The Devil of Clan Sinclair by Karen Ranney Page A

staff.”
    The expression of surprise on Hannah’s face was so fleeting that Virginia almost didn’t catch it.
    “You needn’t call on me for the rest of the day,” she said firmly. “I’ll ring when I need you again.”
    There, she’d used such a direct and forceful tone that Hannah could not help but obey her. The maid nodded, stepping away from the bed and moving toward the door.
    “If you’re certain, your ladyship,” she said, glancing back once more.
    “I am,” Virginia said. “I’ll be sleeping the day away.”
    A few minutes later she heard the sitting room door close.
    In a flash she was off the bed and donning one of the hated black dresses. Granted, she could have done so more easily with Hannah’s help, but then how would she have explained her plans?
    If she hurried, perhaps she might catch Macrath in his chambers. She pulled on the bellpull, hoping against hope that Hannah didn’t respond to her summons. The maid who appeared at the door five minutes later was a stranger. The poor girl was out of breath, a sign of how quickly she’d raced up the stairs.
    Virginia pressed the note she’d written into the maid’s hand. “Would you convey this note to Mr. Sinclair?”
    “Yes, your ladyship.” The girl dropped a curtsy and disappeared without another word, racing down the corridor.
    Virginia closed the door and leaned against it. Was she being the most foolish woman alive?
    If she was, it felt wonderful. This whole day, from now until dinnertime, when she was certain Hannah would come to check on her, was hers. For these hours she could do as she wished. She didn’t have to be Virginia Anderson, daughter of Harold Anderson or the Countess of Barrett, wife to Lawrence Traylor, the tenth Earl of Barrett.
    The bright sunny morning called to her. The blue sky beckoned her to come and explore. Let the breeze play with her hair, make her eyes water. She’d inhale her fill of it, glorying in Scotland. She’d hold Macrath’s hand, feeling the calluses of his large fingers and knowing just how tender they could be on her skin.
    She wanted to eat something Scottish again. She wanted to taste the salmon she didn’t properly appreciate last night. She wanted to hear bagpipes she’d only heard in a ceremony in London. She wanted to smell the flowers lining the road.
    Give her a taste of this land of Macrath’s.
    She studied her reflection. Her bright pink cheeks truly did look feverish. What explanation could she give for her sparkling eyes and her smile? A smile had never come so naturally to her face or been so difficult to subdue.
    Braiding her hair was an easy task. She tucked her braid at the back of her head, pinning it tightly, then loosened a few tendrils at her temple.
    Until today she honestly doubted when people called her attractive. Her father’s money meant most people were blind to her flaws. Now, however, her pink cheeks accentuated the odd paleness of her eyes and the fullness of her lips. She looked like she held a delicious secret, one that amused her.
    Dusting off her black leather shoes, she slipped them on and laced them, feeling her excitement mount.
    For the first time in her life she was going to do what she truly wished and not what someone had planned for her.

Chapter 11

    W hen the knock came, Virginia thought it was the maid returning with an answer. But when she opened the door, Macrath stood there, smiling at her.
    “I was sorry to hear you were taken ill,” he said, holding out his hand for her.
    “It was a sudden thing.”
    “I, too, have a need to rest.”
    “Have you?”
    “It’s come upon me suddenly.”
    “Perhaps it’s contagious,” she said.
    “I suspect it is, but limited only to us.”
    They smiled at each other in perfect accord.
    “I haven’t taken you from your experiments, have I?”
    “They’ll always be there,” he said. “You won’t.”
    She pushed that thought away as she placed her hand in his.
    Would it be untoward to tell him how