Page 34 of The Devil of Clan Sinclair
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.
