The Witch Of Clan Sinclair

by Ranney, Karen

  She could have played with him all day, testing the limits of his resolve and his stamina. She wanted to stroke him from his testicles to the mushroom shaped tip, walking her fingers around him.

  Even shocking him by bestowing a kiss there.

  The hiss and pop of the dying fire were sweet accompaniments to her soft moans as she lifted herself over him, talented in this act in a way she’d not expected.

  She lay over him, watching his shadowed face. No one else had eyes like his, so intent, so dangerous. She rose up and then lowered herself to him, daring him to stop her, to protest her domination. He smiled, the expression surging into the core of her just as she lowered her body. She filled herself with him, feeling both daring and afraid at the same time.

  His face changed and he put his hands on her hips, gripping her tightly and pulling her to him.

  “Mairi,” he said. Just her name, but it was summons enough.

  It simply felt right to keep her eyes on his as they pushed each other to bliss, only closing them when she was overcome by pleasure.

  Then she was crying out, answering him with his name as he surged into her, filling all the empty spaces.

  She collapsed onto his chest, her knees on either side of his body, her hot cheek pressed against his. Pressing her hand against his chest, she felt the pounding beat of his heart, a match for hers. He stroked her back, let his hand fall to cup her buttock.

  She’d never felt anything like what she’d just experienced with him. Even more confusing, she’d never known that such passion existed.

  Sinking down into his kiss and his arms, she slowly returned to herself with a feeling too much like regret.

  Chapter 18

  Mairi awoke sotted from sleep, fighting to surface as if it wanted to drag her back down to a land of dreams. She was rested, completely and totally for the first time in weeks. The feeling was so delicious that she stretched slowly, marveling at all the different sensations she was feeling.

  Her fingers touched something warm and human, a masculine arm dusted with hair.

  Her eyes flew open to meet his. Logan’s hair was tousled, his morning beard giving him the appearance of a ruffian. No, a marauder with his own broadsword below the sheet.

  She closed her eyes again.

  How could a man who looked so uncivilized be the Lord Provost? For that matter, what was she doing in his bed?

  “Good morning,” he said, his voice rough and holding an undercurrent of humor.

  She slowly made an inventory with spreading fingers. She seemed to be entirely covered by the sheet, even up to her shoulders.

  Opening her eyes, she nodded at him. Words were simply impossible at this moment.

  He smiled and the sun was here in this room. A feeling of such warmth raced through her that she couldn’t help but smile back.

  Good morning?

  Her gaze flew to the windows. The dawn light slipped between the curtains, a clarion call that she was in dire straits indeed.

  She closed her eyes again. This was not a dream. She could keep her eyes closed for a year but when she opened them she’d still be here, not in her own bedchamber.

  How was she going to extricate herself from this situation? Not only did she have to leave Logan’s bed, but she had to leave his house.

  She opened her eyes again. He was still smiling at her.

  “How did I get here?” she asked. The last thing she remembered was falling asleep on his chest.

  “I carried you.”

  Her face felt hot. She closed her eyes again since it was easier to imagine his smile than actually see it.

  “And my clothes?”

  “They’re here as well.”

  “My reputation is ruined,” she said.

  “Is it?”

  “Are you always going to respond with a question to my question?”

  “Do I do that?”

  She slitted open one eye.

  His grin made the morning seem even brighter.

  “You know quite well my reputation is ruined.”

  “Are you going to announce on a broadside that you were in my bed all night? Unless you do, I don’t see why your reputation would be in ruins.”

  “Because my driver’s outside, and he’s been outside all night. Surely someone saw him.”

  “Are you so famous that people would note your carriage and your driver immediately?”

  She frowned at his smile.

  “Very well,” he said, “I’ll phrase it in a statement. I doubt people would know the carriage was yours. Nor have I done anything, lately, to attract the attention of the press. Present company excluded, of course. But I can’t see you putting anything in the newspaper about last night.”

  She closed her eyes. “If I did, your popularity would soar.”

  His laughter echoed through the room. She opened her eyes again.

  “But only if women got the vote.”

  “Are we back to that again?” he asked, then chuckled. “This may be more difficult than I thought, phrasing everything as a statement. So, we’re back to politics again.”

  She raised up on one elbow, taking care to drape herself modestly with the sheet. A bit of foolishness, since he’d seen, stroked, and kissed every inch of her body.

  “Is it politics?” she asked, then waved her free hand in the air when he smiled at her. “I’m allowed to ask questions, especially when I’m curious about you, and the way you think.”

  “I’m not allowed the same curiosity?”

  “Everybody knows what I think,” she said. “Especially if you read the Gazette. You, on the other hand, are a very pleasant Sphinx. Inscrutable, unknowable.”

  There was that grin again.

  Very well, she knew everything there was to know about him, or nearly so, after last night.

  She should have been shy when he rolled with her until she was draped over his body, supporting herself with her arms on his chest. He arranged the sheet so it covered both of them.

  “I would much rather talk about anything else,” he said. “Such as how you scream when you find your satisfaction.”

  “I don’t,” she said, feeling warmth infuse her cheeks. Was she blushing?

  “Yes, you do,” he said, smiling. He touched the tip of her nose with one finger, then trailed it up to the corner of her eye and then the temple before tracing the curve of her ear. “A very ladylike scream. Perhaps a little yelp.”

  “Now I sound like a puppy.”

  “You called me a bear last night,” he said.

  “Is that an insult? You’re very bearlike,” she said.

  “Am I?”

  “And you snore,” she said, rubbing her palms against his chest. She needed to rise, find her clothing and get dressed. Somehow, she had to find a way to face James and silence him about last night.

  Perhaps she could hire a pastry cook to serve him. Or make the quarters over the stable a little more pleasant.

  “You have the oddest expression on your face right now,” he said. “Half embarrassment, half calculation.”

  She lowered her forehead to his chest to breathe against his skin.

  She really didn’t want to leave his bed or him. That was such a confusing thought that she tucked it away to examine later.

  What should she say to him? Thank you?

  “I have to leave,” she said.

  “Yes.”

  A simple assent and that was it. The interlude was done. Dawn had arrived and with it some measure of sanity.

  One thing she’d discovered: she knew with certainty that he hadn’t written those letters.

  If Logan had an issue with her, he would come out and tell her straight to her face. Oh, he would be wearing a charming smile while he did so, but the words would be direct and to the point. There would be no prevarication or doubt about what he meant.

  She looked at him, reached out her hand and cupped his cheek, wondering at the sudden tenderness she felt.

  What they had do
ne was wrong by society’s rules, by moral laws that dictated how she, as a woman, would behave. She’d occasionally questioned why a man was not held to the same standards of virtue and chastity as a woman, but it had been a mental exercise. She’d never thought of gleefully disobeying everything she’d been brought up to believe because of pleasure.

  Last night she was someone else, not the person she’d always known herself to be. That woman had been wild with desire, daring, and fierce. Her face warmed as she remembered things she’d done, words she’d spoken that now seemed so brazen.

  The whole situation was shameless, and wishing herself gone was not enough. She had to rise from the bed, gather her clothes and dress.

  She sat up, grabbed the sheet and, pulling it around herself, left the bed, surprised to find that all the scattered bits of her clothing had been carefully folded and placed on a chair.

  Had he folded her knickers? The thought sent a tide of embarrassment sweeping through her. She’d much rather parade naked in front of him than contemplate him touching her undergarments, a thought that made no sense whatsoever.

  She ducked behind the screen in the corner, thankful it was there, and arranged her garments, horrified to discover that her shift was nowhere in sight. She had no other choice but to announce that fact. Either that or leave her garments behind to be discovered by a curious maid. Or, God help her, Mrs. Landers.

  Her face flamed.

  “I seem to be missing an article of clothing,” she said.

  “Perhaps we left it in my library,” he said, his voice muted. A door opened and closed, and she peered out from behind the screen to find him exiting his bathing chamber.

  He was gloriously naked. He stood there with his hands on his hips, a sight to behold. She forced herself to look away.

  “What are you missing?”

  “Does it matter?” she asked, loath to actually speak the word aloud. It was one thing to have acted the harlot, quite another to be forced to describe her unmentionables. “Any lady’s undergarments in your library will belong to me.”

  She heard movement. Hopefully, he was putting on his clothes. When she turned her head it was to find him standing there attired in a dressing gown and a smile.

  “I’ll go find your clothes, Mairi,” he said, his eyes twinkling at her. He was close to laughing, just as she was close to hitting him with her fist.

  When she heard the door close behind him, she darted into his bathing chamber, impressed with not only the size of the tub but the rest of the fixtures. The water was truly hot, and she hadn’t heard a boiler clanking through the night as hers did at home.

  Retreating behind the screen again, she pulled on her stockings and pantaloons. When she heard the door open, she steeled herself for his teasing, but he didn’t say a word, merely draped her shift over the top of the screen.

  She wanted to ask where it had been, but decided that curiosity, in this case, would only lead to more embarrassment.

  As it was, her face would never revert to its normal color. She would forever have pink cheeks. Nor would she ever be able to look him in the eye again. Not when her shift had no doubt been draped over his desk.

  What had gotten into her?

  Logan.

  She choked off her laughter. He had corrupted her. Until last night she’d been demure and utterly proper, or nearly so.

  “Would you like breakfast?” he asked. “It’s a little early,” he added, “but my staff is used to my rising before dawn.”

  “Good grief, no,” she said. “I want to leave before anyone else knows I’m here.” It was bad enough she had to encounter James.

  In a matter of minutes she was ready. Her hair was a mess, but she was decently dressed.

  The sooner she left this house and got home, the better.

  She emerged from behind the screen, thankful she’d left her bonnet in the carriage. She had nothing else but herself to worry about. Her reticule was placed on the chair and she grabbed it, desperate for something to say, anything to bridge the awkwardness. What was worse was that he didn’t look the least uncomfortable standing there at the window dressed only in his blue silk robe.

  What a sight he made, with his black hair tumbling over his forehead and his chin firm as he parted the curtains to stare down at the street. Everything about him was perfect, and she was so far from perfect that last night should have been an aberration.

  Instead, it was a memory she would have for the rest of her life. How could she forget something as joyous and exuberant as making love with Logan Harrison?

  “Good-bye,” she said.

  He turned his head, his smile gone, only the intent look in his eyes remaining.

  “I’ll walk you to the door, Mairi,” he said, making her name something lovely and fluid on his lips, almost like a caress.

  She wanted, suddenly, to kiss him. But if she did, that kiss might well lead to something else. How much wiser she’d be to simply leave.

  Chapter 19

  James was asleep inside the carriage.

  The morning was frosty with curls of chilled fog winding around her legs. Last night had been cold, but James had remained at his post.

  Her conscience scraped at her.

  She hesitated before opening the door. What could she say in explanation? There was nothing more to be done than to face the situation as it was. As her father used to say, nothing ever came of trying to avoid a problem.

  This was most definitely a problem.

  She opened the carriage door, watching as James awoke with a suddenness that surprised her. One moment he was deeply asleep or feigning it well, and the next he was staring at her.

  She entered the carriage, sitting opposite him.

  “What do you want to forget about this?” she asked.

  “To keep quiet? I don’t think there’s enough food in the world, Mairi.”

  She was afraid of that.

  “You’re going to write Macrath, aren’t you?”

  He remained silent. Perhaps that was better than a lie.

  “Very well,” she said. “Write my brother and tell him anything you want. Tell him the truth. Everything I’ve done.”

  “It’s my job, Miss Sinclair. I’m to let him know anything that affects your well-being.”

  She was not an infant. Nor a toddler who needed to be guided not to cross the street in front of a carriage. Yet her actions of the night before were hardly those of a mature, rational woman, were they?

  Still, she was annoyed both at James for being so intent to fulfill his tasks and Macrath for assigning them to him. What would her brother have thought if she’d announced he needed a keeper?

  James opened the door again, but before he could slip from the carriage, she reached out and placed her hand on his arm.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I was inconsiderate. You shouldn’t have had to spend the night sleeping in the carriage.”

  She wasn’t going to apologize for any of her other actions.

  Besides, she wasn’t truly sorry that she’d wholeheartedly participated in passion. How could she regret something she would recall for the rest of her life? Last night was a memory to tuck away like a precious letter in a beribboned box. She’d open it once in a while in the future, to recall when she felt desired, when she’d acted with abandon and little sense.

  Surely everyone had a memory like that? She couldn’t be the only foolish woman in existence. Or certainly not the only one in Logan Harrison’s world.

  He’d held her tenderly at the door, pressing a kiss to her forehead. He’d gently said her name but added nothing more. No promises, reassurances, or hints about the future.

  She was most definitely not disappointed. He hadn’t hinted at a continued relationship and she didn’t want one.

  Last night, as delightful a memory as it was, would stand as an instance of her impulsiveness. If she were to be taken seriously as a reporter and an editor, she would have to act in a manner that inspired confidence and ap
probation. She would not long for the Lord Provost. She would not be his momentary mistress. She would not be in thrall to him.

  He was going to offer for one of his women and become a bridegroom.

  To his credit, James didn’t say another word, but he glanced at her as he left the carriage and mounted the driver’s perch.

  She didn’t look back at Logan’s house. If he was still in the doorway, she didn’t want to know. She didn’t want to see him again. Doing so wouldn’t be wise, and she’d always tried to have a modicum of common sense.

  None of which she’d demonstrated since meeting Logan. She’d acted like a fool from the very beginning.

  Did every woman have a man like that in her life? One who would talk her into behavior she’d never otherwise condone? Did every woman know a man who only had to look at her in a certain way to warm her blood and send her heartbeat singing?

  She fervently hoped she was not alone in her stupidity.

  Her cheek and chin were tender where his night beard had abraded her skin. Her breasts felt full, and unexpected soreness in other places reminded her of an active night.

  She couldn’t be around him anymore. Whenever he was close and bent his head, she would think he was about to kiss her. She’d be instantly aflame, her lips parting, her toes curling in response before he ever touched her. Her palms would grow moist when he smiled, and other parts of her body, quiescent and obedient until now, would tingle in absolute and unfettered delight.

  Was he right? Had she only used the letter as an excuse to see him again?

  What a foolish woman she was if that was the case.

  Yes, she would see Logan from time to time throughout Edinburgh. She might even talk to him again, face-to-face. When she did, she would be agreeable and as charming as she knew how to be. She would talk to him about the weather. Later, after he’d selected his bride, she’d congratulate him on his marriage. Still later, she might note that he was a father.

  A man with Logan’s ambition was no doubt going to rise far in the world. Of course she’d be sure to mention any future achievements. She could even feature him in a column in the paper. Or if he attained some greater rank, she would do a special edition to honor him.