

She heard his exultant laughter as she jerked her hands free, gripped his buttocks and pulled him to her, riding out her climax with his.

H
is pulse was still racing as he lay at her side, drawing her to him. Her eyes were melted chocolate as her lips curved in an exhausted smile.

“You don’t have to do a thing you don’t wish to do,” he said.

Her smile faded.

“About Huntly,” he said. “It’s not necessary that you do anything.”

She nodded and closed her eyes. He thought she’d drifted off to sleep but she spoke a few minutes later.

“I’m your wife,” she said. “It’s my duty.”

He pressed his lips against her forehead. Her breath had finally calmed along with his heartbeat.

“I didn’t marry you to be Huntly’s chatelaine.”

“No,” she said, blinking her eyes open. “You married me to prevent a scandal.”

Had he?

The answer occurred to him instantly.

Not entirely.

He’d been captivated by her from the first moment she emerged from his carriage. He’d been charmed by her smile, and she’d triggered his curiosity. He’d watched her cheeks blossom with color and been aroused by her writing. Her laughter enchanted him.

He looked down at her, thinking that he could drown in the deep dark pools of her eyes.

“Stop it,” he said.

“Stop what?”

“You’re looking at me with that look, the one that makes me want to love you again. Or do you think I behave like a rutting boar all the time?”

“I’ve never seen a rutting boar,” she said, beginning to smile. “Do they kiss well?”

She lay back on the bed, covering her face with the sheet. A moment later she peeped up at him, her cheeks and lips pink.

“I’m sorry about Cassandra.”

He froze.

She sat up again, placing her hand on his chest. Her soft fingers were warm on his skin, tapping lightly, as if to call his attention to her words.

He didn’t want to talk about Cassandra.

“I know I shouldn’t have spoken of her, but it’s a little difficult since she was your wife and now I’m your wife, and of course I understand about the book now and I do wish you could have explained it to me before your mother did.”

He stared up at the painting on the ceiling. Angels at every age frolicked among the clouds.

“No wonder you weren’t all that fond of marriage.”

“Ellice.”

Just that, just her name, spoken in such a soft tone that it halted her in mid-commiseration. He didn’t need her compassion. Nor did he want it.

“Did you love her very much?”

He glanced at her. Did she want the truth, unadorned and as smudged as it was? Or should he fancy it up, polish it until it was bright, and then give it to her?

He decided for the unvarnished version. Let her see him as he was, not as she imagined him.

“I thought I did,” he said. “She was all I could have wanted in a wife. She was sweet, gentle, and kind. She never said a bad word to anyone or about anyone. She was unfailingly polite.”

She didn’t speak, didn’t pepper him with questions. Instead, she let the silence sag between them.

“I was tired of her company within a month,” he confessed, turning his head to look at her. “I found more and more things to do that would take me away from Huntly. I visited the farms, our property near Glasgow, anywhere I didn’t have to endure my wife’s endless sweetness.”

To her credit, she didn’t look away. Had she always been so courageous? Perhaps she had, or she wouldn’t have hidden away in his carriage.

“I don’t think anyone would ever call me sweet,” she said, her well-kissed lips curving into a half smile. “I doubt many people would remember me at all.”

“Why do you say that?”

“I’m imminently forgettable.”

“I didn’t have any trouble remembering you.”

Now she regarded him with soft eyes.

“I have often asked myself if she would have turned to my father if I’d been a better husband.”

“She might not have,” Ellice said, brutally honest in this as in all things. “Or she might well have and suffered more guilt for it.”

He shook his head, amazed at her ability to turn something on its head. He’d never considered that he might have spared Cassandra further grief by not being an attentive husband.

“So, you think she was destined to fall in love with my father all along?”

“Love is like a river, don’t you think?”

“A river?”

She nodded. “It finds its own level. You can put up barricades but it will flood if it wishes. Sometimes, it even changes course.”

“And you think love is like that?”

“Yes. Because we find ourselves in love sometimes despite our wishes or our wants. We feel helpless in the face of it.”

Had she loved someone? he wondered. Did she love him still?

Her smile was infinitely kind. “She hurt you because she chose someone else. I grew up being told that someone was always better than me. Cassandra leaving you was the same thing.”

He couldn’t speak. With her smile, she’d taken away his power of speech, this strange woman with her kind eyes and her unbridled imagination. She couldn’t be right and yet he suspected there was some truth to what she was saying.

He was left floundering for words again. How did she so effortlessly do it?

“You worry too much about scandal, Ross. Scandal will always touch you because people will always gossip. You can be a saint and they’ll find something wicked or nasty to say. People will always say something bad just because of who you are.”

“Thomas Forster’s son.”

She shook her head at him. “No, Ross. You’re the Earl of Gadsden. You’re handsome as sin, you own a fabulous house, and you’re wealthy. They envy you.”

She pressed her hand to his chest. “Perhaps you should be more like your father.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I think people admire your father, not because of his wildness as much as his disregard of what the world thought of him. I think everyone secretly wishes to be as brave.”

“It wasn’t courage, Ellice. It was selfishness.”

“Or love.”

He stared at her.

“What would you do for love, Ross?”

He didn’t know how to answer her. Thankfully, she didn’t seem to want one.

Her head rested on his chest, her arm extended around his waist. His hand threaded through her hair. In these quiet moments before sleep, he realized that Ellice brought something different and unusual to his life. A feeling of peace he’d never had before, as if being here, being with her, was what he’d been destined for all along.

A strange thought to have before sleep overwhelmed him. Ellice Traylor Forster was his destiny. Did she feel the same about him?

“I
need to go to Edinburgh,” Macrath said, removing his shirt as he walked toward the bathing room.

Lately, he’d been very careful to not undress in front of her. As if she could forget what he looked like naked.

Virginia sat on the chair in their sitting room, taking care not to let him know how appreciative she was of the view. Quick glances would have to do for now.

“Will you be gone long?” she asked.