Chapter Nine

CHAPTER NINE

Macrath was pacing.

That he was pacing in front of her was a sign to Virginia of how distressed he was. Normally, he did everything in his power to prevent her from becoming worried. As if his children didn’t do that every single day.

Did it have to do with Carlton? Her son had been suspiciously well behaved for the last few days, but he’d also been cloyingly present. Usually, she had to go in search of her youngest child. Now he was always underfoot. That, too, was odd.

His birthday wasn’t coming up, so his good behavior couldn’t be ascribed to wishing for an expensive present from Edinburgh. Had Macrath promised him some reward if he behaved himself?

“Were you like Carlton when you were younger?” she asked, not the first time she’d thought such a thing.

The question did exactly what she wanted it to do, stopped him in mid--pace.

He turned and stared at her. “No,” he said, his tone disbelieving. “I was working too hard.”

“Maybe that’s what you need to do for him,” she said calmly. “If there’s nothing he can do to help you here, maybe Mairi and Logan have duties.”

“What do you think he could do, sell newspapers on the corner?”

“Why not? It’s better than spending all his time trying to escape Drumvagen, don’t you think?”

He looked away, then back at her. “Do you think he’s bored?”

She folded her hands calmly and nodded. “I think he’s as intelligent as you were, Macrath. I think that’s what’s at the root of all of this. Give him a job. Give him something to do.”

“He doesn’t do what his tutor tells him to do as it is.”

“No doubt because he finds other things more interesting. How many times have you found him in your laboratory?”

“Too many to count.”

“Then have his lessons taught there. Talk to his tutor, see if you can make the lessons have more meaning to Carlton. Instead of learning about Spain and England’s wars, what about teaching him about the trade we do with Australia?

He frowned at her. It was such a ferocious expression, she might’ve been disturbed had she not been the recipient of its cousin over the years.

“You’re much too intelligent for the likes of me,” he said.

She smiled back at him. “Only occasionally, my love,” she said. “Now tell me why you’re pacing.”

She reached for her knitting, finding it a wonderful way to focus rather than to stare at Macrath. Not that he wasn’t attractive enough to look at every day, but doing so only led to other things. Desire was occasionally unwelcome in the middle of the day, especially with three children and various nurses, tutors, and servants about.

Sometimes Drumvagen was filled with too many -people, especially when she hungered for her husband. Therefore, it was much easier to focus on her knitting then Macrath.

“Are you leading up to telling me why Bruce is here?”

Macrath started pacing again. Back and forth he strutted, his arms behind his back, as intent on his progress as the head rooster in their barnyard. Woe be unto those who ventured into his territory without permission. He’d peck you on the legs and fly up and try to batter your face with his wings.

Macrath was just as territorial.

He didn’t look at her, which was a clue.

She put down her knitting, watching him.

“I haven’t forgotten about Paul Henderson, you know.”

That certainly made him stop. He turned and stared at her.

“Did Bruce tell you?” he asked.

She stared at the ceiling, huffed out a breath, then looked at him again. “Really, Macrath, that’s almost insulting. Bruce has a very large detective agency. In America. Why would you hire someone to make inquiries in America? There’s only one person who would interest you, and that’s Paul Henderson. No one had to tell me. I figured it out all by myself.”

“Forgive me, Virginia.”

“For what? Underestimating my intelligence or for keeping it from me? I think it’s two apologies you owe me.”

“Very well, you’re right,” he said with a smile.

“Is he here?”

For a moment she wondered if he would answer her.

“Yes.” He threaded one hand through his hair. “We don’t know exactly where, but he’s in Scotland.”

“Is that why we went to Edinburgh? So you could warn Mairi and Logan?”

“Partly,” he said. “Partly to draw him out. I wanted him away from Drumvagen.”

“The children,” she said. Up until this exact moment, she had been relatively calm, but now fear filled her stomach, icing it over. She felt vaguely nauseous and cold.

“He wouldn’t do anything to the children, would he?”

“Not if he wants to live another day.”

“How can a man be so obsessive? Ten years have passed, Macrath.”

He smiled. “The right woman will make any man obsessed,” he said.

His look warmed the ice just a little.

“We can’t let Alistair go back to school yet. Is that why you’ve delayed his return?”

He nodded.

“We have to find Henderson, Macrath,” she said.

Images flooded into her mind. That terrible time when Paul had drugged her and taken her aboard ship, so close to raping her she’d had nightmares for weeks afterward.

“I want a big knife,” she said. “The largest one we have in the kitchen.”

At his look, she frowned. “I will not allow my children to be harmed, Macrath. Not by Paul Henderson or anyone. If necessary, I will protect them myself.”

He came and stood in front of her, grabbing her knitting and tossing it to the floor. Before she could protest his treatment of her latest project, he hauled her up into his arms and hugged her tightly.

“I love you, Virginia,” he said. “From the very first moment I saw you, I think I loved you then.”

She closed her eyes and allowed herself to feel comforted and safe, if only for a moment, in Macrath’s arms.

Paul Henderson stared out the window of the train, feeling anticipation tingle through him. Ten years had passed since he’d stepped foot on Scottish soil. Ten years, but he returned to this godforsaken country a successful man. A wealthy man who’d come about his riches legally.

-People said he was a risk taker, and he was. He had nothing to lose. It was easy to take a bet and double it, be it railroads or silver. His wealth had diversified since he’d taken advantage of America’s more egalitarian society. Now he was welcomed wherever he went simply because he was wealthy, not because his father had a title.

In that, he and Macrath Sinclair were alike.

Sinclair’s father had been a newspaperman, living close to the edge of penury all his days. While his father had been a chimney sweep, asking no more from life than to send lads up into tiny smoke--filled vertical coffins.

He’d wanted more from the beginning. Now he had it: a private car, a secretary who doubled as a bodyguard, a valet to ensure he was well dressed, a cook who traveled with him. His cabin aboard ship had been a large one and he’d eaten at the captain’s table.

No one knew he’d once been a servant in London. Most of his acquaintances thought there was some mystery about him because he’d let drop certain facts they could gather up together in a loosely constructed story of their own making. He might have been the son of an earl or a duke’s progeny. Perhaps he was the illegitimate product of a royal’s indiscretion.

All his early self--taught lessons on deportment had served him well. He had the manners and the bearing to be anyone he wished.

Even someone Virginia would admire.

He couldn’t forget her.

The one woman he’d wanted, the only one to reject him. All these years, she’d stayed in his mind like a loadstone, an impetus, a motivation to be more than he ever dreamed of being. He would explain it all to her. Virginia, who knew his beginnings, who knew who he really was, would understand better than anyone how far he’d come.

He wanted her. He longed for her. Even when he bedded another woman, hers was the face he saw.

Over the years, his hair had silvered, giving him a distinguished appearance. He was still a young man, with a young man’s needs and wants and ardor. He would prove that to her, too.

This time, no one would know he had anything to do with Virginia’s disappearance. To that end, he’d interviewed ten likely candidates in Inverness. Three of them were more interested in their payment then their task. Three were so dumb that even after explaining what he wanted done, they still didn’t understand. Three were too intelligent, so much so he hadn’t even gone into what the task was, for fear they’d report him to the authorities. The last had proven to be a worthy surrogate with a giant’s build.

The man would go to Drumvagen and fetch Virginia for him. He’d given the man a detailed drawing of Drumvagen, including the grotto where he could gain admittance to the house. Before leaving Scotland he’d make sure the man went back to Inverness. There was no reason for him to remain in the vicinity or to tell anyone about the nature of his employment.

The other servants—-valet, cook, and secretary—-knew nothing of the reason for his trip to Scotland, and he intended to keep them ignorant.

He wasn’t going to be foolish like he’d been in the past. He wasn’t going to concentrate on getting Virginia out of Scotland as much as convincing her of his sincere feelings. Last time, he’d moved too swiftly and scared her. This time, she would know how much he loved her before they ever set sail again.

But first he would take care, seduce her with gentleness, convince her with reason. He would demonstrate to her just how much she meant to him and how unforgettable she’d been all these years.

He wasn’t going to resort to force like he had in the past. He was going to take Virginia to his house and convince her, by any means necessary, they’d wasted a decade of their lives. But it wasn’t too late. They could still find happiness together. All she had to do was to give him a chance to prove it. He would bring her the world if she wanted it. He could afford to take her anywhere, live anyplace she chose. Her future was not limited to Scotland.

He would take her to his home in Philadelphia, to the mansion he’d built with her in mind. He remembered the town house where they had once lived, and there were certain details common to both homes: the fan light above the front door, the brass knocker, the delicate roselike shade that was her favorite. He’d had rosebushes planted all over the grounds. She would love the home he’d created for her.

His investigation told him she’d had two more children. But they were of an age when they didn’t need their mother. She was free now, as free as he was, to pursue the happiness that had eluded them. She would understand, as soon as he had a chance to explain it to her.

He would show her how much he loved her.

By the time they left Scotland she, too, would be regretting the waste of the last decade.