Free The Devil of Clan Sinclair by Karen Ranney Page A

you.”
    She’d been guarded so well she might have been able to compose a letter but never to post it.
    He abruptly stood, striding toward her.
    Reaching into his jacket, he pulled something out, placing it on the table beside her without a word.
    Slowly, she picked up a much folded paper, unfolded it and read:
    Macrath,
    I am to be married. I know you will understand that it would be foolish of me not to agree to a union with the Earl of Barrett.
    Please don’t write me again.
    I wish you great success in your future.
    How could he think she would write something so impersonal and almost flippant to him?
    “That isn’t my handwriting,” she said.
    “Look at the signature.”
    She hadn’t paid it any attention, but at his words, she did, feeling her heart sink to her toes.
    Maud.
    Of course he would think it was from her, from their meeting in the British Museum. The jest only the two of them had shared from that day forward.
    “Mrs. Haverstock,” she said.
    Her chaperone had to have heard them that day. Or had Bessie told her? Had the woman also known about their meeting in the garden, when they’d kissed?
    He returned to his chair as she placed the letter on the table between them.
    He’d been as wounded as she.
    She wasn’t close to seducing Macrath. He was looking at her like she was a stranger, as if all those weeks they’d spent together had never happened. Had he tamped down the pleasant memories in favor of those that made him angry?
    Easing back in the chair, she calmly straightened her napkin, smoothing out the wrinkles and folding it into fourths.
    “I didn’t write that letter, Macrath. But that hardly matters now, does it?”
    “Why are you here, Virginia?”
    She had always liked the way he’d said her name, the r’ s rolling in a Scottish burr. She loved the way he spoke, even about commonsense things, the weather, the scent of flowers, or the sunset.
    “I can’t tell you,” she said finally, in answer to his question. “I should tell you,” she added, “but I can’t. The words won’t come.” Then she took the truth and wrapped it in a lie, leading him to think this visit was the result of need and longing more than survival. “I just knew I had to see you.”
    His gaze settled on her breasts.
    She warmed from the inside out, her breath coming too tightly. A year ago he’d always been a gentleman, treating her with respect and care.
    Would he be the same now?
    He stood and, with a scrape of the chair against the wooden floor, strode the length of the table to reach her. She tensed, but he turned her chair as if she weighed no more than a feather, lifting her from it.
    He pulled her into his arms in a gentle embrace that surprised and comforted her. She closed her eyes, pressed her cheek against the fine wool of his jacket and took a deep breath of relief.
    If he banished her tomorrow, she would at least have these moments of memory.
    He pressed his cheek against her hair, stood there for long, treasured, minutes. Finally, he drew back and kissed her temple, such a gentle sweet kiss it brought tears to her eyes.
    Slowly, she extended her arms around his waist, leaned her forehead against his chest. She needed courage now more than at any time in her life.
    “Virginia,” he said softly.
    How strange to envision seduction in a bedchamber and have it occur in a dining room. Or to have him kiss her tenderly on her cheek and summon her tears.
    They’d kissed once, and the experience had been one of the most shocking and sensual she’d ever known. She wanted another one of his kisses, and now he was spurring her on without a word spoken.
    She opened her eyes and tilted her head back, wanting him to know, in this at least, she wasn’t lying.
    He must kiss her. He must ease this need that had been fervently growing for over a year.
    Each night, she’d pressed her fingertips to her lips and said a prayer in thought of him. Each night, she’d recalled the touch of his lips against hers,