Page 85 of The Devil of Clan Sinclair
“I was the first man to have you,” he said. “You were a virgin, your ladyship, when I bedded you.”
“What are you talking about?” she asked softly. But he saw the dawning awareness in her eyes. “You were Lawrence’s attendant in all ways, is that it, Paul? When he didn’t wish to perform his marital duties, you took up the task?”
He smiled at her, and she recoiled, moving closer to the carriage.
“Hannah!”
“You don’t have to call your maid,” he said. “I’ll take your things back to the house.”
“Hannah!”
“Yes, your ladyship?”
Hannah came around the back of the carriage.
“Summon Hosking, please,” Virginia said, never moving her gaze from his face.
“You’re making a mistake,” he said when the maid disappeared to do her bidding.
She didn’t say a word.
Didn’t she realize? She was his.
Hosking was a tall man with burly arms, and a grin that reminded her of Macrath’s charm. He wore a cap and always forgot about it. Most of the maids were fond of him and always had to remind him to remove it. His face was round and pleasant, and no doubt one day would become a mass of fleshy wrinkles.
He seemed a happy sort of person, one who loved his horses and cared for the carriages like they belonged to him. Except he wasn’t looking happy now.
“Are you all right, your ladyship?” he asked, scowling down at Paul.
“No, Hosking. Mr. Henderson is in my way. Perhaps you can convince him to step aside.”
The coachman approached Paul until they were standing nearly nose-to-nose.
“I’m sure Mr. Henderson will be leaving,” he said. “And let you be about your business, your ladyship.”
Paul looked at the three of them, adopted a cool smile and shrugged.
“At least you know now. You also know what a fool you were not to have chosen me. I would have given you a child. I would have even let you keep it.”
After climbing into the carriage, Virginia lay her head back against the seat, fighting a wave of dizziness.
“I have never liked him,” Hannah said, sitting opposite her. “There is something not right about Paul.”
Surprised, she opened her eyes to face the maid. “I’ve felt the same,” she said, a confession she wouldn’t have made a few weeks ago.
Hannah didn’t ask what Paul had meant. Was it because she had no curiosity? Or because she’d known, all along, that Elliot was Macrath’s child?
Paul had touched her. He’d been her lover.
Her skin crawled.
Nausea swamped her. Whether from the effort of walking from the house to the stable or from Paul’s admission, she didn’t know or care. Grabbing the strap above the window, she held on, even though the carriage had not yet begun to move.
She must continue this journey, no matter how sick she was.
Had the trip to Scotland been difficult for Elliot? At least Macrath had the sense to take his wet nurse and nursemaid with him.
The plan that had been so foolhardy all those months ago seemed even more idiotic now, and cruel as well.
