Page 34 of Return to Clan Sinclair
Ceana might want to put her mourning aside as well, a thought she didn’t voice.
His house was ready for her.
He was ready for her.
Paul looked around the sitting room one last time, gratified his servants had been able to find so many roses. She loved roses. Whenever he thought of Virginia, he remembered her perfume, a soft powdery rose scent.
The rest of the house was sparsely furnished, but it would do. He didn’t plan on being here long. Just a week, maybe less time than that.
Perhaps once Virginia was here she’d fall into his arms in relief and joy.
He could almost imagine her words. She’d be so grateful to see him, she’d tell him of her prayers. “All those nights,” she might say, “I dreamed you would come back for me.”
They might be able to leave for America in a few days. This time he wasn’t going to Kinloch harbor. No, he’d arranged for a large cabin aboard a luxurious vessel. They’d board her in London.
“I’m leaving, sir.”
He turned to find Connor standing there, filling the doorway.
“You’ve memorized the map?”
The giant nodded.
“Take care with her. I’ll not have her injured or hurt in any way.”
“No, sir.”
“She has the most beautiful eyes,” he said, then caught himself smiling. He shook his head. “Bring her to me safely.”
“Yes, sir.”
He watched as Connor left the room. A matter of an hour or two at the most and Virginia would be here with him.
What was she doing here in the grotto again? Hoping for another tryst? Hoping to catch Bruce naked again? Hoping for another kiss?
She’d almost gone to his room again last night, halted only by the memory of his honor. Somehow, she had to regain her sanity.
She would leave in a few days and return to Ireland. Peter’s family would not understand why she was choosing to move home to Scotland. Something Virginia said the other day had stuck with her. Peter would want her to be happy, and happiness was no longer possible living in Ireland.
She had loved Peter with all her heart and he had loved her, enough to push her away from death and toward life. Enough she could almost imagine him whispering in her ear, “Go, my darling. Seek out your life and live it fully and with joy.”
She hadn’t done that until coming to Scotland. Once here, she’d forgotten she was a widow and become enthralled with a man.
Moving to stand at the window, she stared out at the beach and beyond to the ocean. The wind was whipping the waves to white caps. Above, the sky was turning gray, the clouds blowing across the sun. She’d missed a Highland storm. Ireland’s rains seemed gentle in comparison.
Where was he?
Was he still swimming? He hadn’t left a pile of his clothing neatly folded by the door.
He wouldn’t be looking for her. He wouldn’t be thinking of her, wondering what she was doing.
He would have no idea she’d borrowed a gown from Virginia and done her hair in a different way. Vanity, that’s all it was. Foolishness. Could she be so lonely that any man would attract her attention?
He wasn’t any man, though, was he?
Passion had erupted between them, shocking her. Passion was heated air and being barely able to breathe, your heart beating so fast it felt like it was galloping in your chest. Passion wasn’t one single thing; it was excitement and joy and fear and surprise and delight and disbelief. Passion changed you, made you a different person.
She wasn’t the Widow Mead any longer. She was Ceana Sinclair, a woman from a proud Scottish heritage.
