Page 22 of The Devil of Clan Sinclair
“I would be very amenable,” she said.
Why was she being so coy? There must be no mistake. He must know exactly how she felt.
“Yes, Macrath, yes. With my whole heart. I love you so.”
He leaned close, pressing his lips against her forehead.
“You’ll talk to my father?” she asked, the words feeling too heavy to be spoken.
“Today if he’ll see me.”
She had never done anything as shocking as what she did next. She placed her hand on his chest and slowly stood on her tiptoes.
“Kiss me,” she said. “Please.”
“Virginia,” he said, pulling back, “this isn’t wise.”
But, oh, she had been wise for so long, and he was such a temptation.
Suddenly, his arms were around her and his mouth on hers. He angled his head to deepen the kiss. Every thought disappeared and every sensation vanished but for wonder and excitement.
She’d known he’d be direct, perhaps a little impatient, and he was. She’d suspected she would be eager and she was.
His lips were soft, his body hard beneath her hands. His tongue touched hers, darted back, and teased her again,
She linked her hands behind his neck and held on, allowing herself to sink into the deliciousness of his mouth.
Her heart fluttered. Her breath and pulse raced. Something dark, heavy, and a little frightening arced between them.
He was right in cautioning her. She never wanted to move from his arms.
When they finally parted, she moved back, touching her lips with her fingertips.
If someone saw her, she would be lectured for hours about deportment and how she’d failed to give the impression she’d been reared correctly.
But any punishment was worth it for one of Macrath’s kisses.
Chapter 7
Drumvagen, Scotland
July, 1869
Freshly bathed and changed, Macrath sat in what had been designed as the Clan Hall by the architect. Stretching the width of the main section of Drumvagen, the room was supposed to be used as a gathering place. Exposed beams hinted at a history much older than the twenty years since Drumvagen had been started. He wondered, not for the first time, if some of the older features of his house had been taken from the crumbling structures dotting this area of Scotland.
The brick of Drumvagen was new, the gray tint purposely selected to blend in with the landscape. The house was a black pearl nestled in a bed of trees.
Virginia was here.
Virginia was at Drumvagen.
“You wanted to see me?”
His housekeeper stood at the doorway, frowning at him.
Brianag had a reputation as a healer. She was intuitive to a frightening degree, and known for being able to foretell the future, a talent she steadfastly refused to acknowledge.
She was also a termagant, frightened the servants and the inhabitants of Kinloch Village, and had no hesitation in telling him when he’d used ill judgment—according to her opinion.
