Free The Virgin of Clan Sinclair by Karen Ranney Page A

pleasant place. The walls were painted the color of cream. Furniture was arranged in groups so that several different conversations could be held. Large fireplaces, each capable of burning a tree trunk, sat on either side of the room.
    Now, rain dripped down the chimneys, seeming to bring a chill with it. Wind from the sea buffeted the house, shivering against the windows.
    She hugged herself and kept walking, the movement the only way to ease her fear. Turning the corner, she looked up to find the Earl of Gadsden standing there.
    For an instant she recognized him. Not in the sense of knowing who he was as much as seeing the man he hid from the world. As if for that unguarded second she was somehow prescient and could feel his uncertainty and remnants of pain.
    The sensation faded as quickly as it had come. He nodded to her, entering the Great Hall.
    She whirled away from him. If her skirts flew about her ankles, she didn’t care. If her face was flushed and her hair askew, she didn’t mind, because it was only him. She turned back, looked at him and asked, “Are you still here?”
    “The roads are impassable,” he said. “Otherwise, I would have to decline your gracious hospitality and leave.” His gray eyes were steady on her.
    In London they never turned away a visitor. In fact, they were such a solitary group that any visitor, announced or not, was welcome.
    Here in Scotland she’d never known Macrath to banish anyone, from a would-be investor, to a tinker, to a carriage filled with Lowlanders who’d gotten lost. Instead of sending them on to Kinloch Village and one of the inns there, he welcomed them to Drumvagen and no doubt left them with an enduring memory of their visit.
    He wouldn’t be happy to know that she was practically pushing the Earl of Gadsden out the door. But he was with Virginia and had better things to think about than an annoying Scot.
    Very well, she hadn’t thought him annoying before he’d demanded that she not publish her book. He’d been very attractive to her. He was still handsome, but she was dutifully ignoring that fact.
    What she really wished was that she’d never been impulsive and hidden in his carriage. But then, if she’d remained in her room, she would never have met her hero in person. She would never have watched his eyes chill or that marvelous mouth firm in annoyance.
    He wasn’t quite smiling, but his face had changed.
    “You do have a dimple,” she said. “I’ve been waiting to see.”
    “Have you? What will it cost me?” he asked.
    She blinked at him, confused.
    “If it’s money you want, I’ll pay you not to publish the book.”
    She could only stare at him.
    “Come, name an amount. I’ll pay it if you promise to destroy it.”
    “Are you insane?”
    Evidently, the Earl of Gadsden didn’t like his sanity questioned, because his eyes grew even colder. He walked to the other side of the room, staring at the picture above the mantel.
    Was he trying to guard against his baser urges? If he mastered them, perhaps he could tell her how. Despite being annoyed with him, she couldn’t help but notice how well fitting his buff trousers were. Lady Pamela had never noticed a man’s derriere. Perhaps she should. The midnight blue jacket fit his broad shoulders magnificently.
    “Do you pick out your clothing or do you have a manservant do it for you?”
    He turned his head, looking at her as if he’d just happened onto an interesting specimen of bug.
    “I beg your pardon?”
    “Why do people say that? Is it to stall for time? You know as well as I do that you heard me perfectly well. Why wouldn’t you want to admit to a valet?”
    “I have a valet. He’s not on this journey, however.”
    “There, was that so difficult?” she asked. “I suspect you have a great many servants.”
    “Why do my personal arrangements interest you?”
    She didn’t know how to answer that. Everything about him interested her.
    “Is there any news about Mrs. Sinclair?”
    She