The Virgin Of Clan Sinclair

by Karen Ranney

  Or on viewing her, had he been instantly enchanted to the extent he had to kiss her?

  What foolishness. He might address Lady Pamela in such a manner, but never her.

  “You have been on my mind since the first moment I met you,” he might say.

  “Have I?”

  She smiled fondly at him, but not too fondly lest the man think he had a hold on her heart. She was, after all, a famous beauty, and not to be tied to one man for long.

  “Lady Pamela, allow me to escort you to the terrace.”

  She looked around at the dancers, knowing that although she didn’t seem to be the focal point of their attention, each one of them would see the instant she left the ballroom with the earl. Did she care? Her reputation was such that a man was only enhanced by hints of a dalliance with her.

  “I think not, Gadsden,” she said, still smiling. “If I were to go with you, I’d no doubt kiss you. Then what would you think of me?”

  “That you were the most ravishing creature I’ve ever met. I haven’t been able to stop thinking of you. I smell your perfume in an empty room. I hear your laugh when I’m alone. You’re in my dreams and my every waking thought.”

  “Hush, Gadsden,” she said, admonishing him with a look. “People will think you’ve developed a tendre for me.”

  “What man would not?”

  Would he act in such a way? Or would the Earl of Gadsden be disapproving of Lady Pamela, too?

  “I’ve heard of your exploits, madam, and I am not like your stable of males.”

  “Aren’t you?” Lady Pamela smiled, a pitying expression wrapped in a bit of compassion. Few men could refuse her once she turned her wiles on them.

  She followed him to the terrace, bored by the sight of the dancers and the endless recitation of praise and compliments from the men who clustered around her. No, this man interested her. His gray eyes were as distant as a Highland storm. his lean face aesthetically perfect.

  He was her foil, her opposite. A male beauty with cold eyes to offset her own heated gaze.

  His glance swept over her, hesitated at her breasts, traveled the curve of her hips and seemed to measure the length of her legs.

  What would he think of her unveiled? Would he believe her a magnificent beauty or would he, unlike her other lovers, remain aloof?

  She stepped toward him, hesitating only inches away.

  His glance hadn’t changed but there was a hint of a smile at the corners of his beautiful mouth. His bottom lip was slightly fuller than the top, a succulent pillow for her tongue.

  “Tell me, Gadsden,” she said softly. “Why have you come tonight? Why here? Why this place and this time?”

  “I had business with our host. It seemed opportune.”

  “Not to see me?”

  “Why would I wish to seek you out, madam?”

  “To renew our acquaintance, perhaps? To see if that first kiss was as delicious as it was? Or did you simply imagine it?”

  “Are you threatening to kiss me, Lady Pamela?”

  “I want to,” she said, her gaze on his mouth. “I want to very much. I want to moisten your lips with my tongue and taste you.”

  Was it her imagination or had his cheeks deepened in color? His eyes weren’t so cold now. Nor were they reminiscent of London fog. Instead, they were steam.

  “Are you listening, Ellice?” her mother asked.

  No, not the least little bit.

  Why should she listen to a litany of her flaws when she knew them all so well? She never stood up straight. She always looked down at the ground when she walked. She jutted out her elbows and didn’t stand with grace. She never backed up until she felt the chair behind her and then gracefully sank to the cushion like a feather. Instead, she sat like a stone falling to the ground.

  When she did laugh, it normally ended in an unladylike snort. She cried much too often when touched by a scene, a flower, a sunset.

  “Well? What do you have to say?”

  About what? To admit she hadn’t been paying any attention would be to summon another lecture. But it seemed her mother didn’t need her participation in this conversation.

  “Granted, he’s only a Scottish earl, but he’s more elevated in rank than anyone else who ever visited Drumvagen.”

  She stared at her mother. Words simply wouldn’t come.

  “He’s fantastically wealthy,” Enid said, fluffing the back of Ellice’s skirt. “That’s always a blessing.”

  Her mother walked around her, then stepped back to finish the inspection.

  “Have you nothing more festive than dark blue?”

  Her mother was serious in her matchmaking. She’d never before suggested that her wardrobe might be dull, especially since she herself had given orders that most of Ellice’s dresses be blue. Ellice had one black dress, but if she never had to wear mourning again, she’d be happy.

  She shook her head.

  “We’ll just have to make do, then,” Enid said. She narrowed her eyes. “Perhaps a brooch might brighten you.”

  Enid’s eyes narrowed as she tucked a tendril of her daughter’s hair back into place.

  “I once despaired of you, child. You had no manners at all. You said the most dreadful things to anyone whenever you wished.”

  She jerked at Ellice’s bodice, straightened the white collar, and retreated once more to frown.

  “But you’ve matured, I’m happy to say. You’ve learned how to guard your tongue.”

  Ellice remained silent.

  “Tonight, however, you need to charm the man. I meant to speak to Macrath, find out his interests.” Once more her mother frowned. “Eudora would take this opportunity to be gracious and charming. She would not squander the moment.”

  “Eudora was perfect,” Ellice said, the words limp.

  “Of course she wasn’t perfect,” Enid said. “But she had a great deal of charm. You might emulate her. Anything but be silent and mousy.”

  She was silent and mousy. Whatever could she say to that?

  “I do wish I’d thought to increase your wardrobe. Perhaps Virginia has something we might borrow.”

  “No,” Ellice said, shaking her head. “I look fine. Clean, presentable enough for such fine company as the earl. Besides, I don’t want to bother Virginia.”

  “A pity she will not be able to attend dinner. She could easily direct the conversation to your abilities.”

  What were her abilities? She played the pianoforte passably well even though it didn’t interest her. She loved to read and could spend the rest of her life in a library. She’d written a book, and her imagination was such that she could transport herself from the wilds of Scotland to anywhere.

  Thank heavens and all the saints for her imagination. She wasn’t just Ellice Traylor. Parts of her were Lady Pamela, a very accomplished and seductive, sophisticated woman.

  Even the name sounded grand. Pamela. She elongated the syllables in her mind. The name sounded like a brook babbling in the midst of summer, trickling over stones on its happy way to the sea.

  Everyone wanted to be Lady Pamela’s friend. Or love Lady Pamela. No one ever told Lady Pamela that her dead sister was so much more talented.

  She smiled now, turned to her mother, and wished Enid’s frown would ease.

  “I won’t embarrass you, I promise,” she said, hoping it wasn’t a lie.

  “You’ve always been a bit graceless, child. Eudora always put you in the shade. Perhaps I’m being foolish thinking you might charm the man. You’ve been given little practice, having never attracted anyone.”

  Somehow Ellice managed to smile.

  A week ago her mother had been set on matching her with anyone. Tonight it was an earl. Who would it be tomorrow? A coachman? The solicitor who visited Macrath from Edinburgh?

  She should tell her mother that Gadsden thought her shocking. He’d never consider her as a wifely candidate. But once Enid dug in her heels, there was no moving her. She was better off simply acquiescing to Enid�
��s plans.

  Perhaps she should warn Gadsden.

  “My mother thinks I should charm you.”

  His eyes would give her that frozen glance. “Does she?”

  “I can’t, of course. It’s much too late for that. But I felt it only fair to warn you that she has thoughts of a match between us.”

  His eyes narrowed.

  “After all, I’m the daughter and sister of an earl. You’re an earl.”

  “Does she know you’re also a harlot?”

  “Is that really fair? I’ve given you no indication that I’m without morals.”

  “You kissed me.”

  “You kissed me first.”

  “You liked it,” he said.

  “If I hadn’t, I would have started screaming. You would have been set out into the storm and no doubt contracted pneumonia and a host of other diseases. The fact that you’re so hale and hearty is credited, therefore, to me.”

  Her cheeks warmed. Perhaps it wasn’t wise to think of him right at the moment.

  “Shall we go?” she asked in a subdued voice.

  Her mother nodded, gliding before her to the door.

  Ellice reluctantly followed, hoping the dinner went better than she expected. Her mother would be cloyingly charming. The Earl of Gadsden would be unaffected and cold. Logan would be amused. Mairi would be direct and slightly shocking, and Macrath would be watching everyone.

  No, it couldn’t possibly be anything but a disaster.

  Chapter 13

  Just before dinner, Ross met with Brianag, arranging for the servants who’d tended to him to be given a small monetary gift in envelopes he’d prepared. Despite being unexpected guests in a difficult time for the inhabitants of Drumvagen, he and Harvey had been treated like family.

  Brianag, still basking in the glow of saving the mistress of Drumvagen from a breech birth, accepted his thanks with a regal nod. No smile was in evidence, but her square face looked oddly right without expression, like she was carved from stone. Most statues didn’t smile, either.

  As Ross headed for the stairs, Carlton announced his presence. The nursery was not, as in most houses, on an upper floor, but located next to the master suite. Close enough to the guest room that he was aware of the baby’s schedule.

  He descended the stairs, hearing the Sinclairs’ older children giggling in the corridor. Looking up, he was startled to catch sight of the former Lord Provost of Edinburgh playing horse with his nephew.

  Logan was on his hands and knees, Alistair gleefully holding onto his hair with both hands and spurring him on with cries of, “No, Uncle, not there! There!”

  How long had it been since Huntly was filled with the sounds of children? Or had it ever been? Was the house too large to be tamed in such a way? He pushed the thought aside, along with the strange discomfort of it.

  He entered the family parlor. The room had a warm welcome about it, but that was true about every room in Drumvagen. Flowers dotted the parlor, the colors teal and gray selected with comfort and tranquility in mind. The knickknacks were of the humorous sort, a porcelain shepherdess looking down in exasperation at a smiling sheep, a china dog with a goofy expression on his face.

  On each wall there was a separate family portrait. From where he sat in the parlor, he studied a painting of Macrath and his wife along with two of their children above the mantel. Carlton would no doubt be added soon.

  Would he ever have children? Another thought he pushed away.

  On the next wall there was a portrait of a woman resembling Sinclair and a red-haired man, both of them strangers.

  The third wall featured a portrait of Logan Harrison and Mairi. He studied the artist’s rendition of her with interest. She stood behind Logan in the reverse of most contemporary paintings in which the husband stood behind a seated wife. Her eyes glittered with amusement as her fingers were gripped by one of Logan’s larger hands.

  He could only wonder if she’d been counseled to restrain herself in the sitting and the artist had captured that moment.

  A maid entered, bobbing a curtsy and offering a smile. Was the room warm enough? It was. Was he needing anything else? He wasn’t. The family would be with him soon, he was told. He wanted to ask if that meant Ellice as well. Or would she find a way to take a tray in her room again?

  For the most part, he socialized whenever he was forced, no more than that. He’d been on display all his life. When he could, he retreated to his library, to a world he chose.

  But he had a feeling this night would prove to be fascinating.

  The first person to appear was the Dowager Countess of Barrett followed by Ellice.

  He’d met the countess the night before at dinner. She was an impressive woman, but not for her demeanor or even her personality. No, her power lay in the ability to change Ellice from a startling, almost shocking female to a meek, subservient creature who walked behind her, kept her eyes carefully averted, and managed to stare at the carpet.

  The countess herself wasn’t all that different from dozens of other women he’d met. They were certain of their place in society and therefore felt as if they had the right to dictate aspects of it.

  They were the doyennes, the arbiters, given their power by the acquiescence of society. He understood the need to be charming when he encountered them at a gathering or, like tonight, a private dinner. Together, they were like a coven, witches with the ability to alter destinies.

  With a glance, a girl might be considered ruined. Or another woman with a sullied reputation could be accepted back into society, all her past sins forgiven if they decreed it.

  Their influence wasn’t felt all that much in politics, at least not on the surface. But some of these women had husbands, either happily married to them or chained by obligation. As wives, they had the ability to make a remark, drop a hint, or even encourage.

  For that reason, but mostly because he was a man reared to be polite, he made obeisance to Enid Traylor, bowed slightly over her hand, and conversed with her, the conversation almost a word-for-word repetition of the previous evening.

  No, he hadn’t known her husband. His condolences on her loss. No, he hadn’t known Lawrence, either. Or her deceased daughter. He did know her youngest daughter but that was a question she oddly didn’t ask, and from Ellice’s panicked glance—the first time she deigned to look at him—he wasn’t to say anything about the depth of their acquaintance. No confessions about the gazebo or, previously, in the Great Hall.

  When his host arrived with apologies for his tardiness, he came bearing tales of his children and explanations why Virginia would not be attending dinner.

  Ross hadn’t expected to meet the elusive Virginia so soon after she’d given birth. Since the birth had been difficult, he was surprised she was doing as well as she was.

  “She’d be up and about if she had her way,” Macrath said.

  His smile was genuinely happy, not simply painted on to hide his true emotions. If Macrath felt regret or sorrow in his life, it wasn’t evident in the man’s clear gaze or his relaxed pose.

  When a fire was lit, Ross was grateful. Spring didn’t mean warmth in Scotland. In the midst of summer the wind could carry the chill of winter with it. With the dampness in the air, the fire was welcome.

  Macrath possessed an inventive mind. He’d developed a refrigeration system that was changing the way food was brought to market. Now, according to him, he was experimenting with ways to bring the convenience of those same large systems into each household.

  “I foresee a time when each home will have a similar unit,” he said. “A woman won’t have to send the servants to market. Instead, she’ll have access to fresh food in her own home.”

  “Wouldn’t that change society itself?” he asked, a question that began a rousing discussion.

  From time to time he looked at Ellice. Other than that one panicked glance, she ignored him, evidently interested in the flooring beneath her feet, her own nails, or her mother’s whispered comments.


  He suspected that the Dowager Countess was giving her instructions. Sit up straight, girl. Smile more. Can you add nothing to the conversation?

  He’d been witness to enough of those mother-daughter moments to identify one when he saw it.

  What he couldn’t understand was where Ellice had gone. For two days she’d avoided him. But now she was here yet not.

  The young woman who sat on the settee in front of the window wasn’t the same one who hid in his carriage, kissed him in the Great Hall, or was his partner in saving the village. Nor was she the author of the most erotic book he’d ever read.

  The demure and withdrawing figure she portrayed was as skilled an act as the role of a girl just barely out of the schoolroom.

  She was neither, but something more, an experienced woman who’d nearly lured him into danger twice. Yet anyone looking at her now would think him a fool for admitting that.

  Ellice was a temptation and he was not a man often tempted.

  Oh, he liked women, and he enjoyed the company of a few. One, a widow in Edinburgh, invited him for dinner often enough that his needs were met.

  He wasn’t his father, after all. He was not a rutting beast, someone who thought only of his hungers, not his responsibilities.

  Ellice challenged him on an elemental level. She fixed those heated brown eyes at him and pierced him to the core.

  He wanted to kiss her again, and that was only one sign of his insanity. He was too curious about her.

  Ellice lowered her head, looking up at him through her lashes, startled to find Gadsden glancing at her again.

  He and Macrath stood near the fire, engaged in conversation about ice machines and servants.

  However, he kept looking at her, enough that she was disconcerted.

  Did she have a wart on the end of her nose?

  Was he thinking she was the ugliest woman he’d ever met? Or was he wondering how he could have found himself ever kissing her?

  Pompous man. She was the sister of an earl and the daughter of an earl. An English earl, not one of the trumped up Scottish earls. She was certainly good enough for him. The question was if he were good enough for her.