The Texan Duke Read online

  Even going to war hadn’t changed him as much as coming to Scotland.

  It was like a giant mystery box labeled Life had been opened and he was finding things that he hadn’t expected. First of all, his father being a twin. Secondly, himself.

  He wasn’t behaving right.

  He had just seduced a proper woman on the floor of the library. And then, as if that weren’t enough, he’d gotten into an argument with her when it was over.

  Loving Elsbeth was like nothing he’d ever done. His body urged completion, but his mind wanted to slow the minutes, elongate them until hours had passed.

  The interlude in her bedroom and this afternoon in the library would always come back to him. He would never be able to forget the feel of her, her skin soft against his fingertips. The sweet curve of her buttocks, her small waist and large breasts.

  He moved to sit at the desk his uncle had used every day, thumbing through his notebook for pictures of Elsbeth that he’d drawn, seeing details he got right and things he’d gotten wrong. Her nose wasn’t that upturned at the end. Her smile was broader, her jawline more sharply defined. And her hair, thick and black and glorious, tumbled over her shoulders when he’d released it.

  He sat in the silence, the only sound that of the fire burning itself out. Some of Bealadair’s fires were fueled by coal. The one in the library took wood and was large enough for the trunk of a good-sized tree.

  How the hell did he return to himself? He needed to get home. He needed to see the back of Scotland as quick as he could.

  How the hell was he ever going to forget her?

  His father had turned his back on his country and all for a woman. Had he been a wise man for doing so or a foolish one? Connor had always admired his father, but in this instance he wasn’t willing to emulate him.

  Elsbeth was like no other woman he’d ever met. She was smart and kind, beautiful and funny. She cared deeply for people and was responsible to a fault. He loved her accent and her gorgeous gray eyes that lured him like fog and heated him like smoke.

  Around her, he’d acted the idiot. He forgot that he was responsible for over two million acres, hundreds of men and their families—not to mention his own—and thousands of heads of cattle.

  Instead, he’d totally and completely lost his mind.

  Every time he looked at her, he saw Texas—the freedom and the vitality of it. The newness of it next to an ancient land like Scotland. Elsbeth did what she wanted. She acted independently. She was fierce and brave and stubborn.

  He supposed there was something good about history and about people who came before, who knew so much and hopefully passed it down to their descendants. But there was also something good about being raw and new and young and maybe untrained.

  His best lessons had come from his worst mistakes. He’d been given the freedom to fail, and he’d caused some spectacular fiascos. He hadn’t been tamped down, pressed into some kind of mold, made to wear a certain kind of suit and act in a certain way. He yelled when he was happy. He shouted when he was angry. He was Texas and so was she.

  She just didn’t know it yet.

  An idea had been niggling at him, one that would solve Elsbeth’s worries and make his own situation easier. The longer he sat there, the better it sounded. He stood, tucked the notebook back into his vest pocket, and made his way from the room, sending one last glance toward the carpet in front of the fire.

  Chapter 33

  Nothing got better for Elsbeth as the day wore on.

  The ballroom floor, unfortunately right in the middle of the dancing area, was scuffed so badly that it could not be polished to a shine. If they had had enough time, Elsbeth would have requested that this part of the flooring be replaced.

  When she questioned those responsible for cleaning and waxing the floor, she got a few shamefaced expressions in return. Evidently someone had heard talk about a way to make it easier to polish the wood. The foolish individual had actually set fire to the section, four feet in diameter.

  They could have ruined the inlaid floor. Even worse, they could have set Bealadair on fire.

  Most people did an excellent job and were conscientious about their tasks, taking pride in the end result. She had discovered that if you berated people about not doing a good enough job that didn’t necessarily mean that they tried harder. The way to inspire someone was to point out their successes, not their failures. Therefore, when the five people assigned to buff the ballroom floor received a heated lecture, it was an anomaly, not a common occurrence.

  Elsbeth didn’t know who felt worse when it was all over, her or the staff.

  The duchess had given instructions that the serving tables were to be moved to the other end of the ballroom. She countermanded that order and made a mental note to speak to Rhona. The way the duchess had changed everything would mean that the entire kitchen staff would have to traipse through the length of the ballroom in order to replace food on the serving tables, then make their way back through the dancers and the assembled guests. It wasn’t practical, and the Duchess of Lothian would be the first person to complain about the visibility of all the servants on the night of the ball.

  When the seamstress appeared at the doorway, it was almost the last straw. However, the woman was only performing her own tasks. The fact that Elsbeth wasn’t in the mood for a fitting wasn’t her fault.

  She left word where she would be and followed the woman down to one of the parlors that had been set aside for her use.

  “Only one last fitting, Miss Elsbeth,” the seamstress said.

  She nodded, reluctantly agreeing. She hadn’t needed a new ball gown. She had an entirely suitable one that she’d worn on the occasion of Lara’s wedding. Very well, perhaps it wasn’t all that suitable, because the wedding had been held in the summer and the gown was filled with yellow roses and quite bare on the top. The garment that she donned before standing on the riser so that the seamstress could measure the hem was entirely different.

  Unlike all the dresses for the McCraight women, this one had no swath of McCraight tartan draped from shoulder to waist. To the best of her knowledge, the Carews did not have a clan tartan. The color of the gown, however, a deep shade reminding her of old plums, was quite lovely.

  The seamstress gestured to one of her assistants, who knelt on the floor and began pinning the long skirt. The train, as well as the bustle, would add substantial weight to the gown. She’d never been as comfortable with fashion as the McCraight women. She would much rather be in her plain housekeeper’s dress. At least it gave her freedom to move. But she did have to admit that the dress flattered her. She wasn’t displeased with her appearance in the pier glass.

  Would Connor think her beautiful?

  What an idiot she was being. As if his opinion mattered now. He would be leaving for Texas as soon as the ink was dry on the sales documents for Bealadair.

  “Would you like me to open a window, Miss Elsbeth? You look flushed.”

  How did she tell the woman that her flush was the stain of embarrassment? Not only had the duchess caught her leaving the library in disarray, but she’d lost her temper with the staff.

  She was most definitely not acting like herself.

  “I’m fine, really,” she said. “Thank you, though.”

  She’d been embarrassed before. A man had never been involved, however. If the circumstances were different, she had no doubt that the Duchess of Lothian would banish her for being a poor example for her daughters. But the fact remained that Rhona needed her help, at least until the ball. After that, her tenure at Bealadair might well be from day to day.

  Perhaps she should make up her mind about which property she wanted to buy and send word to the solicitor.

  It was, unfortunately, time for her to make a change.

  Of all the people she would miss, the first was Gavin. She could almost feel his spirit follow her throughout the house, his fond smile weighing her actions, his words of wisdom in the past helping her make
fair decisions.

  There was Mrs. Ferguson, of course, and Addy and a host of other maids and footmen who had always made the days pass with good humor and cheer. She felt, in a way, as if she were deserting all of them.

  She doubted anyone would understand her almost desperate desire to be gone. Now, before she felt any more for Connor than she did. Now, before he went back to Texas. She didn’t want to be the one left behind again. First her parents had left her, and then Gavin.

  This time, she would be the first to leave.

  She turned when directed, stood patiently, and engaged in chatter for a half hour, most of it about the terrible accident that had almost befallen their new duke. Elsbeth didn’t inform the seamstress that she was certain that it hadn’t been an accident and as soon as she could she was going to investigate the roof to verify her suspicions.

  When the seamstress told her she was no longer needed, she gratefully stepped down from the riser.

  “We’ll have the dress pressed and delivered to your suite, Miss Elsbeth. You’re the last and, if I may say so, the easiest to fit.”

  She smiled at the older woman. “Thank you.”

  “I expected Lady Muira to have some alterations. The girl certainly does love her biscuits, doesn’t she? But when Lady Lara had to be refitted, that was a surprise.”

  “I’m glad my measurements didn’t change,” she said.

  She made her way to the kitchen for a restorative cup of tea before going to the roof.

  “Has Lara developed an affinity for biscuits?” she asked Addy.

  “Biscuits? No, she’s not been eating much, poor thing. She’s not had an appetite at all for nearly a month now.”

  Elsbeth nodded. Someone might say that the uncertainty about the future had caused Lara’s appetite to dwindle. Others might suggest that it was because she was with child. Three maids had come down with the same symptoms in the past year, all of them becoming mothers.

  She sat stirring her tea, thinking about everything that had happened since Connor’s arrival.

  Someone had shot at him. Not poachers. Someone had tried to cosh him with a statue. Had the statue falling the night he arrived been an early attempt? If so, it had been poorly timed. Perhaps the accident had only given someone an idea, one that had been executed today.

  But who had done it?

  She didn’t believe that she was the object of the attempts. No, someone had tried to harm Connor.

  Felix was an obnoxious sort, always attempting to puff himself up in the eyes of his wife’s family. No doubt because he owed his living to them. Nearly everything he owned was because of the McCraights.

  Was Lara with child? Had learning he was about to be a father made Felix murderous?

  The ball to welcome Connor to the clan was to be held tomorrow. Was Felix planning something even more hideous then?

  Or was she completely wrong?

  She took a sip of her cooling tea and watched Addy bustling about the kitchen, expertly directing maids and footmen like a general going into battle. Addy was the sweetest woman and, next to Mrs. Ferguson, her closest friend at Bealadair. Yet she couldn’t tell either woman what she suspected. It wasn’t fair to lay such a burden on them when they believed that both incidents were simply accidents.

  No, the only person she could go to was the one person she should avoid: Connor.

  She nodded in parting to Addy and went back to the library. It was empty. So was Connor’s suite, the information brought to her by a breathless maid.

  “He’s not there, Miss Elsbeth. Would you like me to take him a note?”

  “No, Bettany, that’s not necessary. I’m sure I’ll see him later. Thank you.”

  She dismissed the maid, grabbed her cloak from the foyer, and mounted the steps to the upper floor and the entrance to the roof.

  Connor’s conversation had gone just as he’d wanted. He’d ended the meeting with a handshake and a taste of Scottish whiskey. He made a mental note to take a few crates of the stuff back to Texas before going in search for Elsbeth.

  It was Nancy who told him where Elsbeth had last been seen. When he asked the girl if she would direct him, she smiled a gap-toothed smile at him, bobbed a curtsy, and nearly raced up the steps. She looked back only once, then stopped and waited for him.

  “You’ve just been injured and here I am forgetting. And that statue, Your Grace! It’s like God himself is trying to harm you.”

  “I doubt I’m that despicable, Nancy,” he said, “that God himself wants to erase me.”

  Her blush deepened even further. “Oh, Your Grace, I didn’t mean that. I didn’t mean that He wanted you dead, Your Grace. I meant that sometimes God tries to get our attention, don’t you think? At least that’s what the minister says. It’s us who doesn’t pay attention. Not God.”

  He just wanted to go find Elsbeth and apologize, hopefully without a lecture about God and whether God was paying attention at the moment. He sincerely hoped that God hadn’t been watching when they were in the library together. The Almighty wouldn’t be happy with him.

  Nancy bobbed her third curtsy and led him to a narrow door left half-open.

  “Here’s where I saw her last, Your Grace, but Miss Elsbeth could be in the kitchen by now.”

  “Where does this go?” he asked, pulling the door all the way open.

  “To the roof, Your Grace. There’s a terrace there where we serve summer meals. It’s too cold now, of course, but it’s quite pleasant in the warmer months.”

  To the roof. He had an uncomfortable thought, wanted to banish it, but it reappeared. Yes, she was that foolish. Or brave.

  “Is it locked?”

  “Locked, Your Grace? No. Nobody would want to go up there, not in this weather. The wind is something fierce.”

  Nobody but Elsbeth.

  He thanked Nancy and ascended the steps, wondering if he should go and get his coat first. Hopefully, he could just appear outside and see that Elsbeth was nowhere in sight before leaving.

  Unfortunately, it didn’t work out that way. He opened the door, peered around the edge and saw her on the far side of the roof, kneeling and examining the platform of a missing statue.

  Nancy was right, the wind was something fierce and as cold as a shard of ice to his bones. At least Elsbeth was wearing her cloak.

  The only good thing about the roof was that it was flat and he could make his way to her side easily.

  Something caught his attention out of the corner of his eye, and he glanced in that direction to find a figure in white standing at the end of the roof. The wind made his eyes water. He blinked a few times and it was gone.

  “Connor? What are you doing up here without a coat? Don’t you have the sense God gave a gnat, you silly man?”

  It had been a long time since he’d been upbraided, but he couldn’t say anything in his defense, especially since he was standing on top of Bealadair’s roof without his coat and hat.

  “Did you see that?” he asked, looking back where he’d seen the figure. From what he could tell, the area was the roof over the oldest part of Bealadair.

  “See what?” Her gaze followed his.

  “Nothing,” he said, his attention back on the pedestal she’d been examining.

  “Did you see the White Lady again?”

  He debated saying no, then nodded once. “I thought I did.”

  She looked as if she wanted to say something, but bit back the words.

  The White Lady only came to warn the laird. About what? That he was going to get pneumonia if he didn’t get off the roof?

  He didn’t believe in ghosts.

  “Can you see any evidence of someone tampering with the statue?” he asked, folding his arms in front of him.

  Either Elsbeth could see that he was feeling the cold, or she’d gotten the information she wanted, because she turned and headed for the stairs, leading him to follow her with a deep and profound sense of gratitude.

  She stopped midpoint in the dimly li
t stairwell and turned to look up at him. The stairwell was too narrow for him to move to her side, but he did stand as close as he was able.

  “Someone used a chisel on the pedestal,” she said.

  “So it didn’t fall naturally?”

  She shook her head.

  “Is there another way off the roof?”

  She looked surprised, but nodded. “Over the old wing. It was only used by workmen when Gavin made improvements. It was supposed to have been boarded up.”

  “If someone used it, he wouldn’t be seen, would he?”

  “He?” She frowned at him. “You have someone in mind, don’t you?”

  “Felix,” he said.

  “Why would he try to harm you? It doesn’t make any sense. He can’t possibly think that if something happens to you everything would return to what it was like when Gavin was alive.”

  “Maybe he does. Or maybe he just doesn’t want an American to be the Duke of Lothian.”

  She suddenly looked away, her expression stricken.

  “Elsbeth?”

  She reached behind her and held out her hand. He took it. When she squeezed his hand, then pulled free, he watched her go, his chill forgotten in his confusion.

  Chapter 34

  Everything was in readiness for the ball to introduce the Laird of the McCraight Clan.

  Elsbeth inspected the ballroom, noting the well-polished floor, with the exception of the four-foot-square area in the middle, the sparkling chandeliers, and the bustling staff. Musicians had come from Inverness to entertain and were tuning their instruments as she approved the preparations. Dozens and dozens of china platters were arranged on the spotless linen-draped tables, all in readiness for cakes, tartlets, sandwiches, slices of beef, mutton, all manner of food and drink—the finest larder in the Highlands ready for the clan.

  Those members of the staff who were not working tonight would be attending the ball. It was the annual meeting of the clan and everyone was welcome, even if your name wasn’t McCraight.