“Virginia, men like your husband dinnae part with money so easily. Until we know you are free and clear of him, you have to let that daft notion go.”
“I can’t let it go. I won’t. Think of Peter. It breaks my heart to think of what might have happened if Alex hadn’t found him and taken him in. Children like Peter are wandering the streets of London, forgotten, starving, having to steal and do Lord-knows-what to survive. After my near brush with a hellish future, I’m determined now, more than ever, to see this through.”
“Your whole plan is unwise. It’s like poking a sleeping lion with a stick. As soon as you ask Langley for your money, he’ll know where to find you. Your father’s house is the first place he’ll look.”
“And you’ll keep me safe until my trust money is returned.”
“Then what?”
“Then I begin building the home.”
“And then what?”
“Listen to me, my darling,” she said, her lips a kiss away. “The only thing that matters is the children. That’s my destiny. To save them.”
She had no way of knowing that his destiny lay in England, as well, and that he would spend what few days remained of his life at her side. There was no point in telling her. She would only balk or send him away. No. Virginia would have her money and her home for foundlings. He would also make certain she retained her title. She had his love and what was left of his life, and he was glad to give it.
…
Virginia sat for hours after he left her cabin, unable to fall back asleep. Her berth seemed empty and desolate without his big, warm body filling it. She considered her life—the past, the present, and most importantly, the future. She mustn’t, for a minute, fantasize about a future with him. She was meant to save children. That was her destiny. Reason told her this was true, but her foolish heart wouldn’t listen. Her heart longed for him to declare his love and vow to stay by her side. But Magnus had his own destiny, and it didn’t include her.
Soon, she would need to join the others for breakfast. Virginia splashed cold water on her face and smoothed her skirts. When she straightened the bedclothes, the scent of their lovemaking rose up and engulfed her in sudden memory of their night together. Everything—his voice, his words, his touch, his warm hard body. It was then that the answer to her question hit her.
What have I got to lose?
This is what she had to lose. Magnus. His loving. Once she was safely ensconced in London, he would return to Scotland and she would never see him again. Had she never known his touch, had she never experienced this night, she would have lived the remainder of her years painlessly, blissfully unaware of what she was without.
Virginia pressed her face into the pillow where Magnus had rested his beautiful head and wept. Oh God, how will I bear it?
Peter met her at the captain’s door and scooped a low bow. “Good morning, Your Ladyship.”
“Good morning, Mr. Peter.” Virginia returned a deep curtsy.
The men rose when she entered. Magnus held out a chair between he and Lucy, and she lowered herself into it, her knees shaking. Why was she so nervous?
“Did you sleep well, dear?” Lucy asked more as a formality than actual curiosity. She was distracted by Jemma writhing in her lap and grabbing at anything on the table within reach. Lucy wrestled a fork out of Jemma’s hands.
“No! No! No!” Jemma screeched.
“The wee tyrant’s first word is ‘no.’ I shouldnae be surprised considering her mother’s temperament,” Alex said.
Lucy flashed him a look of warning. The trip had been long and uncomfortable for everyone, but an irritable infant and a dog had further complicated their voyage.
“I’ll take her,” Virginia said, and Lucy transferred her squirming bundle into Virginia’s arms. The weight of Jemma’s warm body was soothing. This might be the last day she got to hold her gingersnap. They would be parted soon. “Here, darling,” she said and handed Jemma a hard biscuit for her to chew. She would miss this, these moments pretending to be Jemma’s momma. “I slept very well thank you, Lucy.”
“Oh dear.” Lucy lifted Virginia’s chin. “What happened to your neck?”
“Why? What’s wrong?”
“It’s all red and bothered. Have you been scratching?” Lucy asked.
Virginia touched her neck and remembered the feel of Magnus’s beard rasping her skin when he was in the throes of—her heart leapt to a gallop. “Yes. I remember now. The starch in my chemisette doesn’t agree with my skin.”
Magnus rubbed his beard and exchanged a look with his cousin Ian she was unable to interpret.
She searched for another topic to divert attention from this one. “When do you think we will arrive, Captain?”
“Mr. Purdie estimates we’ll make Chatham by noon. We’ll unload our cargo there.” He filled a bowl of porridge and passed it her way. “I’ll send Magnus ahead to arrange transportation. Alex and Lucy will head directly to Maidstone, and I will escort you to London.”
“I’ll be taking the viscountess to London,” Magnus said.
A stony silence lingered between Captain Sinclair and Magnus.
Mr. Snowdon perked up. “I could escort Her Ladyship to London.”
Both Magnus and Captain Sinclair shouted, “No!”
“Gentlemen,” Lucy said. “May I suggest a compromise? We should all go to Maidstone Hall. Papa will be delighted to have the company.” Lucy turned to Virginia, her face alight with hope. “I don’t know why I didn’t think of it until now. Do say yes, Ginny. I want you to see Maidstone and meet Papa and Nounou Phillipa and George.”
Alex rolled his eyes and collapsed back in his chair. “Bloody hell, woman,” he groaned. “This isnae a house party. It’s a short visit to see your da.”
Ignoring Alex, Lucy continued making up her plan as she spoke. “After a few days, we can take you to London. Since you’re traveling incognito, as it were, we’ll tell everyone you’re my companion. We’ll only stay a day or two. Just long enough to see you settled. Oh, the shops, Ginny. And rides in the park. Think of it. We’ll have so much fun.”
“Lucy, I’m so sorry. I can’t. Not for a while, at least. I need to remain secluded until Mr. Snowdon and I have finished our business. I will be quite safe with Captain Sinclair and Mr. Magnus.” Virginia hated seeing Lucy deflate, so she quickly added, “But you’ll come visit me in London before you leave, won’t you?”
A shout came from outside, and Peter shot to his feet. “We’re here. We’ve reached the harbor.”
…
Magnus stood on deck, taking in the busy harbor. He’d been here once before, he and Alex and Declan, on their way to Spain. They’d joined the army at age seventeen, but those two years in Spain had been like ten. All three were damn lucky to have come home with their limbs. If they hadn’t had each other. If he hadn’t had his two cousins to watch his back, he would not have made it home alive, and Virginia would never have fallen into his arms.
Breakfasting next to her this morning had been agony. He’d wanted to touch her, stroke her hair, snug his face in her neck, and breathe her in. And then his panic when he’d seen the mark his beard had left. She’d covered quickly, thank Christ. Only Ian knew what had happened last night, and even he didn’t know the details. Like how silky her skin was on the inside of her thighs. Or how she’d arched her back whenever he’d fondled her pert breasts. Or the wee sounds she’d made when she—
“Magnus.” Hearing her voice made his balls draw up tight. Before he turned to her, she was at his side, her skirt fluttering crazily in the wind and wrapping around his legs like an embrace.
“Are your things packed?” he asked.
“Yes. They’ve brought our trunks out on deck.”
“Good.”
Men scrambled up the rigging in a rush to navigate a crowded harbor. He and Virginia remained still, as if they were two stones in a shallow burn, and the busy crew, like the water, rushed around them.
“I’m sorry a
bout your neck. My beard…does it hurt?”
She laughed. He loved that low husky sound. “Nonsense. It’s already disappeared.” She slipped her hand into the crook of his arm. “Will you buy your Percherons when we go to London?”
Odd. He hadn’t even thought much about his horse farm. Not for some time. He used to think of nothing else. Virginia had crowded out those thoughts. She’d taken up every inch of space in his brain these past weeks. At least he’d had the presence of mind to bring every cent he had with him, just in case. In case his stay was prolonged or Virginia needed to flee. After all, she had nothing. She needed him.
“Yes. Of course.” He smiled down at her. “After.”
“How long before Gael Forss returns to Thurso?”
“Ian estimates a three to four week stay. That will give him time to sell the cargo and buy additional goods he can sell in Wick and Thurso when they return.”
“I should have my trust back by then, and you can return with the ship.”
He had no intention of leaving her until she was free of her husband—whether that meant the viscount was dead or the prat was in jail, he didn’t care. But he wouldn’t leave her alone in London. She would never be truly safe if she was within Langley’s grasp. But if she knew that, she would kick up a fuss.
“Aye. It will all work out, love. You’ll see.”
“Remember, you mustn’t do anything impulsive or…rash. You promised.”
Had he promised? And if he had, was that a promise he could keep? He had every intention of destroying Langley. If there was a way to do it without getting himself hanged, he would. Otherwise… “Dinnae fash, mo chridhe.”
“What does ‘mo cree’ mean?”
“It means, my heart,” he said and wrapped an arm around her because he couldn’t keep his hands from her any longer. He’d long since abandoned the look don’t touch edict. “You are my heart. I ken I can never have you—not like I want you—but you will always be my heart.”
She turned to him, her eyes brimming, and tugged on the front of his shirt. “Magnus, I…I lo—”
“There’s your auntie Ginny, darling.” Lucy, with her bloody awful timing, approached with Jemma, and he stepped away from Virginia. It felt like he’d parted with a piece of his body.
“Tah-tee.” Jemma reached for Virginia, and she took the bairn in her arms. That pang of loss hit him again. Virginia had been certain she wouldn’t get with his child. Yet she looked so content with the wee lass on her hip. So natural.
Lucy glanced around the ship’s deck. “Have you seen Hercules? I’ve looked for him everywhere.”
“I found him.” Peter handed the squirming bundle of mostly ears and tail to Lucy. “Mr. Purdie says we’ll be docked and ready to go ashore in about two hours.”
Good. Only two more hours. This ship had become a kind of floating perdition for him. He needed to get away from these prying, disapproving eyes. He needed to hold Virginia again. To hold her like she was his own, even if he could never make it true.
…
Virginia took Captain Sinclair’s hand and allowed him to lead her down the narrow gangway to the dock where Alex, Lucy, and Magnus waited. They all laughed at each other staggering and lurching about, trying to “find their land legs,” as the captain called it. When the sensation abated, she sobered. She was in England—now a dangerous place. She must be alert.
That worry receded with one glance at Magnus, standing with the other towering Sinclair men. His broad shoulders, massive chest, and powerful arms filled out his coat decidedly well. Even his muscular thighs—those thighs that had rubbed against her bare legs only hours ago—strained against the fabric of his trousers. He was her protector, her champion. As long as she was with him, he would keep her safe.
A cry of, “loosey goosey,” came from a crowd of people some ways away.
Lucy let out a blood-curdling squeal, and Virginia nearly jumped out of her skin. “George!” Lucy tore down the pier with Hercules close on her heels, barking his head off. “George!”
Alex sighed and strode off in casual pursuit of his wife. “Come on, Jemma. Let’s go meet your Uncle George.”
“Looks like Lucy’s brother has come to greet us,” Captain Sinclair said, and followed Alex.
Magnus placed a protective hand on her back and ushered her toward the happy reunion.
A smartly dressed man held Lucy in a fierce embrace, while Hercules danced at their feet begging to be included. The man, George FitzHarris, she presumed, laughed and swung Lucy back and forth, obviously overjoyed to have his sister back. Alex cleared his throat, and the siblings released each other.
“It’s good to see you again, loosey goosey.”
Lucy gave his chest a playful slap. “You know I hate that name.” She proceeded to make breathless introductions.
“You must remember Lady Langley, formerly Miss Whitebridge.”
George bowed low. “Your servant, Lady Langley.”
“I’m not certain if you know of my recent difficulties, Mr. FitzHarris, but I am traveling as Mrs. White for the time being.”
“Yes, of course. Your servant, Mrs. White.” He gave her a winning smile.
Magnus rumbled a threatening growl that she hoped Mr. FitzHarris didn’t hear.
“And this is Alex’s cousin, Mr. Magnus Sinclair and my brother-in-law, Captain Ian Sinclair.”
George gave them a sharp nod. “How do you do.”
Lucy saved Alex and Jemma for last. “And, you remember Alex from when we were children.”
“I remember him well. I believe I owe you a bloodied nose, sir.” Mr. FitzHarris extended a cautious hand.
Alex eyed him warily and shook hands, rigidly polite. “You can try and pay me back, brathair.” There was something chilling in the way Alex used the Gaelic for “brother.”
Mr. FitzHarris suddenly threw his head back and guffawed, a masculine version of Lucy’s infectious laughter. Alex laughed, too, but not nearly as heartily, the wary look never leaving his eyes. What on earth had happened between these two when they were children?
Through this whole exchange, Jemma remained silent, probably owing to the fact that she had two fingers stuck in her mouth.
“Say hello to Uncle George, darling,” Lucy coaxed.
Jemma pulled her fingers from her mouth with a pop and pointed. “Goo.”
Alex cut his eyes and smiled. “That’s right, a nighean. That’s your uncle Goo.”
Mr. FitzHarris didn’t seem to mind the laughter at his expense. In fact, he was rather good-natured about it. He cut a dashing figure dressed in an impeccably tailored coat, starched white collar and neckcloth, doeskin britches, pristine white gloves, and tall black Hessian boots. She’d almost forgotten how Englishman dressed. He wore his black hair short, too. So different from the trio of Scots. He was at least a hand shorter than Magnus, still leaving him unusually tall, and George FitzHarris was as handsome as his sister, Lucy, was beautiful.
“Come,” Mr. FitzHarris said, motioning toward a side street. “We can have something to eat while your luggage is loaded onto the coaches.”
Magnus stepped forward. “I will be taking Mrs. White directly to her home in London.”
“Oh, Magnus, stop being so boorish,” Lucy said. “George has offered us a luncheon, and Ginny and I are starving.”
“It’s all right, Mr. Magnus. We can afford a bit of respite before we continue on our journey, can we not?” Virginia cajoled.
Magnus gave her a tightlipped look. After a moment, he nodded his head. “Fine. But we need to be on our way soon if we are to travel with the daylight.”
“Wait, where’s Mr. Snowdon?” Virginia turned and searched for the compact figure of the law clerk.
Magnus pointed to a man staggering sideways at a perilous angle headed straight for the edge of the pier. “There he is.” He sprang into a run and reached Mr. Snowdon in all but a blink, sparing him a bath in the murky harbor.
“Dear Lord,” Lucy said. “Do
n’t tell me the poor man is land-sick.”
“I do beg your forgiveness.” Mr. Snowdon held a fist to his mouth to stifle a belch. “I won’t be able to join you in the tavern just now.”
“Not at all.” Lucy favored Mr. Snowdon with a dimpled smile and dumped Hercules into his arms. “Thanks ever so much for looking after my darling little man while we lunch.”
Chapter Nine
Lucy had called him boorish. Boorish? Her fop-doodle brother was the one who was frigging boorish, fawning all over Virginia with his “your servant” this and “your servant” that. Not ten minutes on the ground, and he hated England and every bloody Englishman in it.
Except for Virginia.
And Lucy.
And Caya.
Jesus. How had the Sinclairs ended up with so many damned English women?
They walked as a group toward a tavern at the top of a hill overlooking the harbor. Magnus tried to moderate his stride so that Virginia wouldn’t have to run to keep pace with him. Difficult to do as he was so angry it was a wonder his ears hadn’t caught fire.
Virginia poked him in the arm. “What’s the matter?”
“Why? Am I being boorish?” She looked away, and he instantly regretted his outburst. She didn’t favor him with a reply. He didn’t deserve one. It was a boorish thing to say.
Bloody hell. Was this what it would be like his entire time in England? Already he felt out of place. Awkward. Like he was too large for this island of pale-faced wee people. Too dark and crude. The bowing, feigning, preening London Society had a secret language of manners and gestures unknown to him. Would Virginia compare him to her set of dukes and viscounts and find him lacking? Uncivilized is what Lucy had called Alex once. Would Virginia see him as uncivilized, uncultured, unsophisticated, un…everything?
What did the Romany woman say, “The Englishman will kill you,” or “The Englishmen will kill you”? Christ. He was going to die in this bloody frigging hell.
They reached the tavern somewhat winded from the climb. The air was so humid he needed gills, and his shirt clung to his back with sweat. He wanted to remove his coat, but that would no doubt violate some code of ethics. Did the English hang men or just flog them for removing their coats in mixed company?
Forgetting the Scot Page 20
