Page 130 of The Devil of Clan Sinclair
Wasn’t he supposed to be convivial? He didn’t want to talk to Jack or Sam. He didn’t want to hear Brianag’s concerns or questions. He didn’t want to greet a maid in the hallway or one of the young men he employed at Drumvagen. He felt like a thundercloud followed him wherever he went. He had never, even as a boy in the throes of poverty, been as gloomy a person as he was now.
He wanted to be with Virginia, talk to her, explain his new ideas to her. He wanted to tell her about his plans for Drumvagen, for finishing the third floor. Did they need a ballroom? Did she want a conservatory?
Was love supposed to enhance the senses?
He could smell Virginia’s perfume across the house. He could hear her soft footfalls on the upstairs carpet runner or the swish of her skirts as she slowly came down the stairs. Her throaty laughter lingered in his mind. He could feel her soft skin on his fingertips. He could too easily see her smile and the beauty of her eyes.
Except for those sensations, love made him miserable. Or perhaps the reason for his foul mood was the thought of living without the two of them. He could not consider life at Drumvagen without Virginia and Alistair. He couldn’t foresee the rest of his life, stretching out over years and decades, without the woman he loved beside him. Or being with the child who sparked amazement and an overwhelming protectiveness in him.
All his life he’d been accused of being stubborn, and he had readily admitted it. But allowing Virginia to leave him wouldn’t be obstinacy as much as stupidity. Somehow, he had to convince her to stay.
He couldn’t keep her prisoner here, and that’s what he was doing by refusing to allow her to take Alistair back to England.
Did he have the courage to offer her the freedom to choose? What if she chose to return to England? What if she left this afternoon, or tomorrow? He would have to take the chance. Otherwise, love became only a collection of letters, a word meaning nothing at all.
He’d have to be his most persuasive. Or, if that didn’t work, he’d be charming. She’d always thought him charming, although most people didn’t. They thought him too abrupt, too direct—not understanding that time was an enemy to him. He wanted to get what he wanted without delay.
Jack suddenly turned his back on the open door and the crowd that had been attracted by the noise of the ice machine. His assistant moved out of the way, making a point of hiding behind the wall of the machine before peering out at the onlookers.
Macrath rounded the corner and stood with hand pressed against the metal sheath.
“Who are you looking for?” he asked Jack. “Or avoiding?”
His assistant glanced at him, face reddening.
Before he said a word, Macrath smiled. “A woman?”
Jack nodded, then looked toward the group staring up at the flywheel.
“I thought your mood due more to someone in Edinburgh. But it’s closer to home?”
“Aye, sir. Or not.”
He didn’t know how to respond, so he kept silent.
“Women,” Jack said. “They’re confusing creatures.”
Now that he could answer. “True,” he said. “They are.”
“She says she likes you and you make her smile.” Jack glanced at him, his mouth twisted in a grimace. “Then, in the next instant, she’s crying on your shoulder. What’s a man to do?”
Macrath didn’t know if he should offer commiseration, advice, or simply keep quiet.
It seemed quiet was the answer.
“She could leave any minute, sir. Then what am I to do? Go to London after her?”
“Hannah,” he said, finally understanding.
Jack nodded. “Hannah.”
“Does she know how you feel about her?”
“How can she, sir, when I’ve no idea myself?”
Macrath smiled. “You’d be surprised what they understand, Jack. Sometimes even before we know what’s happening.”
Did Virginia know how he felt about her?
