The Virgin Of Clan Sinclair

by Karen Ranney

  McMahon’s smile was sudden and amused. “Aye, that I could do. Those birds alone will drive a man barmy.”

  Ross reached over and pushed the strongbox toward McMahon with one finger.

  “I don’t believe you tried to cheat my mother.”

  “She’s a lovely thing, she is,” McMahon said, staring at his clenched hands. “I got in some jeweled reticules that reminded me straight away of her.”

  “I’m sure my mother would appreciate seeing them.”

  McMahon looked up at him, his eyes not unlike one of Huntly’s hounds. “Are you sure, your lordship?”

  Ross extended his hand.

  “I am. While you’re at Huntly, however, I’d appreciate your saying nothing about this meeting.”

  As he made his way back to Huntly, the merchant’s words were like a whisper from his conscience.

  McMahon had known he was lying to himself. When was he going to admit the same? Avoiding Ellice hadn’t stopped him from thinking about her, wanting her, lusting after her, and even missing her. Avoiding her had only proven one thing: his marriage wasn’t what he’d planned on it being.

  He’d expected to marry Ellice and banish her to the back of his mind while he was about the business of his life, just as he had with Cassandra. If he won the election, he would take Ellice to London if she wished to return to the city. If not, she could make her home at Huntly and he’d represent Scotland in the House of Parliament.

  Neither of them would take a lover. Instead, they would meet periodically to assuage any physical needs. In that way they would manage a life together.

  His plan had been doomed to failure the minute they married. Ellice refused to retreat to the place he’d carved out of a busy life for her. Instead, she marched up, front and center, and demanded his attention.

  Avoiding her was not working.

  There was only one thing to do: admit when he’d been bested.

  Virginia smiled, extracted the items Mairi had sent her, and couldn’t help but laugh when she assembled everything on the top of her bureau.

  Between Brianag, Dr. Thorburn, and her sister-in-law, she was armed for battle.

  Battle it would be, she suspected, but one she was determined to win.

  She adored Macrath, but he was being the most obstinate man. He had a core of stubbornness and it had helped make him who he was. She never considered that she might come face-to-face with it and have to wage war for her own happiness.

  They were both miserable and both determined that the other not realize it.

  She’d lain next to him for years now. She breathed in tandem with him. She’d borne his children. He was part of her, just as she was part of him.

  He might as well surrender now. She was going to win. She took another look at the items she’d accumulated and grinned.

  “This was my grandmother’s favorite room,” he said.

  Ellice turned to see Ross at the doorway.

  Carefully, she tucked her writing beneath the blank pages, put her pen away, and waited for his further comments.

  He didn’t say anything as he entered, merely smiled up at the portrait. He carried something in his right hand, a parcel fastened with twine that also served as a handle. She looked at it curiously, but he didn’t mention it.

  “I like her,” she said. “I’ve grown accustomed to her looking down at me.”

  “I think she would have liked you,” he said, surprising her. “She was from England, too.”

  She glanced at the empty chair, hoping he would sit. When he did, placing the parcel beside the chair, she felt her smile bloom. What a silly girl she was, to be pleased that her husband sat with her.

  “I think, sometimes, that she was a bit surprised to find herself here at Huntly, especially married to my grandfather. He was larger than life. He liked to fish, so he created a lake and had it stocked. He wanted to expand Huntly, so he added the buildings that are now the library and my mother’s home.”

  “If he liked to climb mountains, would he have created one of those, too?”

  He chuckled. “According to my grandmother, he would have. I never knew the man, only learned of him from others.”

  “I don’t remember my grandparents,” she said. “But I do recall my father. He was a tall, quiet man. He never spoke much to me or to anyone. He liked the garden and that’s how I remember him, sitting there staring off into the distance. I used to wonder if he were wishing to be somewhere else.”

  “Where would he have been?”

  She smiled. “Anywhere but London, I think. When he could, he escaped to the country. My mother didn’t like the country.”

  “Yet she lives at Drumvagen, which is as distant from a city as you can be and still be in Scotland.”

  “Circumstances change,” she said.

  He didn’t respond, which was a disappointment. She wanted him to say something about their changed circumstances.

  Instead, he stared up at the painting. “She once told me that I reminded her of him, that I was not only his namesake but had aspects of his character.”

  He didn’t say more, and that’s when her sense marched away in a huff, allowing idiocy to brush off a chair, sit, and send words to her lips.

  “You left Huntly,” she said.

  He nodded.

  When he didn’t continue, she frowned at him. “You’ve been gone three days.”

  He smiled, a curiously annoying expression when she was trying to get an answer. He knew he was being irritating, too, if that gleam in his eyes was any indication.

  “I only know because my maid told me. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have noticed.”

  His smile broadened. “You missed me.”

  “Most assuredly not.”

  He stared at the cold fireplace, decorated now with a bouquet of flowers.

  “Where did you go?” she asked.

  “To Edinburgh,” he said. “To see about my chances for election.” He glanced at her. “A great many people congratulated me on my wedding.”

  “Did they?”

  He smiled, stretched out his legs and crossed his ankles.

  “I also went to see this McMahon person,” he said.

  She waited impatiently for him to continue.

  When he didn’t speak, she reached over and touched his sleeve, a gentle push to encourage him to talk.

  He turned to look at her.

  “Did you meet him?”

  He nodded.

  Was she going to have to pull each word from him with tweezers?

  “What was he like?”

  “A very nice sort,” he said. “I’ve encouraged him to continue calling on my mother.”

  That was a surprise.

  “I think you women do it on purpose.”

  Her eyes widened with the change of subject. “What do we do?”

  “Confound us. Make us question everything we’ve ever known. Why are you here?”

  “I’m writing.”

  He shook his head. “Not that. Why here? Why not on the terrace? Or the Ladies Library or the Yellow Parlor? Why here? It’s the smallest room at Huntly.”

  “Why did your grandmother like it?”

  “She hated Huntly. Do you?”

  “Hate Huntly?” she asked, playing for time.

  He stretched out his hand and, surprised, she reached out with hers. He gripped her fingers.

  “What can I do to make it more of a home to you?”

  Should she tell him? Did he really want to know?

  “Don’t ignore me. Don’t leave without telling me. Don’t stay away so long. You were angry because you thought people ignored me at Drumvagen, and you’ve done the same here at Huntly. If you’re angry at me, tell me why. Otherwise, I’m apt to imagine the most horrible scenarios.”

  “What have you imagined?”

  “You’ve become dreadfully ill and don’t want to concern me. You’ve fallen in love with a maid. I bore you.”

  “You most certainly don’t bore me.�
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  “But there’s a chance you might be in love with a maid?”

  He shook his head.

  “Tell me your health is perfect, please, or I really will be worried.”

  “My health is perfect.”

  He hadn’t released her hand, was staring down at it with such an intent look on his face that she knew he wasn’t seeing her palm but something else.

  Before he could speak, she said, “You don’t have to be concerned about me. I don’t want you to worry about me. I don’t want thoughts of me to take you from your duties. Truly.”

  He frowned at her. “Why not?”

  Was he trying to be contrary on purpose?

  “It’s enough that you come to my room,” she said, confessing all. “I’ve missed you.”

  He looked away then back at her. What was he trying not to say? She waited, hoping the words wouldn’t be unkind.

  “I brought you a present,” he said, reaching down for the package and handing it to her.

  “A present?”

  Her fingers trembled as she unwrapped the parcel. Impatiently, she pushed aside the paper, staring at his gift in silence.

  The dark wood was etched with a gilt pattern on the edge, the polished surface sloped and opening up to reveal a storage space for pens and paper.

  “It’s a lap desk,” he said. “I thought you could use it if you’re somewhere else other than at your desk. Like here, for example.”

  No one had ever given her a more perfect gift.

  He stood, studying her in silence.

  Reaching out, he held her chin gently, looking down into her face.

  “I missed you, too,” he said.

  “You didn’t come to my room,” she said, wondering at her own courage.

  His smile was slight. “You refused me. Don’t you remember?”

  I wouldn’t now. Words that were too difficult to speak and so they cowered behind her smile.

  He dropped his hand and turned away, leaving her sitting there staring after him.

  Chapter 29

  When the knock came, Ellice opened the door, clad in a pale pink nightgown.

  She’d brushed her hair, leaving it unbound.

  He stood there studying her, his eyes darkening. Without a word he entered her sitting room, pushing the door shut behind him. The click of the latch was as loud as a rifle shot.

  He’d come to her, just as she hoped.

  “I have two more refusals,” she said.

  “Yes, you do,” he said, walking toward her slowly.

  She didn’t move.

  When he was close enough to feel the warmth of his body, he stopped. She wanted to lean into him, press her cheek against his and feel his arms around her.

  “It’s in the contract.”

  “Yes, it is. I could say to hell with the contract, Ellice.” He bent toward her, fingering the bow at the top of her nightgown.

  Slowly, he pulled on the bow until it slipped free, becoming two short pieces of ribbon. Her neckline gaped open, but since the material was diaphanous, it hardly mattered.

  “I could say to hell with you, your lordship,” she said softly.

  “Then you should say it now. Before matters proceed any further.”

  Lady Pamela would joust with him, her words teasing.

  What matters would those be, your lordship?

  She might even be amused, the sparkling cascade of her laughter echoing through the room.

  She wasn’t Lady Pamela. She was only Ellice. This handsome man was her husband and he’d come to her.

  But it wasn’t marital duty that made her turn and lead the way to the bedroom. Excitement marked each step, her blood pounding through her body with such speed she felt light-headed.

  He followed her, stopping in the bedroom doorway, his eyes boring into her.

  She crawled up on the bed, sat, and waited for him.

  “If you don’t want the nightgown ripped, I’d dispense with it,” he said.

  How very proper he sounded. He could be speaking about the weather. Do you think it will rain this evening? Oh, by the way, I’m going to ravish you.

  His eyes glittered in the light. Should she ask him to extinguish the lamp?

  Or should she be as nonchalant and wicked as he?

  Leave the light burning, your lordship. I want to see your magnificent body.

  For a moment she thought she’d said the words aloud because Ross removed his robe, tossing it to the chair in the corner. The silk clung for a moment then slid to the floor. He didn’t look as if he cared.

  She certainly didn’t, not when he was standing there naked, light gleaming on interesting places on his body.

  His chest was broad, the dusting of hair there making her want to run her fingers through it, play with his nipples, trace every line of muscle down his stomach.

  His hands rested on his hips. Only one part of him moved, and that seemed to twitch as she pulled her nightgown off and tossed it to the floor.

  She could feel his gaze on every inch of her flesh.

  Slowly, he walked to her, a smile beginning to curve his lips.

  As he reached her, she rose up on her knees and put her hands on his shoulders.

  She loved him.

  She loved this man with his silver gray eyes and his seductive mouth.

  Emotion thrummed through her, her pulse racing so loud it was the only sound she heard. Words trembled on her lips but when he bent his head to kiss her, they vanished.

  She planted both hands on his chest, fingers splayed. She wanted to touch him everywhere, where his chest tapered to a slim waist, to his hips, to the nest of curls at the base of his erection.

  She wanted to stare and study, mark each play of muscle and bone and note where God in His perfection had created this man.

  The ridged muscles of his stomach contracted when she ran a finger down them. Even Lady Pamela, with all her experience, would have been impressed at the size of his cock.

  Her hands gripped him. How had he become so perfect, so hard in places and soft in others?

  “Ellice.”

  She looked up just as he grabbed her, tumbled with her to the bed.

  “Now,” she demanded.

  “Now?”

  For this night he was hers. There was no past, no uncertain future, only the night with the rain drumming on the windows and the sound of the storm masking any sounds of passion.

  She could make sounds of delight at the touch of his mouth on her breasts.

  When he turned her on her stomach and kissed her from her heels to her neck, she could moan as loudly as she wished. At the scrape of his teeth on the tender flesh of her buttocks, she could yelp and turn, only for him to grin.

  He growled deep in his throat, the animal sound startling her. She lay before him, thighs spread wide.

  He stared at her as if he’d never before seen her, and perhaps he hadn’t, not like this, weak and powerful in surrender.

  Laughing, she reached for him, wrapped her legs around his and, in a move that startled even her, turned with him on the bed.

  She rose above him, moving until she was astride him. Not as perfectly as she wished, though. Sliding down his body, she dipped her head and licked him.

  He thrust upward, his hands reaching for her.

  “No,” he said. “I’ll not last.”

  “I don’t want you to last,” she said, feeling victorious and joyful.

  He grabbed her and abruptly reversed their positions again. Now he was rising above her, dominant, powerful, his eyes dark, his breath fast.

  He pinned her to the bed and kissed her, stripping her of breath and turning his name into a low, throaty moan.

  She arched toward him, demanding touch, recognition, a soft stroke of a finger. He kissed her still, murmuring against her lips when she pouted.

  Locking her arms around his neck, she wiggled beneath him, teasing with her body. His erection nestled in the juncture of her thighs and she widened her legs. He p
ressed forward and she closed them, trapping him against her.

  Finally, finally, his hand cupped one breast, a talented thumb flicking against her nipple. A moment later he bent his head to suckle at her breasts.

  “Now,” she said. “Please.”

  Grabbing her hands, he held them over her head and entered her slowly. He stilled her with a kiss, pushing forward until he filled her.

  When the pressure and pleasure built, she was nearly insensate with it, tossing her head from side to side.

  He whispered words of encouragement to her, of praise, of teasing. She couldn’t reciprocate because passion had stripped her of every thought. She was only feeling, becoming a glowing ember of need.

  She gripped his arms with nails transformed to talons.

  He left her and entered her again, his eyes still on hers.

  When her lids fluttered shut, he said, “Look at me, Ellice.”

  She tried, she really did. But her lids kept falling as pleasure rippled through her. Just when she thought she could feel nothing more, he began to increase his pace, strokes that pushed her over the edge.

  The storm swallowed her screams of pleasure.

  She heard his exultant laughter as she jerked her hands free, gripped his buttocks and pulled him to her, riding out her climax with his.

  His pulse was still racing as he lay at her side, drawing her to him. Her eyes were melted chocolate as her lips curved in an exhausted smile.

  “You don’t have to do a thing you don’t wish to do,” he said.

  Her smile faded.

  “About Huntly,” he said. “It’s not necessary that you do anything.”

  She nodded and closed her eyes. He thought she’d drifted off to sleep but she spoke a few minutes later.

  “I’m your wife,” she said. “It’s my duty.”

  He pressed his lips against her forehead. Her breath had finally calmed along with his heartbeat.

  “I didn’t marry you to be Huntly’s chatelaine.”

  “No,” she said, blinking her eyes open. “You married me to prevent a scandal.”

  Had he?

  The answer occurred to him instantly.

  Not entirely.

  He’d been captivated by her from the first moment she emerged from his carriage. He’d been charmed by her smile, and she’d triggered his curiosity. He’d watched her cheeks blossom with color and been aroused by her writing. Her laughter enchanted him.