Page 131 of The Devil of Clan Sinclair
“What I don’t understand is why you’re avoiding her.”
“I’ve no sense around her, sir. I can’t think. I can’t speak more than a word at a time. My brain goes to jelly.”
He hesitated, then gave Jack some advice. “Maybe you’re afraid she won’t feel the same.”
“She might not.”
Macrath nodded. “There’s only one way of knowing, though, isn’t there? She’s not going back to London, Jack. That I can promise you.”
Jack grinned, his color mounting as he glanced at the door.
“Go,” Macrath said. “Find her and tell her how you feel.”
He watched as Jack threw his gloves down on the workbench, then pushed through the people at the door.
Maybe he should follow his own advice.
He’d gone about this all wrong.
He’d open up his heart and tell her how he felt. He’d expose himself to her. Women liked that sort of thing, didn’t they? Did it even matter what other women wanted? Virginia was the only woman he cared about. What did she want?
Forgiveness.
The thought rolled into his mind like a boulder and refused to budge. She wanted acceptance and understanding. If he gave those to her, maybe she’d also want him.
The second maid he’d stopped knew Virginia’s whereabouts.
“I saw her go into the library, sir,” she said, smiling brightly.
After thanking her, he entered the room, only to find it empty. He noticed the letter on the table and was tempted to read it but didn’t, dismissing his curiosity in favor of Virginia’s privacy.
The door to the grotto passage was ajar and the lantern missing from its hook inside the passage. Had Virginia taken it? For that matter, why had she gone to the grotto?
He smiled. Was she waiting for him?
She wasn’t in the grotto, but the lantern was, resting on the stone floor beside the passage to the beach.
The wind bearded the waves with a white froth and pushed the tide higher onto the shore. The blazing afternoon sun heated the air, glinting off metallic bits in the rock formations.
The beach was narrow here. Why had Virginia come in this direction?
When he saw the crumpled figure, he started to run.
When she surfaced, Paul was smiling down at her, blotting her face with a handkerchief.
“There you are,” he said. “I understand you might be feeling ill. An effect of the chloroform, coupled with the motion of the carriage.”
She closed her eyes but the world didn’t steady. She could still feel him touching her face and the movement of the wheels beneath her. She wanted to be at Drumvagen. She wanted to be standing on the beach watching the waves rolling in. The problems she had earlier, before she saw Paul, seemed so much easier to resolve than this situation.
“You have to take me back,” she said. The words had to be pushed from her lips, seemed to hesitate there before leaping into the air. An effect of the chloroform?
“We’re not going back to Drumvagen. Or to London, my dear. We’re going to America. The two of us, together.”
“I don’t want to go anywhere with you,” she said faintly, nausea sweeping through her.
“In America, people won’t know you’re the Countess of Barrett. They won’t care. In America, I’m no longer a servant.”
“People do care who you are,” she said, keeping her eyes closed. Her sickness was easier to cope with if she didn’t see his smiling, triumphant face. “People will care you abducted me.”
