Page 67 of The Devil of Clan Sinclair
He didn’t hate the rich and the titled. He hated that they never saw anyone beneath their aristocratic noses. They believed they were touched by divine providence and were special. They saw themselves as different people than the masses, graced by privilege and deserving of it.
Virginia was unique, however. First, she wasn’t born to the peerage but had come from America. Second, she noticed people around her, often conversed with the maids, thanked Cook for a lovely meal, and never considered anyone beneath her. She’d even been kind to Lawrence, who didn’t deserve her consideration.
Did she know what else Lawrence had done besides spending her father’s fortune?
He doubted it.
The only person she wasn’t considerate of was him, the one individual who deserved her notice and appreciation. He’d protected her. He’d done what he could to ease her life. He’d carried her to her room when she was in labor and she’d not once mentioned it.
He’d never forgotten the feel of her in his arms.
Now, her sisters-in-law joined her, the sound of their laughter carrying across the lawn like crystal chimes.
He was glad she was happy, even if he wasn’t the source of it. For now, he was content to watch.
When it was time, he would go to her and tell her everything. She’d welcome him. She’d open her arms to him, seeing him for who he was, a man of great ambition and talent, who would provide for her for the rest of her life.
Perhaps they’d go to America together. He’d leave the spawn of the Scotsman here and take her away. There, they’d be alone, and when she bore another child, it would be his.
He watched as she stood and entered the house, then walked around to the kitchen entrance.
Someone spoke to him, but he ignored the summons, intent on intercepting her. There she was, at the base of the stairs.
“Have you quit the garden, your ladyship?”
She turned her head and regarded him. Did she think he was handsome? The maids did, and Ellice thought so as well. Eudora was curiously indifferent to him.
He placed one hand on the banister, the other on the wall, trapping her.
The scent of roses trailed after her, marking the air as special. Did she wear it for him? He doubted it. She didn’t yet notice him.
One day she would look at him differently. One day she’d seek him out wherever he was.
“Yes,” she said, starting up the staircase and cooing to the baby in her arms.
He followed her slowly, mounting the steps behind her.
“He’s a lovely boy,” he said. “All hale and robust. Not at all like his father, is he? He doesn’t have Lawrence’s heart problems?”
She stopped on the steps but didn’t turn. “No. He’s very healthy.”
“He doesn’t look like him, though, does he?”
She kept her gaze on her son’s face. “I believe he looks a great deal like my father,” she said.
“Pity no one remembers what your father looked like. Were his eyes that shade of blue?”
She gripped the banister tightly with one hand until her knuckles whitened.
No, she didn’t like that comment at all, did she?
She half turned, gazed down at him.
“Why do you care, Paul?”
He smiled. “I am but curious, your ladyship.”
“Is curiosity a wise emotion in a servant?”
