The Devil of Clan Sinclair Read Online Free PDF Page A

newly widowed Countess of Barrett was on her way to Scotland.
    Her father had insisted she be given a diverse education. Therefore, she was prepared, if she must, to be a governess. Perhaps a man of wealth would want a slightly used countess to instruct his daughters. She could easily see an American hiring her, bragging about her title. “She’s an American, you know. Became a countess. My gals deserve the best.”
    Getting a position wouldn’t help the rest of them, however. Someone might employ Eudora, but where would Ellice go? What would happen to their mother? She could not, however much she tried, imagine Enid trimming hats.
    How would they earn their living?
    They had no time left, not enough for Eudora to finally be serious about finding a husband. Ellice was too young, and she doubted Enid had given any thought to remarriage.
    She, herself, would not countenance marrying again. Her union to Lawrence had been distasteful enough. The only saving grace was he seemed to dislike her presence as much as she’d grown to dislike his. But what if she married a man who insisted on bedding her every night? That would be a worse situation.
    Enid reached into the carriage, pressing a cup of warm chocolate into her hands.
    “A fortifying beverage,” her mother-in-law said.
    She finished the chocolate and returned the cup. Sitting back against the cushions, she adjusted the leather gloves over her hands. She didn’t see the back of the town house, Hannah arranging the baskets of food in the storage area below the carriage seat, or Hosking, the coachman, standing by the open door.
    Ceana Sinclair told her in the beginning that Macrath was a brilliant inventor.
    “He makes ice, Virginia,” she had said. “Just imagine, his machine can generate ice for you any time of year.”
    He made ice, of all things, and in that small way Macrath Sinclair was playing God. Yet, in this journey she was about to make to Scotland, so was she.
    London
    A year earlier
    “W hy are you looking so distressed?”
    Virginia turned at his voice. Her mood abruptly became better as she smiled at Macrath.
    “I’m to be personable this evening,” she said, tugging on her gloves.
    A bad habit of hers, according to Mrs. Haverstock. A lady never draws the eye to aspects of her appearance. Tranquility is as vital to a lady as beauty, the woman often said. An aura of peace is a quality you must cultivate .
    “I’ve never known you to be anything but personable,” Macrath said, moving to stand beside her. They looked out over the dancers from their place on the terrace.
    She sighed. “That’s because you’re too much like me. We’d much rather talk about scientific experiments than people or politics.”
    “But your dancing partners don’t?”
    She glanced over at him.
    Tonight he was dressed in formal black, his gold and black vest a brilliant example of embroidery. His black hair was brushed back, the perfect frame for his unforgettable face.
    When she looked at Macrath, she remembered those museum visits with Mrs. Haverstock, and all the statues unearthed from various places and brought to England. A Greek god, a Roman citizen, men with faces that lived on through millennia because of the placement of strong bones and features. Macrath’s face was similar, but brought to life because of his intense blue eyes and a mouth that fascinated her. She liked to watch as he talked, the way he formed the letters. How he smiled when she didn’t expect it.
    “I’ve noticed how popular you’ve been tonight.”
    “It’s father’s money,” she said. “It makes people very polite.”
    “On the contrary, I think it’s you.”
    She glanced back at the dancers, feeling a surge of warmth at his words. Macrath could change her mood from dreary to delighted just with a smile. Conversely, when he wasn’t at an event, it seemed to drag, each hour tied to a tortoise.
    “I have heard excessively about horse racing tonight. Or gossip. People are very