The Virgin Of Clan Sinclair Page 15
“No?”
“No. If you’re going to forbid me to write, I shall not marry you. I don’t care what inducement Macrath offered.”
“Perhaps he didn’t offer any inducements.”
“He had to,” she said, “for you to agree.”
When he didn’t say anything, she frowned at him.
“I am serious. This is the one thing about which I care. We can marry in the desert for all it matters to me. This evening if you wish. But you will not forbid me to write.”
“Will you publish your book?”
That’s when she knew.
“Is that the price for marrying me?” she asked. “Macrath agreed that my book won’t be published?”
“Actually, he didn’t,” he said.
Her heart swelled. She should have known Macrath had more character. Now she felt terrible for even thinking it.
“But it’s what you want,” she said, certain of it.
“I’d be a fool to say no.”
She felt like she was standing on a fulcrum and could topple either way. Before she fell, however, she was going to take as much advantage of the situation as she could.
“Then agree,” she said. “I want a contract between us. If you will let me continue writing and agree that I should be permitted to act independently, I will agree that The Lustful Adventures of Lady Pamela will not be published.”
One eyebrow arched upward. “A contract?”
“You do not strike me as the type of man to dishonor his word. Are you?”
“No.”
“Then, yes, a contract.”
“Why must it be in writing?”
“Why shouldn’t it be?” she asked, moving to sit at Macrath’s desk. She pulled out a piece of paper and one of Macrath’s pens. She readied her writing instruments and waited.
“Am I to dictate the terms of this contract?” he asked, sitting on the chair beside the desk.
“I think it should be a mutual decision as to the wording,” she said.
“Very well. I, Ross Forster, Earl of Gadsden, hereby agree to allow Ellice Traylor, soon to be the Countess of Gadsden, the time and place to write, what she will, when she will, where she will. However, she will not attempt to publish said writings without my express permission.”
That was hardly fair. Instead of saying anything, she wrote what he’d dictated, adding her own paragraph beneath it.
Ellice Traylor, soon to be Countess of Gadsden, has the ability to renege on this contract if the Earl of Gadsden does not materially agree to its provisions. He is to allow her the independence she wishes, including the ability to refuse his dictates. In exchange, she will agree not to publish any of her works.
“Independence?” he asked, reading what she’d written. “What, exactly, does that mean?”
She bit the end of the pen, considering the matter. “If I don’t wish to eat a certain dish, you will not cause to have it served.”
“Anything in particular?” he asked.
“Brains,” she said without thinking. “Tripe. Anything featuring eyeballs.”
“Agreed.”
“You will treat me with respect.”
He didn’t say anything for a moment.
“What does that mean?” he finally asked.
She looked over at him. “Do I need to explain that, your lordship? I would think an earl of your reputed stature would know the meaning of respect.”
He stood and walked away, intent on the window and the blackness beyond. Could he even see anything or did the window solely act as a mirror?
“You’re a very annoying female. I trust you will not continue to be so after our marriage.”
She put the pen down. “I’m very certain to be exactly the same way as I am now,” she said.
He glanced at her.
“Are you always so honest?”
She thought about it then ruefully shook her head. “No, but I feel compelled to tell you the truth. Why shouldn’t I? You’ll discover it yourself soon enough.”
He waved his hand toward her. “Very well, put your clause about respect in the blasted contract.”
She waited until he returned to the chair beside the desk before continuing.
“I will have access to Huntly’s library. You do have a library, do you not?”
He sat back, his eyes boiling once more. “You’ve never heard of Huntly’s library? There’s nothing more famous in all of Scotland.”
She shook her head. “That’s wonderful. See, that’s an inducement for marriage right there.”
He frowned at her.
“You will allow me the use of the library,” she said. “Nor will you cavil at my purchase of books.”
“What does that mean?”
“If I want to order a book from an Edinburgh bookseller, you will not argue with me about the expense.”
“At least wait until you see if it’s already in the library,” he said.
“Agreed.”
This next clause would be more difficult, she was certain of it.
When he looked at her, she warmed. Her body seemed to glow, heating in places that ached to be touched.
She needed some way to counteract his effect on her.
“If I do not want your attentions, I have the right to refuse them,” she said, holding her pen over the document.
Did he notice her hands were trembling? If he did, did he care?
“No.”
“No?” she asked, surprised.
“You have no right to refuse me. I am your husband.”
“Not yet.”
“Perhaps not ever,” he said.
She placed the pen on the desk, sat back in Macrath’s chair and looked at him.
“Your lordship, I would be just as happy unmarried as I would be married. I have no reason to want to marry you. You, on the other hand, have some reason to want to marry me.”
He stared at her, holding her gaze as if he would mesmerize her.
She was, for the first time in her life, in a position of power, and recognized it. The sensation was indescribably wonderful.
She could stand and walk from the room without a second thought. Granted, she might be disappointed not to marry him, but not for the reasons he probably thought.
Wealth didn’t concern her. Prestige didn’t excite her. What she wanted from him were his kisses and his body, and although she’d been more than direct during this meeting, she didn’t know how to say that to him.
“No,” he said.
“Shall we compromise?” she asked, feeling magnanimous and recognizing the earl’s stubbornness.
Evidently, she’d lighted upon something that was important to him.
“Three times,” she said.
“I beg your pardon?”
“I can refuse you three times.”
“In the course of our marriage?” he asked.
“No, in a month.”
“No.”
“Very well,” she conceded. “Six months.”
“No.”
“Then a year?” she asked.
“Three times in one year?”
She nodded.
“I agree.”
She wondered if she would ever want to use those three refusals. He was eminently kissable.
For example, she wanted to kiss him now. Lean over the desk and press her lips lightly against his to seal their bargain.
The urge to do so was so strong that she couldn’t ignore it any longer. She put the pen down, stood, and before he could move, kissed him.
His lips were so soft they felt like pillows. Then they hardened as his hands reached up to hold her face still.
He stole her breath and made her heart race.
When she drew back, they looked at each other. His eyes were steam again, but not with anger. Passion bronzed his cheekbones.
“You will not bed any man but me.”
Her eyes widened. “I beg your pardon?”
“This independence of yours. It wo
n’t consist of different bed partners.”
“Isn’t that in the wedding vows?”
“I’ll have you put it in your contract.”
She hadn’t the slightest idea how to word that. She ended up writing: both parties will be faithful, each to the other.
Sitting back, she stared at the paper and cleared her throat.
“I’ll make two copies,” she said, “and we’ll sign both. That way, each of us has a copy.”
He didn’t say anything, just kept looking at her in that heated way. If he didn’t look away, they wouldn’t have to wait until their wedding night to consummate the marriage.
Macrath’s desk would do well enough.
“I don’t need a copy.”
“It’s only fair that you get one.”
“Finish that one and I’ll sign it.”
She nodded, wishing he wouldn’t stare at her mouth so. She brushed her fingers over her bottom lip, still feeling his kiss.
Would she get any sleep tonight? Or would it simply be better to write another chapter of Lady Pamela’s adventures? Perhaps she meets a brigand who robs her coach, and engages in a torrid kiss. Something that weakens her knees and heats her until she felt like she was melting inside.
He didn’t move away as she wrote. Instead, he sat there watching her. His arm rested on the edge of the desk, his fingers lifting one by one. Each time they flexed her attention was caught.
At this rate she’d never be finished, and she wanted the contract to be precise, not filled with ink blotches.
She bit her lip, concentrating, wishing he’d go and sit on one of the chairs before the fireplace. Or stand at the window and watch the full moon. Anything but sit there so close she could smell the sandalwood soap he used.
Night had brought a shadow of a beard to his face. He no longer looked every inch the earl, but more a coach robber, someone who would march her out to the glen and kiss her until she fell to her knees.
He would show no mercy to her. Instead, he would make her beg.
“Please,” she’d say, “don’t kiss me again. I can’t bear it.”
“What is it you can’t bear, my dear captive?” He’d leer at her, exposing perfect white teeth. “My kisses or the passion that courses through you?”
“Either, both, whatever you will,” she said weakly, secretly wishing he’d cover her body with his kisses.
“Will you give me the book?” he asked.
She blinked at him, pulled back from the imaginary glen with difficulty. Her lips felt full and her eyelids heavy.
“What?”
His eyes narrowed. “Will you give me the book?” he asked again. “Consider it a wedding gift.”
“Because you don’t believe me?”
“Perhaps I want to read it again.”
She shook her head. “No,” she said. “I’ll keep it.”
His lips thinned but he didn’t protest.
“I’m leaving early,” he said, standing. “I’ll say good-bye now.”
Did she get a good-bye kiss? Would that be entirely proper? Or wise, for that matter? She could certainly see that kissing him farewell might be acceptable, but there was the matter of Macrath’s desk.
Was every other woman in creation made weak by desire?
She wanted him, and although she’d written about desire—Lady Pamela was suffused by it often—she’d never understood that it could strip your senses from you. She was all throbbing parts and moist, hidden places.
She wanted her breasts kissed.
He would see her naked, and for the first time in her life she anticipated being as bare as a babe.
No, desire was a heady thing and not to be underestimated.
No wonder Lady Pamela had only to crook her finger and all manner of men followed. Donald was the only one who could do that to her.
The Earl of Gadsden was her Donald and had been from the very beginning.
“You haven’t signed it,” she said, pushing the paper toward him.
He grabbed the pen from her hand and scrawled his signature across the bottom.
“Are you certain you don’t want a copy?”
“Yes.”
He strode toward the door.
She liked watching him move. He really was a magnificent specimen of man.
Just think, he was going to be her husband. He was going to come to her room, to her bed. All those feelings she’d poured into Lady Pamela were going to be hers instead. She was going to tremble at his touch, scream in pleasure and delight.
No, she really wasn’t going to sleep tonight, was she?
What sort of ravening beast was he?
He left Sinclair’s library, standing with his back to the door, wanting to return, tumble her to the floor, kiss her until the damn urge left him and then bury himself in her.
She wasn’t a virgin, no matter what Sinclair thought. No virgin would have sent him such a look, her chocolate brown eyes nearly melting with heat.
He was breathless with need, pained with it to the point that even walking was difficult.
She didn’t know how close she came to be ravished, and he’d never ravished a woman in his life. Nor had he ever been tempted to, not until Ellice Traylor looked at him with wide eyes, caught her bottom lip with her teeth, and frowned down at the page in front of her.
Her chastity wasn’t a problem as long as he didn’t touch her until he was sure she wasn’t with child. He owed it to the earldom to produce a legitimate male heir. His own celibacy wasn’t the issue; he’d gone for months without bedding Cassandra.
He could do it again.
He could do it again as long as he didn’t study Ellice too closely, read what she’d written, or engage her in conversation. He would be wise to ignore the shape of her lips as well.
Ellice waited until the morning before visiting with Mairi. She wasn’t afraid of what Mairi would say. At least that’s what she told herself. Mairi would fuss, she knew that much. The other woman might even accuse her of sublimating her own desires for that of a man. That would be partially true and an accusation for which she had no defense.
The truth, stark and unremitting, was that she very much wanted to marry the Earl of Gadsden. Oh, marriage itself wasn’t that important. If she could have stolen away with him to a cottage in the woods, she would gladly have done that as well. But society being what it was—and her mother being like she was—there would simply be too many ramifications for that behavior.
She might as well marry if she was going to be a licentious creature.
She knocked on Mairi’s sitting room door, surprised when it was answered by Logan, barely dressed.
Taking a step backward, she tried to keep her gaze away from his half unbuttoned shirt and that expanse of golden chest.
What would the earl look like naked?
Once she was no longer a virgin, she would be free of this surge of lust whenever she thought about him.
Logan smiled, called for Mairi, and stepped away.
She deliberately didn’t look after him.
Had she called on them too early? They hadn’t been at breakfast or she would have talked to Mairi then.
Had they been engaging in . . . her thoughts ground to a halt at Mairi’s appearance. Her friend’s cheeks were flushed, her lips swollen.
Dear God, had she interrupted them? Please don’t let her have come at the wrong time. Perhaps they’d already made love and that glow was how a woman looked afterward. She made a mental note to give Lady Pamela the same rosy glow and lambent look in the eyes.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
What did one say in such a situation? The etiquette books never seemed to mention a circumstance such as this. What about her mother? Enid was penning a book on polite manners. Perhaps she should ask her.
She swallowed a giggle at that thought.
“You wanted to see me?” Mairi asked, frowning.
“Yes, I’m sorry.” She decided to come out and say it. “I won’t be
publishing my book,” she said, “and I wanted you to know.”
“You’ve changed your mind?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I just have,” she said, hoping Mairi didn’t take the question further. But this was Mairi, after all, and once she was intent on a matter she was like a hound after a rabbit.
“Come in,” she said, stepping aside.
Ellice really didn’t want to enter their sitting room, especially since it was obvious to her now that they’d just finished doing . . . what did one call it? In The Lustful Adventures of Lady Pamela she’d called it sex, making love, rogering, and in one passage, tossing her skirts over her head. None of those descriptions seemed apt at the moment.
“I can’t stay,” she said, almost feverishly. “I must go. I just wanted you to know.”
“Are you all right, Ellice?”
“Yes,” she said. “Yes, I am.”
“Are you certain you wish to be married? Is that something you want, Ellice?”
At Mairi’s frown, she felt a surge of disappointment. Why wasn’t Mairi happy for her? Or perhaps Mairi only saw it as coercion. She mustn’t think that.
“Yes, it is. I made him sign a contract,” she added. “It promises me independence.”
“Have you?”
“In exchange, I won’t publish the book.”
“Are you very certain this is what you want, Ellice?”
She nodded. “The wedding will be in three weeks. You will attend, won’t you?”
“I wouldn’t miss it,” Mairi said.
Ellice stepped back. “Thank you.” There, that was done. Now all she had to do was escape.
“Is she that innocent?” Logan asked, coming to stand beside her.
Mairi frowned, watching as Ellice nearly raced down the corridor to her own set of rooms.
“I wouldn’t think so, not with the book she wrote, but she seems to be, doesn’t she?”
“Perhaps naive is the word I’d use.”
“And impulsive,” Mairi said. “That can be a rather dangerous combination.”
“Being impulsive seems to run in the family,” Logan said, smiling at her.
“We’re not related,” she said, “but I know what you mean.” She frowned. “I hope she realizes that no contract in the world will guarantee her independence.”
“Women have a way of getting what they want,” he said, nuzzling her neck.