The Scottish Duke Page 21
“He has brown eyes,” he said. “They were blue when he was born.”
“They sometimes change like that. He’s got Lorna’s eyes, but, begging your pardon, Your Grace, the rest of him is just like his daddy.”
“He has dimples.”
Nan only smiled at him.
His son looked up at him as if he were saying, And what have you been doing, gone all this time?
He hadn’t been around infants often, but it seemed to him that his son, even at this tender age, was advanced. Surely no other infant could gaze out at the world with such an intent gaze or have such intelligence shining through his eyes.
Robbie gripped his finger, and it was as if the baby held onto his heart instead.
He’d never before felt what he did now. He would do anything for Robbie, would move mountains to ensure his safety, would hire anyone to teach him what he needed to know about life.
Why the hell had he stayed away for so long?
“Where is Lorna?” he asked, glancing at Nan.
She looked away, a sign that she was probably going to lie to him. But either he’d misjudged her or she changed her mind, because she turned back, stared straight at him, and answered.
“She’s gone to the cottage, Your Grace. She can’t be away from Robbie all that long, however, so she should be back soon.”
“Why the cottage?”
“She still goes there to make her cures. It’s a good place to keep all her bottles and herbs.”
The baby gurgled at him, and when he bent his head to kiss his son on the cheek, Robbie struck him on the nose with his fist.
There was the off chance that his mother would do exactly the same.
He tucked Robbie into the cradle, folding the blanket at his waist.
Nan had put down her mending and watched him with Robbie. Now she picked up the garment and occupied herself with the next stitch.
Something Matthews had said in Edinburgh jogged Alex’s memory.
“Has the seamstress been to see her? I’ve given orders that Lorna’s to have a new wardrobe.”
Nan glanced to the left then the right before looking straight at him.
“Has she refused it?” he asked.
“Not refused, exactly, Your Grace, but she and the seamstress had different thoughts about the matter.”
Nan bit off a thread and gave a seam intense scrutiny.
“Tell me,” he said.
She looked at him, then back at the dress.
“Well, Your Grace, the seamstress seemed to think that a great many ruffles and flounces were called for, with wide hoops and trailing sleeves. Lorna was having nothing of it.”
“So she’s had nothing made?”
“Well, she has, Your Grace, but not from the seamstress. They were both at the knag and the widdie. The seamstress was all for making Lorna into something she’s not, and Lorna wasn’t bending an inch.” She sighed. “Even your mother got involved, but neither was budging. I think the whole thing started because of Miss Taylor, myself.”
“What did she do?”
Robbie snuffled a little. He glanced down to find his son grimacing in his sleep. Was that Robbie’s opinion of Mary? If so, his son had already developed great taste.
“She told the seamstress that Lorna looked the part of a servant and that her wardrobe was ‘trittle trattle.’ ”
“I don’t suppose Lorna appreciated her clothes being called rubbish,” he said, wishing he’d come home sooner.
Staying away had accomplished nothing more than to make him miserable. It certainly hadn’t eased tensions in his home.
“According to the seamstress, Your Grace, Lorna was a fool to nurse Robbie. It ruined her bosom and made her appear coarse in anything she wore.”
“She said that?” He was beginning to dislike the seamstress as much as Nan evidently did.
She nodded vehemently. “Then she kept saying how Miss Taylor had a sense of style and so did the former duchess, if you’ll pardon me for bringing her up. But Lorna didn’t because she’d evidently never dressed as anything but a maid.”
“Did she?”
“Of course, Miss Taylor heard all these comments and couldn’t wait to pass them around, which got back to Lorna, of course. She told the seamstress that she didn’t see why you should have to pay for her being insulted and she dismissed the woman.”
“Then what happened?”
She left the dress in her lap and smiled at him, a charming gap-toothed smile that had him smiling back.
“Well, Your Grace, there’s a girl on staff named Hortense. She’s the one who helped Lorna with the gown she wore to the fancy dress ball. She’s not a very good maid, but Mrs. McDermott puts her to work in places where she can’t break anything. She cleans the baths or helps the scullery maids. She isn’t allowed in the parlors or the sitting rooms.”
“And she’s the one who’s sewing Lorna’s gowns?” he asked, bemused.
“Oh, yes, Your Grace. Lorna asked Mrs. McDermott if Hortense could be her seamstress. Hortense loves sewing and is beyond pleased to get this chance. She’s been working on Lorna’s wardrobe ever since.”
There’d been a whole world beneath his nose and he’d never noticed. First, Lorna. How the hell had he missed her? Then Nan, who was as voluble a creature as he’d ever met. When had she ever been silent? Now Hortense, who broke things.
He’d learned more about the inner workings of Blackhall in the last few months than he’d known all his life.
He stood. “You think Lorna’s at the cottage, then?”
She nodded.
He left the castle, heading for the cottage, fighting the wind as he walked. A gust hinted at the recently departed winter. He only pulled up the collar of his jacket and continued on.
The sight of the cottage around the curve of the road made him quicken his pace. No smoke was visible from the chimney. Nothing moved in the windows. The building seemed empty, almost bereft without an occupant.
Where was Lorna?
He didn’t allow the sinking feeling in his chest to stop him, but continued to the front door. He pushed in the latch and entered, feeling the chill seep around him. At least here he didn’t have to battle the wind.
“Lorna?”
The cottage was empty, the rooms so silent that when she answered him he was surprised.
“I’m in here.”
Her voice didn’t sound right. When he entered the bedroom he knew why.
Her face was streaked with tears.
Striding across the room, he took her into his arms, wrapping them around her tightly.
Her black cloak was nearly threadbare, not enough protection for the chilly spring wind. The hood had fallen, leaving her hair loosened from its bun and framing her face. Her nose was pink and her eyes red-rimmed.
He hadn’t imagined a homecoming like this. Was she crying because he’d returned or because he’d stayed away so long?
She burrowed her forehead against his chest, her words muffled against his jacket.
“What is it, Lorna?”
She raised her head. “That,” she said.
For the first time, he noticed the destruction. Several of the bottles had been broken, shards littering the table. Most of the herbs had been tossed to the stone floor. Even the mortar and pestle had been damaged. The cracks in the surface of the pestle looked as if it had been thrown.
Someone had done the damage deliberately. The only question was: who?
She didn’t move, merely pressed her cheek against his chest. He hadn’t been able to stand so close to her for months, had never before felt her tremble lightly in his arms.
“Are you cold?”
“Not now,” she said, the words muffled.
“I’ll find out who did this.”
When he first held Robbie, he felt a surge of love, coupled with the need to protect his precious child. The emotion came back to him now in a way that was startling.
Lorna was resolute, independent,
and determined to fight the world single-handedly. He’d never considered that she might need him. Nor had he ever anticipated that he would feel this way when she did. He wanted to shield her from the world. He wanted to defend her against anyone who had the audacity to challenge her. He wanted to soothe her, dry her tears, and take away the reason for them. He wanted to ease her heart and smooth her path.
He wanted to do these things not from a sense of duty, but to please her.
They were united in a single purpose: to rear their son and give Robbie the best life they could. But as he held her within the shelter of his arms, Alex also wondered if they might share something else. The need to feel whole, to trust, and to give and receive comfort.
She glanced up at him, her nose pink from crying, her brown eyes deep with tears.
“It’s all right,” he said. “I’ll make it right.”
What she would’ve said next was lost because he bent his head and touched her lips gently with his. He hadn’t meant to kiss her, but the memory was always there in the back of his mind. Perhaps time had exaggerated the sensation of kissing Lorna. The experience had been blown out of proportion.
Now he surrendered to temptation.
He tilted his head slightly to deepen the kiss. She made a sound in the back of her throat. When he would have pulled away, she reached up and grabbed his jacket, pulling him to her.
No, it wasn’t his imagination. Nor had he exaggerated anything. She opened her mouth beneath his, their tongues dueling. Lights danced behind his eyelids. Desire surged through him, heating his extremities, hardening him and reminding him how long he’d been celibate.
He wanted to taste her everywhere, find that spot at her neck that had made her moan so long ago. Or place a kiss at the base of her throat. Or whisper things he wanted to do to her and hear her shocked gasps.
Breathing hard, he forced himself to step back. Would she know how aroused he was?
She blinked up at him, stretching out her hands to touch his chest.
“I’m not cold now,” she said.
He smiled down into her upturned face. “That’s why I kissed you, of course.”
“Of course,” she said. “A very kind gesture. Thank you.”
They smiled at each other, the first time they’d ever been in perfect accord. No, that wasn’t true, was it? After Robbie’s birth they’d sat together, watching as their child slept. The night had been silent, the atmosphere almost magical. Not unlike this moment in an empty cottage.
“I’ve wanted to do that for months,” he said, feeling the need to tell her the truth.
“I’ve wanted you to.”
What the hell did he say to that?
“I’ll find out who did this.”
“It doesn’t matter,” she said.
“Of course it does.”
She shook her head. “Some of the herbs were difficult to find. Some of them were specimens I’ve had for a few years. They would be hard to replace. So it doesn’t matter if you find out who did this. The damage has already been done.”
“Someone did this to hurt you and I’m not going to tolerate it.”
Her eyes widened.
“Because I’m the Duchess of Kinross.”
He managed to hold onto his temper. “No, because you’re Lorna. You shouldn’t be punished for being the Duchess of Kinross.”
“Why not? You’ve done a good job of it. A most excellent job, as a matter of fact.”
She swiped at her hair, made a face, and then used both hands to arrange it into a bun. Her hair finally done, she frowned up at him.
“What are you doing here?”
“I live here,” he said.
“Not for nearly half a year.”
“It wasn’t that long.”
She gave him a look that felt like it scorched.
“Very well, it was too long.”
“Did you address the society?”
“Yes.”
“Did it really take all that time?”
He’d never had the need to explain himself. But, then, he hadn’t often done something as egregious as his recent behavior. She was absolutely right. He’d given her every reason to be angry. How did he tell her the truth?
“Were you seeing a woman?”
“What?”
Of all the questions she could have asked him, that one was the least expected.
“Mary said you had a mistress.”
“Mary talks too damn much.”
“Do you?”
“Have a mistress?” He speared one hand through his hair. “Does it matter?”
“Yes, I find it matters very much.”
“I did once,” he said. “She found someone new.”
“Did you see her when you were gone?”
“No, I didn’t see her. Or any other woman, for that matter. Jason and I managed to concentrate on our work without any female interference.”
“Even after all that time?”
Did she really believe that he would be interested in anyone after her?
“Even after all that time.”
She shook her head as if reprimanding him.
“I was taking fingerprints,” he said, feeling the need to explain. “I needed the time.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“Are you trying to dictate my work, Lorna?”
“No, I’m trying to get you to be honest. You regret our marriage, the necessity of our marriage. You might even regret Robbie for all I know. You left to go and nurse your wounds. Or escape me.”
He was embarrassed, feeling vulnerable, confused about his emotions, and wanting to kiss her again. The perfect time for an argument.
“I had work to do,” he said.
She only sent him a look.
He decided that he wasn’t going to win that argument so he changed the subject.
“I’m coming back here with my fingerprint kit,” he said, scanning the room.
Her frown was question enough.
“There might be some fingerprints on the glass.”
“Do you think you can find out who did this?”
“There’s a good chance,” he said.
“I’d like to come with you,” she said, “but I have to feed Robbie first.”
“Then we’ll attend to our son before coming back here.”
He held her hand as they left the cottage. He wanted the connection with her. He wanted to kiss her again, but for now he’d settle for her hand in his.
The walk back to Blackhall was made in silence. He doubted they’d be able to hear each other over the wind anyway, even if he could find something to say.
He was beset by confusion, by the realization that he’d erred, and badly. He shouldn’t have remained away.
Once back at the castle, he followed Lorna up to the ducal suite.
“Has he been fussy?” she asked.
Matthews appeared in the doorway to the sitting room. The valet stared at Lorna, his face a mask of stiff disapproval. He only altered his expression when he realized Alex was watching him. Bowing slightly, he disappeared.
“Only in the last few minutes,” Nan said with a smile. “Almost as if he knew you were coming.”
“Go and have your tea.”
“Are you sure?” Nan asked, glancing toward the dressing room. “Matthews is here.”
“What does that mean?” Alex asked.
She turned to him. “He hasn’t been the most pleasant person to Lorna, Your Grace. Her first day here he made it clear he was an enemy, not a friend. Now that he’s back I’m sure he’ll find a way to insult her again.”
“I’m here,” he said, feeling an odd need to prove his loyalty was at least the equal of Nan’s. “I won’t tolerate his bad behavior. Has anyone else at Blackhall been rude?”
“You have, Your Grace.”
That certainly put him in his place.
He didn’t know how to define the emotion washing over him. Was it shame? Surely not. He hadn’t done anything f
or which to be ashamed. Surely there was another bridegroom who’d deserted his bride the day after she’d given birth?
She stared straight at him, as if defying him to discipline her.
He’d never been chastised by a maid. No, that was wrong, wasn’t it? Lorna had done the same. What kind of punishment could he mete out to her now for telling the truth? Or for being so loyal to Lorna?
The women in his life were rendering him speechless. At least his child was a boy. He looked forward to having reasonable and rational conversations with his son in the future.
“I’m here now,” he said. “I have no intention of leaving again.”
Nan looked at him as if she didn’t believe him. Words wouldn’t matter right now, would they? What counted were his actions.
She nodded, once, then left the room.
“Why didn’t you tell me about Matthews?” he asked when Nan was gone and Lorna was settled in the overstuffed chair.
“What was I supposed to do, Alex? Whine that your valet hasn’t been nice to me? You’ve known him a great deal longer than you’ve known me.”
He was trying to wrap his head around that statement when she unbuttoned her dark blue dress, revealing a shift that was devised to separate in the middle.
“You aren’t wearing a corset,” he said.
“No.” That was all. No explanation. No embarrassment.
He’d thought her natural before, but now she’d acquired a smooth competence in nursing their son. She smiled down at Robbie, her left arm cradling him, her right hand gently guiding him to her breast.
She ignored his presence, the two of them a complete unit that didn’t require an outsider—him.
It had never occurred to him that he’d ever feel unwanted at Blackhall. The castle was his home, his heritage. He knew every nook and cranny, had played as a boy in every unused room. He’d explored the attic and the dungeon, knew the secret of the revolving bookcase in the library, had even carved his initials on the keystone of the gate. Yet ever since he’d walked in the door, he felt the aura of disapproval, as if the bricks were turning their backs on him.
He’d made a mistake, a bad one, and he was going to have to pay the price for it. How his punishment would be meted out, he wasn’t sure, but he was certain it would come.