The Scottish Duke Page 22

He had to do something about Matthews and any other servant who’d seen his departure as reason enough to make Lorna’s life miserable. But he couldn’t expect them to treat Lorna with respect if he hadn’t.

  She put Robbie to the other breast, remaining silent, increasing his discomfort. He wasn’t familiar with this feeling, but it was one he’d experienced with her from the beginning. She kept him off balance, did things he didn’t expect, and acted in ways he couldn’t possibly anticipate.

  He’d never met a woman like her.

  “What else has happened since I’ve been gone?”

  “Nothing,” she said. A note in her voice bothered him.

  “Nothing?”

  “Not one thing, Alex, that would interest you. Robbie learned to sleep the night, your mother and I’ve become friends, Nan has become a genius at removing stains from my clothes, and the days have been very pleasant.”

  “Perhaps I should leave again, then,” he said.

  To his surprise, she took his words seriously.

  “Who am I to tell a duke how to behave?”

  “A duchess. That’s who you are.”

  “I haven’t the slightest idea how to be a duchess,” she said. “I wasn’t trained in my role as you were. I don’t know how to be a wife, either. You have the advantage on me since you were a husband before.”

  She smiled at him, and he had the thought that she’d watched Matthews too closely. They’d both mastered the art of looking pleasant while wishing him to perdition.

  Chapter 24

  He left Lorna and made his way to his office, where Jason had moved all their new files. His assistant had placed his kit and the box containing Lorna’s present on his desk. He stared at the box and wondered if he’d been a fool to have been so preoccupied with finding the perfect gift for her.

  The four drawers of the walnut box contained a selection of watercolors, brushes, and other tools he’d been assured were sought after by artists. He’d found it after an entire week spent going from one shop to another.

  She’d probably refuse it.

  Lorna had confronted him before when she was angry, but she’d acquired something between that first occasion and now. Maybe it was confidence, because she hadn’t looked the least bit uncertain as she sat there spearing him with words while nursing their child.

  The damnable thing was that he deserved everything she threw at him. And probably more.

  A few minutes later he and Jason walked down to the cottage.

  “We’ve had mixed success with fingerprints on glass, Your Grace,” Jason said when he surveyed the scene of destruction.

  “Let’s hope our luck changes.”

  They carefully collected shards of glass with tweezers, dusting any potential area with soot he’d put through a filter. By the end of the hour they’d found three good specimens he would try to match. Using cotton cloth coated in an adhesive, they managed to lift the prints from the glass.

  Once back in his office, Alex placed the cloth sections on his desk, arranging the cards from the residents of Blackhall, servants and family alike, in a pile nearby.

  “You didn’t wait for me.”

  He glanced up to see Lorna standing at the door. She’d changed her dress, but it wasn’t much of an improvement. This one, too, reminded him of her servant’s uniform, a dark blue garment with white cuffs and collar.

  “When is Hortense going to finish your wardrobe?” he asked.

  “You know about her?”

  “Nan told me. And the whole story of the seamstress and Mary.”

  She sighed. “It was a bit of nonsense,” she said. “Hortense is ready to do the final fittings sometime this week. Now tell me why you went to the cottage without me.”

  “In light of our recent discussion, I thought it best to absent myself from your presence.”

  “You sound pretentious when you’re annoyed.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Just like that,” she said, entering the room. “Are you annoyed?”

  “No. Yes. Perhaps.”

  She took the chair next to his desk and without asking permission, picked up the first of the cards in the pile.

  “Mrs. McDermott?”

  “I’m beginning with the household staff.”

  “She wouldn’t have done anything. Why are you annoyed?”

  She was like a terrier. Once she had her teeth on a subject, she didn’t give it up easily. Since he was the same way, he identified the trait easily enough.

  “You annoyed me.” He studied her for a moment. “Why do you look so surprised?”

  “I wasn’t the one who remained away for so long. Why do you have the right to be annoyed? Because you’re a duke?”

  “Now that question is annoying.”

  She selected the next card. “Mine?”

  “I have to rule you out,” he said. “Some of the prints I’ve taken could be yours.”

  She nodded. “Mary was adamant that you’d left me for another woman. That you’d left because you were hideously embarrassed that I’d been a servant. And that you remained away because you only married me to keep Robbie from being a bastard and regretted the decision.”

  He was going to have to do something about Mary, too.

  “You should try to avoid her.”

  Lorna’s laughter brightened the room.

  “I do try to avoid her, Alex. You, yourself, should know how nearly impossible that is.”

  “Then you shouldn’t listen to her.”

  “If you hear a lie often enough, Alex, you begin to wonder if it’s the truth.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said. The apology startled him, but once he began, he continued. “I shouldn’t have remained away. Once my business with the society was concluded, I should have come home.”

  “What was your business with them?”

  He wasn’t accustomed to sharing the details of his life with others, but he found it surprisingly easy to do with Lorna. She listened to him explain his treatise and why he thought someone had stolen his ideas.

  “My father had just published a book when he encountered another botanist with the same subject matter,” she said. “He said it happened often in science that more than one person has the same idea at the same time. Couldn’t it be that way with your discovery of fingerprints?”

  “The society will have to make that conclusion. I’ve done what I can.”

  She tilted her head and regarded him. “Is it all that important that you’re the first? Wouldn’t it be just as valuable if you could add to the science?”

  He considered the matter.

  “Yes, it’s important to be the first,” he said.

  “Why?”

  “Because it’s mine.”

  When she didn’t say anything, he bent down and retrieved the box he’d put beside his desk.

  “I got this for you,” he said.

  She frowned at him, but she took the gift, placing it on the top of the desk beside her. It took her only seconds to open it, revealing the walnut artist’s box with its gold fastenings and four drawers.

  When she opened the top, she didn’t say anything, but her eyes widened. She remained speechless as her fingers danced along the sable brushes. One by one she removed the pots of watercolors, opened the top of each and examined the paints.

  Still, she didn’t speak.

  This was not the first gift he’d ever given a woman. He once had an arrangement with an Edinburgh jeweler where the man reminded him of birthdays and anniversaries.

  Perhaps he should have brought her something sparkly. Evidently this humble artist’s box didn’t impress her.

  “You said you lost yours in your travels. I thought I’d replace it. You don’t have to accept it, of course. I’ll have it returned to the shop.”

  He reached out to take the box from her.

  “No,” she said. “No.”

  He waited, but she didn’t say anything further, merely stroked her fingers over the fittings, opene
d and closed the drawers, took out the charcoal pencils and studied each one with great care.

  “You heard,” she said. Her gaze lifted to his. “You heard me tell you about my box.”

  “Of course I did.”

  “A great many people don’t listen when you talk to them. You did.”

  He didn’t know what she wanted him to say. Why wouldn’t he listen to her?

  “There’s even a princely purple,” she said, looking at the paints again. “Your color.”

  “My color?”

  “Ever since I was a little girl, I’ve seen people as colors. Your mother, for example, is a delicate pink, almost like the Russell rose. Nan is a bright yellow. Reverend McGill was orange, almost the color of flames. Mrs. McDermott is a warm, fluffy gray. Matthews—” She abruptly stopped.

  “What is Matthews?” he asked, curious.

  “A yellowish green,” she said after a moment. “Almost a sickly color.”

  “And I’m purple?”

  She glanced at him and smiled. “A dark purple that’s almost blue. As I said, a very princely purple.”

  He didn’t know what to say, but she wasn’t finished.

  “You couldn’t have given me a better gift, Alex. Thank you.”

  The quaver in her voice made him think of tears, but her lips curved into a charming smile, one that made him stand, bend down, and kiss her.

  His mouth touched hers gently, lingering for a moment, simply experiencing. Her lips were soft, warm, and welcoming, encouraging the desire that surged through him.

  The sensation that followed was disturbing. Not the lust that he anticipated, or the wish that he could take her to his bed, which he was thinking whenever he was in her presence. No, this need was new, different, and more than a little startling.

  He found himself wanting to confide in her, to ask her opinion, to tell her his secrets. He’d never before felt compelled to do that with anyone.

  He finally sat again, his attention on his pen, straightening his blotter, and rearranging the inkwell in the exact center of his desk.

  “Thank you,” she said again, reaching out and placing her hand on his wrist.

  He felt her touch through the cloth. Glancing over at her, he wanted to tell her how she made him feel. Young, perhaps. Certainly untried. He wasn’t Alexander Brian Russell, ninth Duke of Kinross, around her. He was only Alex.

  “I remember when you took my fingerprints here,” she said, glancing around his office. “It was a Tuesday and you were wearing a blue shirt with one of your black suits. This one had silver buttons. You’d cut yourself shaving and you had a small plaster on the side of your chin.” She smiled at him. “Do you shave yourself or does Matthews do it for you?”

  Had she always had that mischievous twinkle in her eyes? Her face had thinned, the angle of her jaw somehow arresting. She was, if anything, more beautiful for having given birth. Her hair had acquired a luster that made him want to study it in the sunlight, see how many strands were gold, how many brown.

  He stared at her for so long that he almost forgot the question.

  “Matthews,” he finally said.

  She nodded. “I thought as much. That’s what he said, although I’ve learned to take only about a third of what he says as gospel.”

  “Matthews told you?” he asked, surprised.

  “Not me. The staff. He tells everyone about all his many duties. He fusses a lot about your clothes, how you abhor stains and won’t wear a shirt if the cuffs are frayed. He has to order a great many shirts for you, I understand, unless that’s another exaggeration.”

  He sounded like a peacock, a Beau Brummell of the Scottish Highlands.

  “What else did he tell you?”

  “You like a certain brand of English perfume. Well, not perfume, exactly, but cologne for men. He doesn’t care for it, himself, but he concedes that it’s your choice, after all.”

  “Does he?”

  “Abby says that there’s an expression in her village about a man like Matthews: he thinks he’s big, but a wee coat fits him.”

  “That sounds like Matthews,” he said. He never realized that the man was telling people things he’d rather not share with everyone.

  At his look, she smiled. “You have to understand, Alex, that even your brand of cologne is of interest to the staff. They’re fascinated about you. A sighting is enough to keep one of the maids tittering for hours.”

  He sat back in his chair and regarded her.

  “Did you titter?”

  “I imagine I did, but not as much as Mary.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  Her smile deepened. “Oh, come now, Alex. Don’t pretend you don’t know.”

  “Know what?”

  “Even the staff knows that Mary adores you.”

  “She’s my sister-in-law.”

  “Who would like to be more,” she said.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Haven’t you ever seen the way she looks at you? Or follows you with her eyes? She nearly salivates. She’s madly in love with you.”

  He’d never blushed in his life, but he found himself extremely uncomfortable.

  “I think you’ve misjudged the situation. I think of Mary as a sister, nothing more.”

  She shook her head. “Then you should pay more attention, Alex. Why do you think she’s so hateful? Even your mother understands that Mary is jealous.”

  She glanced at him, all warm brown eyes and fascinating mouth. He really wanted this conversation to be over. He wanted her gone. He needed her gone.

  He knew, suddenly, why he’d stayed away for so long. Not to do his work, although that sufficed as an excuse. His surprising wife posed a threat to his peace of mind, if not his way of life. She made him feel too much. All sorts of emotions were knocking on his door, emotions he’d been able to control before Lorna came into his life. The threat was there that he would feel even more.

  She was going to make him suffer. He knew it.

  What was it his mother had said? He had a choice, to live in the gloaming or move into the daylight. He’d stayed in the shadows so long, he wondered if he could make the change.

  Did he even want to?

  The answer to that startled him.

  With all his heart.

  Chapter 25

  Lorna stood and made her way to the dressing room door. She’d heard voices there earlier but nothing for a half hour or so. She sincerely hoped that meant Matthews had left. She didn’t want a witness to her possible humiliation.

  Slowly, she grabbed the door latch and pushed in. The room was dark, enough that she couldn’t see a shape on the cot. Was he there?

  “Alex? Are you asleep?”

  “No,” he answered.

  “You don’t have to sleep in here,” she said. “I can’t imagine that cot is comfortable.”

  “It’s not.”

  “Come and sleep in your bed.”

  “I don’t want to disturb you.”

  She couldn’t help but laugh at that. “Robbie will be up in a few hours. You’re the one who’ll be disturbed. But until then you’ll be able to sleep on a real mattress.”

  Without waiting for his answer, she turned and walked back into the bedroom. If he followed her, well and good. If not, there was nothing more she could do tonight.

  He stood in the doorway attired in a long dark blue dressing gown.

  “I don’t sleep in a nightshirt,” he said. “I detest the things.”

  “Oh.”

  What on earth did she say to that? He’d be naked. Now was the time to tell him to turn around and go back to the dressing room. Instead, she remained silent, watching as he walked toward the bed and stood on the other side. His gaze hadn’t left her face.

  She removed her wrapper and stood there in her nightgown.

  “We’ve never shared a bed,” he said.

  “No.”

  “Only a settee.”

  “Not even that,” she said, a smile blossoming
on her lips. “I believe Mrs. McDermott calls it a fainting couch.”

  “Damned uncomfortable thing.”

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t snore. Do you?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “I don’t think so, but I might.”

  “I’ll endeavor to ignore it if you do.”

  “How do you know you don’t snore?” she asked, mounting the steps and climbing into the bed. “Have you been told you don’t by other women?”

  “Matthews,” he said.

  She wasn’t sure she believed that, but she didn’t press the point.

  Robbie made a sound in his cradle.

  “We shouldn’t talk,” Alex whispered.

  “Nonsense,” she said in a normal tone. “He has to learn to sleep through anything. Either that or the first time there’s a storm he’ll be terrified.”

  “How did you get to be so wise?”

  She laughed, charmed by the question. He began to undo the belt of his robe and she deliberately glanced away.

  “I’m not wise,” she said. “I do have uncommon common sense, at least that’s what my father said. Nan thinks otherwise, however.”

  “Here we are, brought down by the staff.”

  She turned to see him sliding into bed, bare-chested. The last time she’d seen him naked he’d been draped in shadows. Now the lamp on the bedside table revealed his muscled arms and the light dusting of black hair on his chest.

  She wished she hadn’t averted her eyes. She should have seen him completely naked.

  “Is this your way of thanking me for the box?” he asked, reaching over to extinguish the lamp.

  “No, Alex, it’s not a way to thank you for the box.”

  “Why do you sound so annoyed?”

  “Not everything has a price.”

  “I didn’t mean it that way,” he said.

  “I’ll move to another room in the morning. I think that would be best.”

  She slid down beneath the covers, rearranged her pillow, and tried to think of anything other than the fact he was so close.

  “Did you and Ruth sleep together?” she asked.

  “No, but this marriage is nothing like that one. Stop trying to find similarities between them.”

  Well, that certainly put her in her place, didn’t it?