The Virgin Of Clan Sinclair

by Karen Ranney

  Her family stretched back five hundred years. How many years did the Earls of Gadsden trace their lineage?

  No doubt he thought himself better than her because he was as handsome as sin.

  She caught herself. Dear heavens, she sounded just like her mother. She’d be better served by listening to Lady Pamela. She had a saying that it wasn’t beauty that snared a man, but pleasure. Give a man pleasure and he will be your slave for life.

  She could give the earl pleasure, enough to sot his wits. He’d be drunk with joy around her. He’d kneel at her feet, head bowed, and she’d knight him with a gentle touch on his shoulder, head, and shoulder.

  “Do you swear to be my vassal, Sir Gadsden, forever to obey my slightest whim?”

  “I do, my lady,” he’d say, looking up at her worshipfully. “Give me but a command and I shall execute it.”

  “Then I command you to swear your fealty. To announce to all and sundry that you are mine.”

  He wouldn’t even balk at that, only smile at her in that way that made her toes tingle. “I shall, my lady.”

  Then he would slowly raise the hem of her dress, a white tunic banded with gold, cinched at her waist with a gold, ruby-encrusted belt.

  Inch by inch the hem would be crumpled in his large hands as he unveiled her for his eyes. Her knees would receive a soft kiss for being such lovely knees. Then her upper thighs where he would rub his cheek against her tender skin, acquainting her with the feel of his unshaven face. Then higher, where he rested his face against the curls of her mound, his breath heated and fast.

  “I don’t see how delaying dinner will ruin Brianag’s cooking, Macrath,” her mother was saying. “The woman’s veal tastes like leather anyway.”

  Ellice blinked rapidly, conscious of two things: her face was fiercely hot, and her mother was about to embark on another battle in the Drumvagen War.

  Before Macrath could say anything chiding, and before Brianag could hear or be told about Enid’s criticism and respond in kind, she stood.

  “Let’s just go into dinner, shall we? Why wait on Mairi and Logan?”

  Ellice marched to Gadsden’s side, grabbed his arm and smiled grimly up at him. “Will you take me into dinner, your lordship?”

  Everyone in the parlor stared at her. She’d just disobeyed every rule of etiquette she’d ever learned.

  “I’m desperate,” she whispered, turning so her back was to her mother. “Please, just pretend that you’re starving and can’t wait to eat.”

  He had no idea of the repercussions from her mother’s words. If Enid was allowed to continue her complaints, one of the maids would tell Brianag. They were nearly as fearful of Brianag as Ellice was.

  As it was, the two women had put aside their differences for the few difficult days of Carlton’s birth. But the respite was over. War had already broken out and she’d do anything to keep the peace, at least tonight, even if it meant acting foolish.

  To her great surprise he didn’t say anything, merely placed his hand atop hers.

  Inside the dining room, she guided him to her chair. While she waited for the others, she smiled with a determination that hurt her cheeks.

  Macrath escorted her mother. After everyone had been seated and he sent a frowning glance toward Ellice, he gave orders for dinner to begin.

  If Logan were here, he would sit beside her. To her left was her mother, who was accorded the position of honor at Macrath’s right hand since Virginia was absent. Mairi would, if she ever appeared, sit at the earl’s left hand.

  Ellice had been allowed at the dinner table since she was thirteen, expected to contribute to the general discussion and offer topics of interest.

  Not one word came to mind.

  Mairi would have regaled them all with tales of Edinburgh. Logan would have commented on her stories, adding a more sober opinion. The two of them would have contributed to the conversation. There wouldn’t have been the awkward silence with only the four of them at the table.

  The earl was still looking at her from time to time. She wanted to put her soup spoon down and dare him to tell her why she was the object of his attention.

  Did no one of his acquaintance ever act impulsively?

  “Have you lived in Scotland long, your ladyship?” Gadsden asked.

  Please God, don’t let her say something insulting about Scotland. Or Brianag.

  “A few years,” Enid said. “An interesting country, Scotland.”

  “Have you ever visited England?” Ellice interjected. “You sound very English.”

  Her mother frowned at her.

  “I was educated there,” the earl said. “No doubt the reason for my accent.”

  “Virginia had an English nurse,” Macrath said. “That’s why she sounds more English than American.”

  “I didn’t know your wife was an American,” Gadsden said.

  Macrath nodded. “I forget it most of the time myself. She seems almost like a Scot now.”

  “What is being a Scot like?” Ellice heard her mother ask.

  Oh, no.

  “A certain independence of spirit,” she answered before the men could. Or before the girl serving the venison could hear, take notes about Enid’s snide remarks, and carry them to Brianag.

  “An ability to carry on despite circumstances,” she continued. “Perhaps a belief in otherworldly phenomena.”

  “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.

  Ross 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

  Ellice 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.”