by Karen Ranney
“I’m as good as can be, what with another hole in me.”
He grinned at her again, and this time she didn’t smile back. Really, he had no right to be so charming so early in the day.
Had he slept well? Was that a question she could ask him? She didn’t, only because Addy and Betty were looking at her with great interest.
“Would you like to try some of His Grace’s coffee?” Addy asked.
“No, thank you. Tea, please,” she said.
“What are you going to do today?” Connor asked.
“What am I going to do today?”
No one had ever questioned her about her duties. Not even Gavin. She’d met with him in the morning, and then gone about her business, knowing they would meet again at dinner.
“I’m going to give the maids instructions on waxing the ballroom floor,” she said, beginning to explain her schedule. “I have to interview a footman with the majordomo, look over the household expenses for the past month, and inspect the repairs to the barn roof. After that I have a meeting with the steward to tell him what I’ve found.”
“All that?” he asked, still smiling.
“All that,” she said.
“So you’ll be staying at Bealadair? No riding out to far pastures?”
“Not today.”
He only nodded in response.
How very odd to feel as self-conscious as she did at the moment. Did he think she wasn’t busy enough? Was he going to criticize how she used her time?
“Why are you asking?”
“Curiosity,” he said. “Do you never take a day for yourself?”
She thanked Betty for her tea and took a sip before forming her answer.
“No. I don’t think you do, either. If you were the indolent type, Your Grace, you’d still be in bed.”
“When I was injured in the war,” he said, “I was expected to be up and about the next day. Maybe it’s just a habit I learned.”
She took another sip of her tea, conscious that Addy and Betty were listening intently.
“You’ll have to spare some time in a few days to attend our shooting match.”
She put down her cup and stared at him. “Shooting match? You and Felix?”
He nodded again.
“Are you daft? You can’t possibly consider something like that so soon. You were just wounded yesterday.”
Both Addy and Betty gasped, making her realize she’d just insulted the Duke of Lothian. He only smiled at her, took a sip of his coffee, and let the moment stretch thin.
She really should apologize for her quick and unthinking response. However, she wasn’t going to take back her words. He’d lost a great deal of blood. He should be weak. In fact, he should be in bed, taking toast and tea for breakfast instead of looking hale and hearty and too attractive for her peace of mind.
She could see the bandage beneath the fine lawn of the shirt he wore. Did he think himself more than human?
He put his coffee cup down, trailed his finger around the saucer, still not speaking.
She couldn’t stand the silence one second more.
“Please, don’t do this. Felix only wants to embarrass you.” Conscious of the other women’s glances, she added, “Your Grace.”
“I’m well aware of that,” he said, smiling once more.
She sat back in her chair, wondering how she could reach him. Could anyone? He had a mischievous grin on his face and his eyes were alight with humor.
Addy stood, retrieved the coffeepot from the stove and poured him some more coffee, while Betty filled a plate with raisin scones and put them in front of him. She’d never seen the two women so solicitous, but then the Duke of Lothian had never shared their breakfast table, either.
“You know he wants to embarrass you?”
She should have, perhaps, waited until they were alone before questioning him further. She didn’t even bother asking him to join her in the family dining room. He looked too comfortable being waited on hand and foot. She was stuck either containing her curiosity or having an audience to it.
“Never trust a man who brags a lot,” he said. “Words are no substitution for deeds.”
“That sounds like something Gavin would say.”
He shrugged, grimaced, then said, “I’m not surprised. It’s a comment my father often made. I suspect they were more alike than different, even after so many years.”
“You shouldn’t have agreed to the match so soon.” She almost forgot and added, “Your Grace,” again. She had started to think of him as Connor. Connor McCraight, Texan, impossible man, fascinating male.
The title Duke of Lothian didn’t quite fit him. Not that he didn’t have an aristocratic look about him. He did. He also had a way of chilling you with his gaze. But she suspected that the peerage demanded that a person be pressed into a certain kind of mold, and Connor would always be his own man.
“I didn’t,” he said. “I was the one who suggested we meet.”
That didn’t make any sense. She frowned at him, but he met her expression with another grin.
“I’ve found that the first few days after being wounded are better than later. The muscles hurt more then.”
What was she supposed to say to that? What was she going to say when he lost and Felix wouldn’t shut up about besting the new Duke of Lothian? Lara would preen. The duchess might even be pleased that the same man who wanted to disrupt their lives so much had been soundly humiliated.
She really should stand, right this moment, announce something along the lines of, Well, I certainly hope you’re ready to be trounced, and be about her duties.
But she didn’t want to leave. Something about him, about being in his presence, was almost magical. As if she were like those metal filings Gavin had shown her once. Irresistibly drawn to a magnet, they had no power to resist.
Neither did she.
She suspected that losing to Felix wouldn’t bother Connor one whit. He didn’t value the man. He didn’t think highly of him; that was obvious. Shouldn’t you have some respect for your opponent? Connor would simply flick off the loss as if it were inconsequential. That would only outrage Felix, Lara, and the rest of the McCraights.
Nothing good could come of this, but how did she convey that to Connor?
One of the bells on the board near the door rang. She glanced up to see that it was the duchess’s room. Rhona was ringing for her breakfast early.
Was she going to summon Elsbeth to her room and demand to know what she’d decided? Would she banish her from Bealadair on the spot if she refused?
Betty stood and went to the side table, beginning to arrange the duchess’s tray. Addy excused herself to go to the stove, retrieving the toast she’d made earlier.
“I’m supposed to seduce you,” Elsbeth said, glancing at Connor.
She’d never seen anyone’s face turn to stone quite the way Connor’s did. One moment his eyes were filled with humor. The next they were flat and expressionless. His mouth assumed a straight line, his beautiful smile gone in an instant.
“What?”
She was as surprised as he. She hadn’t meant to say anything to him, especially not with Addy and Betty so close. She lowered her voice further.
“The duchess wants me to seduce you,” she said. “So you won’t sell Bealadair. Evidently, I’m supposed to have such extraordinary feminine wiles that you’ll immediately change your plans and give up any thought of moving away from Scotland, of selling Bealadair and displacing the family. All because you kissed me.”
He was watching her with that intent gaze of his. She wished he wouldn’t, but she could hardly say that, could she?
“Not that the family is truly being displaced. I mean, they knew once the new duke arrived that there was every possibility they would have to move. After all, even Gavin planned for that contingency or he wouldn’t have been so generous in his bequests, don’t you think?”
She finally took a breath when Addy moved back toward the table.
<
br /> He still hadn’t said anything, which made her feel even more foolish. No, she was acres past foolish. She’d been an idiot. Why had she said what she had?
“Have you ever heard of anything more ridiculous?”
After Betty left with the duchess’s tray, Addy returned to the table, smiling as she sat.
Elsbeth was hoping he didn’t say anything now, not with a witness.
She didn’t get her wish.
“Not so ridiculous.” His voice was calm as he reached for another scone. “My mother would love these,” he said to Addy.
Elsbeth’s face felt hot. Her heart was beating furiously. She stared down at her nearly empty cup. If she raised it now, they’d both see her shaking hands.
Why had she said anything?
Why?
What did he mean, not so ridiculous?
Chapter 25
For nearly a week, Elsbeth managed to avoid a great many people at Bealadair. First of all, the duchess. Her excuse for not meeting with the woman centered around the upcoming ball. She was simply too occupied with the details. She didn’t have time to spare. That’s the excuse she gave every maid and every footman Rhona sent looking for her.
Although it was more work for the staff, she took breakfast in her sitting room every morning. Nor did she return to Bealadair for lunch, instead taking some cheese and bread with her as she made her rounds. She would much rather sit in a stable stall and have a solitary lunch than be forced to face the duchess or the rest of the McCraight family.
She even stayed away from her suite until she was certain the duchess had retired for the night.
As far as Connor? She was avoiding His Grace at every possible occasion. The closest she’d come to seeing him was when she’d met with Mr. Kirby to tell him that neither Hamish nor his men had been near Castle McCraight on the day of the shooting.
“Do you believe him?” he’d asked.
“He’s a very reputable man,” she’d said. “Most of the people at Bealadair are.”
“Someone isn’t.”
That comment lingered between them. He was right. Someone at Bealadair, or on Bealadair land, had tried to kill Connor.
She knew he’d gone into the village to make inquiries, but hadn’t turned up any information. He had promised her to be as tactful as he could be and not antagonize the villagers.
“I’ll be on my best behavior.”
She’d slipped out of the housekeeper’s office next to the kitchen only to almost encounter Connor. He was talking with Addy and had his back to her. She shook her head when Addy saw her, and dropped back into the scullery, leaving by the rear door.
One of these days she was going to have to face him. Hopefully, by that time, her embarrassment would have faded somewhat.
“Connor wants to know if you have the key for the desk in the library.”
She turned to find Mr. Kirby standing there, smiling at her. He was certainly a genial man, and if she hadn’t seen his expression at Connor’s bedside, she would have never suspected that there were several layers to Mr. Kirby.
“The main library or the duke’s library?” she asked, turning back to watch as they raised one of the chandeliers in the ballroom. It was a delicate operation, but the footmen assigned to the task had done it twice before and were as skilled as anyone at Bealadair.
The massive chandeliers were quite heavy and the pulleys to raise and lower them were not operated more than once a year. This particular chandelier’s pulley was slightly rusted, a minor detail, but one that concerned her. Why had it rusted? Was there a leak somewhere that she hadn’t been able to detect?
Finally, they tied off the chain, replacing the panel in the wall that hid the mechanism from sight.
“I believe it’s the one in the main library,” he said.
She nodded and pulled out the ring of keys from her pocket. Selecting a small brass key, she pulled it free and handed it to Mr. Kirby, but he had already begun to walk away.
“Just see that Connor gets it, will you?” he said over his shoulder.
She would’ve gone after him except for the fact that the duchess was entering the ballroom. There were a few other exits and she headed to the nearest one, hoping that Rhona hadn’t seen her. She wasn’t fooling anyone. Everyone on the staff knew she was avoiding the duchess, and more than one footman and maid had actively assisted her.
She’d already spoken to Mr. Glassey and had gotten the name of an attorney who would help her find a place to live. She would meet with him in a few days, staying at the McCraight home while she made her inquiries. Until then, she was going to avoid as many people as she could.
She stared down at the key on her palm, deciding that she’d send a maid with it. She didn’t need to see Connor. After all, she’d managed to go a week without being in his company.
True, it had felt as if he could become a friend, but that had just been foolishness on her part. He was the new Duke of Lothian, however much he may despise the title and the role. He was Gavin’s heir.
Never mind that he’d kissed her.
This afternoon, he and Felix would have their match. Was he feeling up to it? How was his shoulder? She hadn’t asked anyone about his health for fear she would be misunderstood. She didn’t want anyone to think that her concern was personal. Of course it wasn’t.
She motioned to one of the maids.
“Abigail, take this key to His Grace, if you will.”
The maid nodded. “Where, Miss Elsbeth?”
She’d forgotten to ask. “I think he’s in the main library,” she said. “If he isn’t there, come and get me. I’ll be with Mrs. Ferguson.”
Abigail nodded again and did a cute little bobbing motion that was an abbreviated curtsy. Nobody curtsied to Mrs. Ferguson, but then she was a genuine housekeeper and not half family, half foundling.
According to Addy and Betty, with whom Connor spent breakfast every morning, Bealadair had its share of ghosts. The first was one of his ancestors, an angry ghost attired in a kilt and always heard with the skirl of bagpipes.
“You’ll be able to hear them at the Welcoming of the Laird, Your Grace,” Addy told him.
Both Addy and Betty refused to call him Connor and he’d stopped asking. In addition, it looked like the ball was going to happen despite his wishes. He was going to have to attend.
Would Elsbeth be there?
“The piper shows up when a McCraight . . .” Addy’s words trailed off.
Betty interjected with the rest of the story. “When someone dies, Your Grace.”
“Did you hear him when my uncle died?” he asked.
The two women had looked at each other.
“I’m sure he was heard, Your Grace,” Addy finally said. “He’s always heard.”
A great many things about Scotland, he was discovering, were rooted in lore. It’s because his ancestors, people he’d never before considered, had lived and breathed and dreamed in this house or Castle McCraight for five hundred years.
Texas, in comparison, was almost raw and new. Not much was older than a hundred years, unless you counted the missions dotting the land.
The second ghost was an older one, a haunt from the original Castle McCraight. This ghost, the White Lady, according to Addy, was sent to a McCraight as a warning of danger.
Elsbeth might be a ghost as well.
She’d disappeared after her startling announcement that one morning and he hadn’t seen her since.
Every morning he’d come to the kitchen, expecting her to be there. She wasn’t. Addy had apologized to him, stating that Elsbeth had wanted a tray in her room. He hadn’t said anything further, not that morning or the next, or for the past damn week.
She couldn’t say something like that, and then vanish as if her words hadn’t meant anything.
Seduce him? She was supposed to seduce him?
He’d almost gone to his aunt and demanded to know what was going on, but he’d stopped himself at the last moment. Of the two
women, he trusted Elsbeth more than the duchess, a fact he didn’t examine too deeply. He wouldn’t have been surprised if Rhona had suggested the ploy to Elsbeth.
Have you ever heard anything more ridiculous?
He’d been so startled that he’d told her the truth: no, he didn’t think it was ridiculous at all. It might well have worked, too. At least he hadn’t said that.
Didn’t she realize how beautiful she was? Or that he thought she was one of the most fascinating women he’d ever met? She played with puppies and inspected cattle, handled domestic crises and lectured him on history, all with the same grace.
He could see himself being with her, images that had warmed him ever since that morning.
Why was she avoiding him?
Had he misinterpreted her question? Had the idea of being with him appalled her? Was that why she’d been a living ghost of Bealadair?
He wasn’t going to chase after a woman who evidently didn’t want to be around him. If he visited Daniel to inquire after the Scottish collies, that’s just because he wanted to go. If he’d gone to the stables at least twice a day, it wasn’t to catch sight of her on her mare, but merely to ask a few questions of the stablemaster. Nor was he acquainting himself with the whole of Bealadair, sprawling as it was, to catch sight of her.
He’d drawn Elsbeth and he rarely drew portraits. When he sketched something, it was to explain it to another person who hadn’t been able to see it, or to remind himself of something that needed to be done. Yet he found himself capturing her smile of delight, her annoyed frown, and the look on her face as she patted the flank of one of the cows.
He was an idiot. He had a hundred other things he could be doing rather than think about a woman who was so obviously avoiding him.
Elsbeth worked as hard as the most diligent servant. He heard her name constantly throughout the day, since she seemed to be the source of all knowledge about Bealadair from the old wing to the original castle.
He missed her, and that both annoyed and concerned him. He’d spent too much time thinking about a woman he barely knew. But she really couldn’t mention seduction, and then disappear for days.
