The Virgin Of Clan Sinclair

by Karen Ranney

  Perhaps he could read it to her one evening. She could counter by reading a chapter of The Lusty Adventures of Lady Pamela aloud.

  He smiled at the thought.

  He knocked at her door, but when she didn’t answer, he opened it, calling her name.

  Where was she?

  He should have checked his suite first. She enjoyed the bath so much that she’d used it often in the last week. Would it be possible to create a hot springs bath in her quarters? Better yet, perhaps she could simply move into his suite, an idea that had never occurred to him before this moment.

  He stopped in the middle of the sitting room. She’d been here only a week and already made changes to claim this space.

  The room smelled of lemon wax and the perfume she wore, something delicate and unassuming, not truly mirroring the complex woman she was. She should wear something hinting of roses, or more exotic blooms, a scent that teased the senses.

  She hated the mirrors, so he had them removed. He found another desk in the attics, one more suited for a study, but she’d been overjoyed when first viewing it. There was enough space in the sitting room, and that’s where it rested, beneath the window looking out over Huntly’s glen.

  He wished this view was of the lake. She would have liked the sight of the birds soaring over the trees or the pale light of dawn reflected in the water.

  A robe rested on the back of the settee. Had she taken it off as she walked into her bedroom? He fingered it, willing himself to feel a residual warmth of her body, but the silk was cool to his touch.

  The room felt empty. How could she be here and he not know it?

  Gone was the silent wraith who looked wide-eyed at him in the presence of others. This woman dared him and challenged him.

  A book sat upside down. He tilted his head to inspect the spine. She read poetry. He made a note of that. Another book was on the settee. A depression on a pillow meant she’d rested there for a while. He placed his hand there, shook his head at himself, and moved away, smiling at the sight of her slippers at the entrance to the bedroom.

  The desk was strewn with paper. He hesitated, wondering if she had the pages in a certain order. He picked up one, began to read, realizing as he did so that the maids assigned to her room might glance over her work.

  He didn’t remember this chapter.

  Frowning, he pulled out her chair and sat.

  No, he definitely didn’t remember this part of the book. She had changed from third person to first, as if the recollections of her adventures were spoken in Lady Pamela’s voice. By the second page he realized he wasn’t reading from her book at all but something of a diary.

  He wanted to call back the action of his hand the minute he picked up the third page and began to read. This was not something Ellice had written for anyone else’s eyes. He told himself that even as he was captured by her words.

  When he touches me my skin begins to glow. I feel heated from inside, as if the whole of my body recognizes him. Here is the origin of my contentment. Here is the source of my pleasure. He alone can bring me to fulfillment, make me cry out in wonder, weak with bliss.

  My body erupts, even in sleep, imagining him touching me. His hand stretches out and touches my breast, cupping it gently, teasing me. My nipples elongate at the thought of his mouth. My head arches back for him to trail kisses down my throat.

  My lips swell to cushion his.

  “How beautiful your back is,” he said, and I want to thank the God of all creation for making it so. Thank you for narrowing his experience of women that he would think me beautiful. Thank you for giving me enough foolishness that I would hide in a stranger’s carriage and end up with this man as my husband. My lover to whom I can go every night and with whom I can satiate myself.

  He put the page back down on the desk, wishing he’d never sought her out. She was a drug, an opiate, and it was all too clear that he was becoming addicted. If she were here, he’d probably sweep her pages away and mount her again on a desktop.

  What had happened to him? He wasn’t a fool, yet nothing labeled him one more than sitting here imagining loving her again.

  He was well on his way to behaving just like his father, as unprincipled and hedonistic.

  That thought was a blow to the chest.

  “I never knew a cocksman like your father,” a duke once said to him. “The man could shag his way across the Empire. He once told me that gambling was a waste of money and drinking gave him tremors and a headache. But loving a woman, that was the best of all sins.”

  He was his father’s son, wasn’t he?

  For the last week he’d spent all his waking time with his wife. They’d explored the attics, and acted out one of the scenes in her book. They’d talked for hours about anything. He’d told her about his joy in coming home to Huntly and his excitement in going off to school.

  He’d introduced her to everyone at Huntly, from the footmen to the grooms to the undercooks to the chef he’d purloined from a duke in London.

  “Do you know all their names?” she’d asked.

  “Of course.”

  “But there are a lot of people here.”

  “Yes, but they work for me.”

  “I should learn their names as well, shouldn’t I?”

  He hadn’t gotten the opportunity to answer her. She’d reached up, pulled his head down and kissed him.

  One day, they’d gone to the lake, and he’d taken her out in the boat, the afternoon transfixed by laughter. She had a sense of humor he’d not expected, able to laugh at herself.

  “You were alone too much,” he said, after she told him about London.

  She looked surprised at his comment.

  “It was a difficult time,” she said.

  “You were still alone at Drumvagen. Did no one notice?”

  He was angry on her behalf. Had she been invisible to everyone?

  What the hell had he done?

  He’d become ensnared with a woman. His every waking thought had been of her.

  Where had his ambition gone? He’d done nothing in the last week to advance his career or solidify his chances in the coming election. He hadn’t written any letters, planned any events, or scheduled meetings.

  He’d been adrift in lust, as unrestrained as his father.

  He had goals and aspirations, duties and responsibilities. He was damned if he was going to be in thrall to a woman, any woman, even his wife.

  He was not going to be like his father. There was more to his existence than his bodily desires. He had greater plans for his life than to be led around by his cock.

  He left the pages where they were, striding out of the room before she returned. At least he hadn’t mentioned the idiotic notion of her sharing his room.

  “I wonder how Ellice likes married life,” Mairi said to her husband in their carriage. “The first week is always the most challenging.”

  “Is it?” Logan asked, making no effort to hide his smile.

  “You snored. I hadn’t known that. Plus, you’re difficult to wake in the morning. You would burrow yourself under the pillow if you could.”

  “And you learned that all in the first week?”

  She nodded. “Plus the fact that you love sweets.” She eyed him. “What did you learn about me?”

  “You steal my side of the blanket,” he said, “and you get cold at night.”

  She looked over at him. How could it be that she loved him even more than that first week?

  “I’m still disappointed,” Mairi said, plucking at her gloves. “I wanted to publish Ellice’s book.”

  The crunch of wheels on the gravel was strangely comforting, perhaps because it was proof that they were finally heading home.

  Macrath, especially protective of Virginia, had insisted on all of them returning to Drumvagen immediately after the wedding. His solicitousness had gotten to the point where the two women often exchanged a glance and a shake of the head.

  Mairi reflected on her brother.
Didn’t Macrath know that women gave birth every day? True, there were some tragedies, but Virginia hadn’t been one of them. He simply had to stop wrapping her in batting and treating her like crystal.

  Not that Virginia wasn’t capable of fighting that battle. But she and Logan had remained at Drumvagen for a week anyway, to give Virginia some moral support.

  Spring was in the air, in the gusts that carried the scent of new roses and grass. Even the sea air smelled sharper, as if waking to a different season, one filled with boiling clouds and tumultuous storms.

  Drumvagen stood impervious to any of nature’s tantrums, the gray brick sparkling in the sun the four towers tall, proud, and as stubborn looking as Macrath himself.

  Mairi had grown to love her brother’s home, but she missed Edinburgh.

  Her cousin, Fenella, and Fenella’s husband Allan, had managed the paper for the last two weeks, but it was time to return to business. She missed the smudge of ink on her fingers, the smell of paper, and the ever present click and clank of the new rotary press.

  “I think Ellice allowed herself to be purchased,” she said now, staring out the carriage window at the sunny day. “She traded that manuscript for a marriage.”

  Logan glanced at her.

  “If she did, she got the better end of the bargain, Mairi.”

  “You like him,” she said, surprised.

  “I like him,” he affirmed. “I always have.”

  “He’s asked for your help, hasn’t he?” Mairi asked. Even though Logan had retired from political life, he was still influential. A word from him would go a long way to ensuring a man’s future, even a pompous earl’s. “How silly of him to think a book might do him damage.”

  “I think it’s entirely within the realm of possibility,” Logan said. “Especially given what I know of his father. Ross called him a wastrel. The man was a bit more than that.”

  “Oh?”

  “He was a satyr, or as close as I’ve heard. His exploits were legendary, fueled by a fantastic fortune. For years, Ross has done what he could to offset his father’s reputation.”

  “Has he had ambitions to be a representative for that long?”

  He smiled at her. “Perhaps. Or perhaps it was simply that he hated what people thought of the Gadsden name.”

  “Or maybe he wanted people to respect him,” she said. “Men won’t follow those they don’t respect.”

  “And where did you come by that knowledge?”

  “From you.” She could tell she surprised him. “People have always respected you, Logan. If you respect Gadsden and support him, his chances of being elected are better.”

  “He has some fine ideas for the future.”

  “How does he feel about women?”

  He glanced at her.

  “I’m a newspaperwoman, my darling Logan. Of course I want to know. I am surprised, however, that he would want to go to Parliament. Doesn’t Huntly keep him busy enough?”

  He smiled at her, which immediately made her wish she’d been more tactful. Logan was often amused at her blunt way of speaking, and there were times when she wished she had kept her mouth shut as well. Questions and comments just flowed from her brain to her lips at the most inappropriate moments.

  “Gadsden’s started several scholarships, plus he’s working on cataloging the Huntly library. I understand the original Latin works are priceless.”

  “One would think, with his love of books, that he wouldn’t try to censor one.”

  “I doubt the Latin works are as worrisome as The Lustful Adventures of Lady Pamela.”

  She shook her head, sinking back against the seat.

  “I can’t believe that Ellice, our Ellice, would have written such a thing. I haven’t given up, however. I’m still determined to publish it.”

  “I said the same to Ross.”

  “Did you?”

  He nodded.

  At first she found it a little disconcerting that he knew her so well. Now it was a source of endless comfort and occasional humor.

  “He wants to win the election,” Logan said. “He’s very ambitious in that regard.”

  She shot him a glance. “Like becoming Lord Provost was your ambition?”

  He nodded. “Once I became Lord Provost, I realized that I wasn’t suited for a life under constant scrutiny. I wanted my privacy. Then I found another ambition, one as important.”

  “Expanding Blackwell’s.”

  He smiled. “Marrying you.”

  She reached over and kissed him for that comment. Pulling away, she was gratified to see that he was breathing hard as well. She straightened her bodice and reached for the hated bonnet on the other seat.

  “Why do you even bother?” he asked. “You carry the blasted thing more than you wear it.”

  “Just in case I need it,” she said.

  She answered a similar question at least once a week. Perhaps one day she would have the courage to leave her bonnet behind. She’d become an arbiter of fashion, Mrs. Logan Harrison, who despised hats, refused to wear them, and began the Women’s Hatless Brigade.

  Perhaps she could write a series of columns on unnecessary garments that women felt compelled to wear. While she was at it, she might consult with Dr. Thorburn again about the dangers of corsets.

  She didn’t know if the readers of the Edinburgh Women’s Gazette would be shocked by such a frank topic.

  For that matter, what would people say if she dared to publish Ellice’s book?

  She grabbed his hand, wrapping hers around it. They’d been married for two years, and for two years she’d been happier than she’d ever dreamed of being. Sometimes she was afraid of such joy because life wasn’t especially joyous. But then she reasoned she’d been given Logan because of her earlier losses. Providence’s way of balancing the scales.

  That wasn’t to say they always saw things the same way or that there was little discord between them. Sometimes they disagreed about little things, and when that happened each had to decide whether it was worth the argument. At other times, however, she didn’t have a problem with getting face-to-face with Logan and arguing like a Jesuit priest at the top of her voice. Nor did Logan object to being just as loud.

  He was a lion, a comment she’d made to him several months ago, one which had stopped him in his tracks.

  “You aren’t a blond,” she said, “which might make you look more like a lion. But your hands are large, like paws, and you have this stance with your feet apart and your arms braced just so as if you’re protecting your herd.”

  “Pride,” he said. “It’s called a pride, and I thought you always likened me to a bear.”

  “No,” she said, shaking her head. “A bear isn’t proud or regal enough.”

  He smiled at her then, and whatever comment she’d been about to make had simply flown from her mind.

  He could make her forget everything with that smile, and it disconcerted her every time it happened.

  She wasn’t about to tell him he possessed a secret weapon.

  Would Ellice be as happy with her earl as she was with Logan? She said a silent prayer for the girl and the man, only because Logan liked him.

  Whether he was worth Ellice was the question.

  Chapter 25

  What had she done wrong?

  She’d evidently said or done something, because Ross had ignored her for a week. In that time, she’d seen him twice at dinner. Once, he left the dining room the minute she entered, leaving the footmen standing there with stone faces as she and the maids stared after him with wide eyes.

  The second time, Ross remained in place, but when she attempted to speak to him looked straight through her.

  “What have I done?” she asked. When he didn’t answer, she asked another question. “Have you been ignoring me because I’ve been writing?”

  His head jerked up, his eyes as sharp as steel.

  “I promised I wouldn’t take my book to Mairi,” she said, feeling betrayed. “But my contract say
s I can write. You promised.”

  She hadn’t waited for him to answer. That night she’d been the one to leave him. For the last few days she’d taken a tray in her sitting room.

  The marriage that had begun with such delight was now a disaster.

  The man she’d seen only a glimpse of, tender, kind, and passionate, had disappeared, replaced by the cold and distant earl she’d first met.

  How could she possibly make it better if she didn’t know what she’d done? At least at Drumvagen she had no doubt which flaw of hers had irritated her mother.

  She hadn’t seen her mother-in-law for days. At first she thought it was because the woman was giving her and Ross time alone. But Pegeen told her that the countess had a penchant for avoiding people at Huntly.

  “We can go for days without seeing her, your ladyship. At Huntly you could go a year without seeing anyone. I’ve a friend who works on the second floor of the countess’s house. I rarely see her. Even the laundry is separate.”

  Drumvagen was filled with people. Some days she’d had to escape to the cottage in order to be left alone. At Huntly, she could skip through the corridors and no one would notice. She might as well dance naked in the courtyard, for all the attention Ross paid her.

  Pegeen was the one person she saw every day. The voluble maid was a delight to be around, for short periods, at least. Pegeen had a great deal to say, however, and was evidently intent on saying it all as quickly as she could.

  Ellice had become adept at sending her on errands just to get a little peace and time to write.

  She was determined not to hide in her rooms, however, so when she was finished writing she explored Huntly with Pegeen as her guide. She lost count of how many rooms there were. If Pegeen hadn’t been with her, she was certain she would still be wandering through the wings, corridors, and rooms.

  Most of the public rooms were housed in the main building, with the family rooms in the wing to the right. Other rooms, such as the Earl’s Study, the Chart Room, the Map Room, and the Persian Room, were located in the wing to the left.

  Behind the curved wings, where they couldn’t be seen, stretched two more sections. To the right were the kitchen, laundry, and storage rooms. Directly opposite, and similarly hidden from view, were the stables, farm offices, and dairy barns.