The Virgin Of Clan Sinclair

by Karen Ranney

  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.

  “Not long,” he said. “I may stop by Huntly to make sure Ellice is well.”

  She was nearly swamped by love. On their wedding day, he’d taken Ellice and Enid as his own, caring for them, fussing over them, loving them.

  “She’s still on her honeymoon,” she said. “Would that be entirely proper?”

  He entered the bathing chamber. She sat listening to running water, his comments about the hot water, and the accompanying splashing.

  Standing, she walked to her armoire, opened it and retrieved the basket she’d packed and stored there.

  “Perhaps not,” he said, moving from the bathing chamber to her side, a towel wrapped around his waist.

  Her heart stuttered at the sight of him and that one lone droplet traveling down his chest.

  She wanted to lick it off.

  “What is that?” he asked.

  “A compromise,” she said, placing the basket on the bed. She crawled up on the end, removed her wrapper and smiled at his indrawn breath.

  Good, he’d noted that her décolletage was very low. Had he also noticed that her nipples were erect?

  Reaching over, she opened the basket, folding back the top.

  “This is a packet of herbs Brianag mixed for me,” she said, holding it up. “I take it in a tea every evening. I will continue to take it every night for the rest of my life if necessary.” She glanced at him. “It’s ghastly.”

  He hadn’t moved. Nor had he grabbed his pillow and the coverlet to sleep on one of the settees, as he’d done often enough in the last two months.

  “The sponge and acidic solution are from Dr. Thorburn. He’s found that it’s very successful in preventing pregnancy. I’ve already used one,” she said. “It’s quite easy.”

  He didn’t say a word, so she moved on to the next item.

/>   “These are for you, I understand.” She stared at the bulge beneath the towel. “I don’t know how you’re to put them on, but I haven’t spent much time reading the instructions. Do you speak French?”

  “What are you doing, Virginia?”

  “I’m seducing you,” she said, looking directly at him. “I understand your fear. I do, Macrath. I also know that I can’t live the rest of my life without your touch. I’ll go mad. Maybe I’ll even take a lover.”

  “That’s not going to happen,” he said, his cheeks taking on a bronze color.

  “Then you will simply have to ensure I’m satisfied.”

  She took out another jar.

  “I’m supposed to use this before we love,” she said, opening the jar and smelling the contents. Something minty and not unpleasant. “This,” she held up a brown bottle, “is to be used after we’ve loved.”

  “Anything else?”

  She peered into the basket. “Just a few more things. I’ll gladly take all of them.”

  “What happens if you get pregnant?”

  “Then it will be a child ordained by God,” she said. “Especially in view of all these preventatives.”

  “What if I lose you?”

  She slid from the bed, coming to stand in front of him.

  “What if nothing happens? What if we’re happy? Macrath, you took chances when everyone told you it was foolish. You decided what you wanted and went after it, keeping your own faith, deciding it would happen.”

  “This is a little different.”

  “No,” she said, slapping her hand against his bare chest, “it’s exactly the same thing. I want you and I refuse to admit any barrier to that.”

  He looked past her to the bed and the assembled products.

  “You’ll be safe?”

  “I’ll be safe.”

  “Promise me.”

  She understood what he was asking. He was asking for absolutes, and there were none in life. Oh, perhaps one. She absolutely adored him.

  Standing on tiptoe, she kissed him lightly on the mouth. “I promise.”

  She didn’t get a chance to say another word before he grabbed her.

  Chapter 30

  Dawn came to Huntly with none of the power of a Drumvagen morning. Instead, the sun peeked over the crest of the hill almost in apology for disturbing the great house. Pale pink and blue streaks sat against a sky not yet wakened from night. The birds greeted the day with soft chirps; the morning breeze was gentle on her cheeks.

  Ross had left her a few minutes ago.

  “I’ll be back in a few hours,” he said. “After three days away, I’m certain there are a variety of details I need to address.”

  She’d nodded, kissed him, and watched as he left her bed and room.

  Unable to roll over and sleep, she rose and walked to the terrace door. Carved balusters and railings painted white surrounded a pale pink tiled floor. Four white ceramic pots in each corner held miniature yews, and two iron benches sat opposite each other in the middle of the space. She sat facing east, the view overlooking the expanse of lawn.

  Would she ever become accustomed to the size of Huntly? Or to the wealth it represented?

  She didn’t care about the Forster fortune. All she truly cared about was Ross. From the beginning, he’d treated her differently. She wasn’t invisible to him. He made her feel singled out. Not anyone else, just her. She felt safe with him, in a way she couldn’t explain. Yet no one else had the power to hurt her like he did. His opinion mattered. His judgment counted.

  She was in love. Why hadn’t she told him how she felt?

  Cassandra had hurt him, perhaps more than he knew. Was he capable of loving anyone again?

  He needed to trust her, first. Perhaps if he did, he’d feel free enough to love.

  She was going to have to do something, a grand gesture like one Lady Pamela would make. Something that would ensure he trusted her. Something to make him understand exactly how she felt.

  She rang for Pegeen then sat down at her desk and wrote a note. Before the maid arrived, she peeked out her door, motioning to one of the ever-present footmen stationed there.

  “Yes, your ladyship?”

  “Will you make sure my husband gets this? He should be in the library.”

  The man surprised her by shaking his head. “We’re not supposed to enter the library, your ladyship.”

  “Even to take him a message? He won’t mind,” she said. “I promise.” She smiled at the man, but it didn’t seem to reassure him one bit.

  Another change she’d make at Huntly. Why wish to share the treasures of the Huntly library with the rest of Scotland when they were forbidden to the staff?

  After explaining what she needed to the stable master, he nodded and provided one of the carriages, along with a driver she recognized.

  Harvey nodded when she told him their destination.

  She entered the carriage, settling herself in for a few hours of travel. The quicker they made it to Drumvagen, the better.

  Ross had removed his father’s portrait from the public rooms five years ago. The only place the fourth Earl of Gadsden remained was the Earl’s Gallery, a light and airy room in the north wing. Several portraits of each of the previous earls stood in the sunlight, staring out at the floor-to-ceiling windows on one side of the room.

  One day, someone might stand here and wonder about the man, note the handsomeness of his features, the rigid pose featuring him standing in the Red Parlor, one hand on his hip, the other at his side. Studying his eyes, the fourth earl didn’t look restless, but rather, empty.

  Had his father been lonely? The thought had never occurred to him before. He’d always considered his mother’s point of view but never his father’s.

  His marriage to Cassandra had not been one of kindred minds and hearts. He’d been busy with his life, intrigued by his studies. When he thought of Cassandra, he realized that she didn’t figure in the important moments. He couldn’t see her in his memories.

  He’d ignored her until she was no more important to him than a doorstop, a realization that didn’t sit well.

  He couldn’t imagine doing the same to Ellice. He couldn’t even stay away from her for a week.

  Had Cassandra been as miserable with him as his mother had been with his father? Another thought he’d never had until this moment.

  He’d not been guilty of infidelity, but he’d matched his father in inattentiveness.

  But Cassandra had found someone to notice her, hadn’t she?

  Before leaving Huntly, his father had left him a note.

  Forgive us, if you can, Ross. We don’t do this to hurt you but to find some measure of joy together.

  Had she found that happiness? Had both of them? Had those short weeks together given them the joy they wanted, payment enough for their actions?

  He would never know, but for the first time, he hoped they’d found it together.

  Walking to the window, he stared out at the lake.

  The day was glorious. The morning sun bathed Huntly in an otherworldly glow, as if he’d been given a sight of heaven.

  His life had changed. He hadn’t planned it, but it had altered the moment he’d gone to Drumvagen. A woman with sparkling brown eyes had forced him to confront himself, and now he couldn’t avoid what he’d discovered.

  When had it happened? At Drumvagen in the Great Hall when she’d stood there with her arms folded, nearly daring him to kiss her? Or when she’d emerged from the carriage, voluble and fascinating? Or that dawn in the gazebo when he’d wanted to hold her in his arms and comfort her?

  Somewhere along the way, he’d fallen in love with his wife.

  Everything now paled in importance to that fact.

  “You don’t come here often,” his mother said from the doorway.

  He turned, surprised to see her there.

  She walked into the room, glancing around. “Neither do I.”

  She moved to stand in front of his father
’s portrait. After studying it for a moment, she joined him at the window.

  “Why have you?” she asked.

  “A moment of memory,” he said. “Or perhaps honesty.”

  “You have to let it go, Ross. You’ve spent a good deal of your life trying to make up for your father’s scandal. But there comes a time when you have to stop thinking about the past and focus on the present and the future.”

  “As you have?” he asked.

  “As I have,” she said, nodding.

  She stood with her hands clasped in front of her, a proper countess in so many ways. But there had always been a bit of a dreamer about his mother, a tender soul in a life not especially easy, for all its wealth and privilege.

  “I have,” he said. For the first time, it was the truth. He had given it up.

  Even more importantly, he understood.

  Maybe the fourth Earl of Gadsden had been as stunned as he was now, realizing that his life, his emotions, even his thoughts, were no longer his own.

  What would he have done if Ellice had been married to someone else? If he’d found himself as adrift in lust and love as he felt now? He would have let nothing stand between them, not writ or rule or another human being.

  Would he have thought of anyone else but himself and her? Would he have considered the ramifications of his actions?

  It’s quite possible that he wouldn’t have cared. That scandal could have surfeited him, and it wouldn’t have mattered as long as she was by his side.

  Was love that selfish?

  He’d used that word in describing his father, thinking that the man was self-absorbed, caring only for his own pleasure without regard to anyone else.

  But as he stood there, Ross knew he would have done the same if the woman had been Ellice.

  “Ellice is a lovely girl,” his mother said, startling him. “I wondered about the haste of your wedding. I thought you were making a mistake.”

  “You never said anything.”

  She glanced at him with a smile. “When have you ever listened to me, Ross? You consider me a foolish woman occupying her days with buying trinkets.”