“I didn’t associate with people at all,” she said, surprising him again. “I spent my time at home, with Lawrence’s sisters or with my mother-in-law.”
He kissed her again, simply because he wanted to. No, he had to.
“What did you write me?” she asked. “Those dozen letters you wrote, what did you say?”
“The ramblings of a man in love,” he softly said. “Foolish, unwise comments, no doubt. How much I loved you. How much I longed for you. How much I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you.”
“Oh, Macrath.”
She always skewered him when she said his name in that tone, with that look of wonder in her eyes. He wanted to be the man she thought him, powerful and without sin or blemish.
He’d take her to his cottage and show her his first ice machine, introduce her to Jack and Sam. He’d show her the rest of Drumvagen, so she’d be suitably impressed about his home, enough to stay. He’d convince her to remain in Scotland, coax her into not returning to London at all and marry her with indecent haste.
People would gossip about the two of them, how he’d acted like a border reiver and how she’d been willing to give up everything in England for him. They’d call him a devil, perhaps, for abducting her, for convincing her to stay.
And her? What would they call her? A wild American, a woman in love.
Before he allowed her to leave him, he loved her again, cherishing her moans as he teased her to pleasure.
He thrust into her, impatient, desperate to last. He wanted this moment to be elongated, stretched until pleasure was a skein wrapping around and forever joining them. He wanted to please her while he pleased himself. As he erupted into her, it was with the knowledge that he was lost, his spirit and body shrunken, his heart once more given to Virginia.
Chapter 10
Virginia returned to her room a scant ten minutes before Hannah, ducking into the bathing chamber to wash and change.
Twice, Hannah asked if she needed any assistance, and twice she assured the maid she didn’t. A personal maid was more a hindrance than a help. She didn’t like someone underfoot all the time, but when she said that to her mother-in-law, Enid had only laughed gaily and said her penchant for privacy was one of her Americanisms.
Perhaps it was true. In America she wasn’t given a maid until the last year, and the girl had been more independent and less intent on her tasks. Hannah saw nothing wrong in overseeing her bath, or walking in on her when she’d much rather be alone. It had taken months for her to accept that privacy was one of those things she’d sacrificed by becoming a countess.
The title had pleased her father a great deal more than her.
“Did you sleep well?” Virginia asked as she exited the bath chamber.
Another thing she shouldn’t do—care about the servants, ask them personal questions, or be curious about their lives.
As usual, Hannah smiled at the question, ducked her head and answered, “Yes, your ladyship, thank you.”
She would never know if Hannah tossed and turned or spent a sleepless night. Hannah would never tell her. Hannah was a more perfect servant than she was a mistress.
Perhaps if there had not been so much propriety between them, she might have confessed to Hannah about the night she spent in Macrath’s arms. No, the memory was for her alone to savor. She couldn’t imagine sharing it with anyone else.
Did she look different to Hannah? Could the maid tell, just by glancing at her, that she was not the same woman who’d left London only a few days earlier? Her lips were full, almost swollen from being kissed all night. On her shoulder and her left breast were faint pink marks from Macrath’s morning beard. Her body still thrummed with bliss, each muscle loose, every inch of skin touched by Macrath.
Dressed only in her wrapper, she walked to the window, drawing open the drapes to see a bright fresh morning the storm had given them. To her surprise, this room faced the approach to Drumvagen, so she was spared the sight of the sea.
She cranked open the pane, breathing in the clean air. How different Drumvagen was from London. Not only was there no fog, but it was quieter, without the ever present traffic. Only the seabirds’ faint call, and the breeze reaching in to toss the ends of her hair.
Hillocks hid the crofter’s cottage she’d seen yesterday. The earth undulated like a rumpled carpet until it reached a forest of tall trees. To her right she could see the glint of the sun on the water. Was it the river they’d crossed just before reaching Drumvagen?
There, like a tiny gray ribbon, was the road they’d traveled just yesterday, a lifetime ago.
She should return to London now, she thought, before she became more ensnared. Seduction wasn’t as simple a task as she’d imagined. If she remained at Drumvagen for long, leaving him would be nearly impossible. Then where would they be?
But she’d been right to think that last night would change her.
She wanted to be with Macrath. She wanted to take his hand and hold it in hers, talk to him and share her thoughts. She wanted to pull him into a secluded area and kiss him senseless. He’d fascinated her even before she bedded him. Now? Words were flimsy things and not constructed to hold the weight of all she felt.
London
July, 1869
Enid, Dowager Countess of Barrett, stared down at the columns of figures in front of her, wishing she was like so many of her acquaintances and totally ignorant of the facts of life. Her father, however, the nephew of a duke, had insisted his five children be well educated in the basics, even the females. So she was proficient in mathematics, and could balance her own household books. A good thing, as it turned out, because they had been skirting the edge of penury for years.
An American had saved them.
Virginia Anderson might save them once again.
An ancestor had fought against the Americans in the war of their independence. She apologized to the man in her thoughts and hoped he’d understand. One must do what one must, however difficult it might be.
At least Virginia had understood duty.
What a pity Lawrence hadn’t. She’d failed by not properly instilling that value in him.
She put down her pencil, leaned back in her chair and pinched the area above her nose. Perhaps she should investigate getting some spectacles. The numbers occasionally floated on the page. If she glanced away periodically, she didn’t get a headache. But she must focus on the numbers, the better to get this onerous chore done.
Just like her long-dead husband, she rarely used the library. The room, filled with bookcases and framed portraits of Traylor men, was always in shadow, even on a bright morning. Decorated with a dark patterned carpet and hunter green walls, it was an oppressive room, one giving her the impression of walking into a forest cave.
Here was where she disciplined servants, meted out merit raises, went over the household accounts, and wrote the business correspondence that made her slightly nauseous. She despised those letters of an official nature, such as the one to her solicitor, asking to be informed of the exact state of their finances and her return reply when the news had been received.
Their fates were in the hands of a timid girl, willing enough to traipse off to Scotland. Whether Virginia would be able to seduce a Scotsman was another thing. Enid had heard they were fierce creatures, dressing in kilts with nothing beneath them. She honestly hadn’t believed the story until a dear friend assured her it was true.
Perhaps the Scotsman in question would be so worked up by the wool rubbing against his member he’d toss Virginia to the ground the minute she arrived and have his way with her.
She could only pray something of the sort would happen.
She put down her pencil, rubbed at the blister forming on her middle finger. Tallying the sums again would not help her. On paper, the family was wealthy because of the rent and profit from the farms. But once the title went to Jeremy, so did all the income from the entailed property. They would be dependent on charity.
En
id doubted Jeremy would take them in as poor relatives. All these years, they’d managed a cordial relationship, but a distant one. He was a good enough man, tall, thin, with a receding chin and hairline, teeth regrettably turning brown, and a cringeworthy laugh.
His wife was his match in every way. Her hairline didn’t recede as much as her chin, but her laugh was as obnoxious. Her only saving grace was that she wasn’t amused often.
Their children, shockingly, were all attractive, but were very noisy and intrusive creatures.
No, she couldn’t imagine living with Jeremy, sitting in the corner knitting scarves for the children.
Eudora could possibly marry, but she needed a new wardrobe and some money before sending her out into the marriage mart again. Ellice was still too young, but only by a year or two. By the time she was ready for a season, they would be lucky to have a roof over their heads.
She heard Ellice laugh, followed by Eudora’s calm voice. Every day since Virginia had been gone, they’d asked about her. Was she well at her friend’s house? Would she return soon? Of course, they understood she needed to escape London for a bit. Being here constantly brought Lawrence to mind.
It had been a silly excuse for Virginia’s absence, but Ellice and Eudora accepted it because they were softhearted and genuinely lovely people. How could Lawrence have thought to punish his sisters so? What would happen to her darling girls?
She had no relatives to speak of. Only an ancient aunt who couldn’t accommodate the four of them along with their staff, or what staff she could still retain. She would have to dismiss most of the servants, which meant they’d have to do without much help. That fact, more than any other, brought home the disaster of their situation. Neither of her daughters had ever washed a pot or their own clothing.
Poverty would ensure they learned quickly. They’d lose the ability to buy a book or a bottle of perfume. They’d never marry. What kind of mother would she be if that happened?
She frowned down at the column of figures again. She needed to start austerity measures. She’d look at all the cuts of meat Cook ordered herself, inform the merchants that she was to approve all expenses.
Could they go another year without new uniforms?
Cook was baking bread, and the smell of it wafted into the room. How well were they being fed? Couldn’t they cut down somewhere? Did they need to eat all those sweets? Were there more economical meals Cook could prepare?
A sound caused her to glance up. Paul stood there.
Although he’d been Lawrence’s attendant, she hadn’t had the heart to dismiss him after her son’s death. Indeed, Paul had been useful in a great many ways. Besides, she owed him some gratitude for alerting them to what Lawrence was doing. Pity that they couldn’t have prevented him from spending all the money.
Unfortunately, Paul would have to be one of those she let go, but she wasn’t in the mood to do it right this minute.
“If you wish to meet with me,” she said, “I’ll see you in a few hours. Until then, if you don’t mind, Paul, I would like some privacy.”
She expected him to leave the room soundlessly in that way he had. Glancing up, it was to find him still there and smiling at her.
“What is it, Paul?”
“I require a few minutes of your time, your ladyship,” he said. “It’s important.”
Annoyed, she sat back in the chair. “I don’t wish to be disturbed right now. Whatever it is can wait, I’m sure.”
“Perhaps Lawrence’s cousin will be interested, then.”
She put down her pencil, folded one hand over the other and composed her expression.
“What are you talking about?”
He settled into one of the chairs in front of the desk.
“You’ve sent her off to Scotland, your ladyship. If she returns with child, your problems are over, aren’t they?”
Ice coated the inside of her stomach. What did he know? Nothing, unless she verified it for him.
He was an attractive man, but one of those men who was well aware of his looks. Perhaps not vain as much as brash, certain of himself. In this situation, he could not be allowed to get the upper hand.
She forced her lips to curve into a half smile, the same expression she used when communicating with her solicitor. The dowager countess smile indicating she was the equal of any news he could impart.
“I don’t believe I understand what you’re talking about, Paul.”
He smiled. “Oh I think you do, Countess. I think you know exactly what I’m talking about.” He settled back in the chair and crossed one leg over the other, a relaxed and confident pose.
She should have dismissed him the day after Lawrence’s death.
“You sent your daughter-in-law off to seduce a man. I heard you myself.”
“I don’t know what you heard, Paul, but whatever it was has confused you. Virginia is merely visiting with friends. She wanted to get away from London.”
“Scotland, Countess?”
Her fingertips were like ice and her lips were numb. In the next minute she might begin to drool.
This odious man was not going to make her lose her composure.
“I don’t know why you’re so concerned where her ladyship is, Paul. It’s none of your concern.”
“I’m not greedy, Countess. A few pounds every Friday night would go a long way to making me happy. Or being released from some of my new duties, perhaps?”
“Do you have any duties?” she asked.
“Albert has found a few for me to do. Shall I furnish you a list?”
She stared down at the column of figures, seeing nothing but his smiling face.
If he went to Jeremy, they were ruined. The plan was doomed before it began. Not that it was a guarantee, but it was the only chance they had.
“I want my servants to be happy,” she heard herself saying. How calm she sounded, a result of years of schooling her features to be pleasant in the midst of chaos.
This was most definitely chaos.
“I’ll speak to Albert,” she said. A word to the majordomo and Paul would be freed of most of his duties. “I’m certain we can find a few pounds to offer you in payment for your loyalty.” She’d sell her dresses if she had to.
“I’m happy we had this conversation,” he said, standing and going to the door. “I look forward to many more.”
As soon as the door closed behind him, she expelled a breath.
Oh dear, what was she to do about Paul?
Drumvagen, Scotland
July, 1869
“Would you like to select a dress, your ladyship?”
Virginia waved a hand in Hannah’s direction. “Pick anything you like,” she said. “They’re all the same anyway. Black is black.”
“In no time at all, your ladyship, you’ll be able to wear white on your collar and cuffs.”
Who made up all these rules? She was certain if she posed that question to Hannah the maid would be shocked, so she remained silent.
Virginia turned and faced the armoire, frowning at the sea of black silk. It seemed like she’d worn nothing but mourning for years. First, for her father, and now Lawrence.
Her father had been such a distant figure in her life, she could readily imagine him still alive. As far as Lawrence, how did she pretend to mourn a man she’d never truly known?
Hannah was still standing there, patiently waiting.
“I’m not feeling well,” she abruptly said. She turned and walked toward the bed. “I believe I’ll rest. I didn’t sleep well last night.” Her face flamed.
“You do look feverish, your ladyship,” Hannah said, concerned.
She perched on the edge of the mattress and nodded.
“I think I’ll spend most of the day sleeping. I’m fatigued from the events of the previous week.”
She was, after all, a new widow.
The maid closed the armoire door and came to stand at the foot of the bed.
“Would you like me to fetch you some tea
, your ladyship?”
“No,” she said, lying back against the pillows. “I would just like to be alone. Consider yourself off duty today, Hannah. Perhaps you can make friends among the staff.”
The expression of surprise on Hannah’s face was so fleeting that Virginia almost didn’t catch it.
“You needn’t call on me for the rest of the day,” she said firmly. “I’ll ring when I need you again.”
There, she’d used such a direct and forceful tone that Hannah could not help but obey her. The maid nodded, stepping away from the bed and moving toward the door.
“If you’re certain, your ladyship,” she said, glancing back once more.
“I am,” Virginia said. “I’ll be sleeping the day away.”
A few minutes later she heard the sitting room door close.
In a flash she was off the bed and donning one of the hated black dresses. Granted, she could have done so more easily with Hannah’s help, but then how would she have explained her plans?
If she hurried, perhaps she might catch Macrath in his chambers. She pulled on the bellpull, hoping against hope that Hannah didn’t respond to her summons. The maid who appeared at the door five minutes later was a stranger. The poor girl was out of breath, a sign of how quickly she’d raced up the stairs.
Virginia pressed the note she’d written into the maid’s hand. “Would you convey this note to Mr. Sinclair?”
“Yes, your ladyship.” The girl dropped a curtsy and disappeared without another word, racing down the corridor.
Virginia closed the door and leaned against it. Was she being the most foolish woman alive?
If she was, it felt wonderful. This whole day, from now until dinnertime, when she was certain Hannah would come to check on her, was hers. For these hours she could do as she wished. She didn’t have to be Virginia Anderson, daughter of Harold Anderson or the Countess of Barrett, wife to Lawrence Traylor, the tenth Earl of Barrett.
The bright sunny morning called to her. The blue sky beckoned her to come and explore. Let the breeze play with her hair, make her eyes water. She’d inhale her fill of it, glorying in Scotland. She’d hold Macrath’s hand, feeling the calluses of his large fingers and knowing just how tender they could be on her skin.
Karen Ranney Page 8
