The Texan Duke Read online

  Elsbeth was sure that the duchess secretly didn’t approve, but it was a tradition that Gavin had begun nearly thirty years earlier. Or perhaps she was doing Rhona a disservice. She had a feeling that she’d been harsher on the duchess than Rhona had ever been on her.

  Once she was certain everything was in readiness, she descended the stairs to the library, one hand on the banister, the other lifting her heavy skirts. She hadn’t worn a ball gown in a while and she was finding it cumbersome.

  She entered the library, opening the door slowly. Connor wasn’t there. She closed the door softly, moving to Gavin’s desk and sitting on the chair he’d used for years.

  Despite the celebration to be held in an hour or so, she was close to tears. Tonight marked a turning point in her life, one more definite than even Connor’s arrival or his announcement that he was putting Bealadair up for sale.

  Her gaze went to the fireplace. Gavin’s presence was still being felt. Or perhaps it was Connor’s. A fire was laid in the library every day, in readiness for its occupation by the duke.

  She looked up, suddenly feeling as if she weren’t alone. The sensation wasn’t frightening as much as strangely reassuring.

  Gavin had always said that he thought she was a little fey. “You’re more Scottish than most women I know,” he said once. “I’m surprised you don’t have the Sight.”

  Maybe she did. Or maybe it was simply because she wished him here so desperately.

  She stood and rounded the desk, moving to the fire, sitting on one of the two chairs there. If Gavin had been there, he would have placed his hand on her shoulder as he’d done many times, in a wordless gesture of encouragement.

  He might have spoken then, asked her to tell him what was bothering her. He’d always seemed to know when something was weighing on her mind.

  She spoke to him now, almost as if he’d asked: What is it, Elsbeth?

  “I miss you. I wish you were here. Especially tonight. They’re all going to hate me after tonight, you know. And this time, I won’t be able to come and cry on your shoulder.”

  Silence answered her.

  As long as she was confessing to a ghost that didn’t exist, she might as well tell him the whole truth.

  “I feel too much for him,” she said. “For Connor. Isn’t that foolish? How can that be? I’ve only known him a short time.”

  When had it begun? From the first sight of him striding toward her in the snow? Or had it been when she watched him looking at his father’s portrait and feeling his sense of loss and grief? Whenever it was, it had been instantaneous—or at least without much conscious thought at all.

  She put her head back on the chair and closed her eyes.

  Gavin didn’t answer her, but she didn’t need him to tell her what she already knew. Nothing could come of her feelings. Nothing more than future heartache.

  She opened her eyes, stood, and went to the door. It was time. She was about to do the unthinkable: betray the family that had taken her in.

  Perhaps it was a good thing that Gavin wasn’t here after all.

  It had been drilled into Connor these past days that the ball to introduce the duke and laird to his clan was tradition, one he couldn’t avoid. The ball was a function of his dukedom that he couldn’t give to Glassey or anyone else. He could almost hear his father and uncle nodding and agreeing that the whole thing was an annoyance, but it was a McCraight annoyance and he’d best set his mind to doing it without complaint.

  He strode into the Laird’s Hall as the first strains of music floated down from the ballroom. Guests had been arriving for the past hour, but strangely not one member of the family had been on hand to greet them. He’d been told that was part of the tradition. They would all come marching in to the sound of pipers once everyone arrived. He, as the Duke of Lothian and Laird of the McCraight Clan, would lead the procession.

  He couldn’t imagine a more loathsome duty.

  First, however, he was going to settle something.

  The family was arranged on the two settees and two chairs just as they had been the night he’d arrived. The sisters were sitting together on one settee. Felix was in the chair at a right angle to it. Sam and his aunt were sitting together, and if he wasn’t mistaken, Sam was actually holding the duchess’s hand.

  That answered a question or two.

  The only person who wasn’t in the Clan Hall was Elsbeth. Had someone sent her on another errand? Or was she performing another task to ensure that the family was not inconvenienced or otherwise bothered by the annoying minutiae of their lives?

  That, too, was going to change.

  He was tired of Elsbeth being used as a maid of all work, a term he’d heard Addy use. The women in this room, every single one of them, was a Lady, yet they didn’t act particularly ladylike. A true lady—like his mother and sisters—wouldn’t always send someone else to do her bidding. Nor would she talk down to others.

  He wasn’t impressed with the gathering of females in the room, even his aunt.

  “You just don’t understand her,” Sam had said, just this morning. “I don’t think many people do. Rhona’s not like anyone I’ve ever met. She doesn’t show her true worth to many people, Connor, but I think that’s because she’s been in a loveless marriage for years. She loved your uncle, but it was clear he didn’t think much of her. So what was she to do but harden her heart?”

  He’d been a little surprised that the older man had taken on the role of protector. His aunt hadn’t struck him as needing a defender. But he had his answer now, didn’t he? Sam met his eyes and damned if he didn’t recognize that look. Make one derogatory comment about Rhona and Sam would come after him, tooth and nail.

  Since he felt the same about Elsbeth, he couldn’t fault the man.

  He couldn’t say the same about his relatives. He suddenly realized, standing there, why he’d felt a discordance from the beginning. He couldn’t see Graham here among them. His father hadn’t been perfect, but he’d been a good man, a decent man, a man who played fair and who treated others with dignity. The same couldn’t be said for the group sitting in the Clan Hall.

  Maybe Gavin had been more like Graham. Maybe his presence had added some honor to the people Connor faced now. Elsbeth genuinely mourned his uncle. Not only had she loved Gavin, but he had a feeling that the two of them had been outcasts at Bealadair. Two lonely people who’d banded together and created their own kind of family.

  He would continue to be polite to his cousins and his aunt. Not for their sakes, but his father’s. And Gavin’s. And maybe even Elsbeth’s. He’d been raised with manners, behavior that had nothing to do with titles or pretentious expectations.

  All except one of them. He couldn’t find it in his heart to be polite to someone who wanted him dead.

  He took his time walking to the seating area, waiting until Felix stopped talking.

  The other man was pontificating again, something about a new gun he’d purchased. Or a servant he’d upbraided. Two of Felix’s favorite topics.

  The door opened. He glanced over as Elsbeth entered. She illuminated the room simply by being there. She sent him a smile, making him wonder when a simple expression had acquired the power to affect his mood.

  “I know it was you who shot at me,” he said, his gaze fixed once more on Felix. “And tossed the statue over the side of the roof.”

  Sam made to stand, but he waved the older man back.

  “Are you certain about this, Connor?” Sam asked.

  Before he could answer, Elsbeth spoke. “No.”

  He turned to her. He hadn’t expected her opposition, but he could understand it.

  “I know how you feel about family,” he said, “but Felix doesn’t deserve your loyalty.” He wanted to spare her the truth, but he couldn’t.

  She walked slowly toward him, her purple gown trailing behind her on the carpet. Her hair was arranged in a complicated twist pinned high on the back of her head. The style served to accentuate the perfecti
on of her face.

  She looked like a princess or what he’d always imagined a princess would look like, beautiful with a look of warmth in her lovely gray eyes. Every time he thought he was used to her beauty, it struck him again like a blow to his chest.

  Once she was at his side, she reached out and placed her hand on his arm. If they hadn’t been here, in this room, with these people, he would have embraced her. All he could do now was place his hand atop hers.

  “He doesn’t have my loyalty,” she said, flicking a glance toward Felix. “It’s just that you have the wrong person.”

  “I know you don’t wish it to be him,” he said. “But the proof is there.”

  “No,” Elsbeth said again. “You’re almost right.” She turned her head slightly until she was looking directly at Lara. “It wasn’t Felix, was it, Lara? He taught you to shoot. I remember all those times when I worried about you accidentally hitting one of the cattle in the east pasture.” She shifted her gaze to Felix. “You never seemed to care about that, though, Felix. You never really cared about anyone or anything if it didn’t fit your purposes.”

  Elsbeth’s hand gripped his arm tighter as she glanced back at Lara.

  “You made sure the statue fell, too, didn’t you? I saw the chisel marks.”

  “Why would I do such a thing?” Lara asked.

  “For the same reason you played the White Lady.”

  Now that was interesting.

  His cousin sat back against the sofa, her face arranged in an expression he could only consider as contemptuous. He’d met a few people with the same demeanor, but they’d been from the South, and their attitudes had changed in the face of the total destruction they’d endured.

  He had a feeling, however, that Lara would retain her disdain for others regardless of her circumstances.

  Some people did. They were brought up to believe that they were better than others and that opinion never changed.

  “Are you daft?” Lara said. “I never pretended to be the White Lady.”

  “You have a white cloak. A new one with rabbit fur on the hood. It would look just like a ghostly figure when seen from a distance.”

  “I didn’t.”

  Elsbeth took a deep breath. “Are you going to say that you didn’t shoot at Connor? Or push the statue over?”

  In his own family, if one of his sisters had done something wrong, the other four would have offered various excuses for her behavior, but none of his sisters had ever tried to kill anyone. Still, no one said a word in Lara’s defense.

  Anise and Muira were looking at Lara with a sort of fascinated repugnance. His aunt was watching Elsbeth, but instead of the look he expected—active dislike—her expression was neutral. That might have had something to do with Sam, who was still holding her hand.

  “Why Lara?” he asked. “Why not Felix?”

  “Perhaps it’s because Lara’s going to have a child.”

  Again, he couldn’t help but compare the families. If that announcement had been made among his sisters—and it had been, numerous times—they would have rushed to embrace the soon-to-be mother. He had enough nieces and nephews that they would never run out of ranch hands.

  In this case, however, none of the other women said a word. It was Felix’s reaction that surprised him the most. Evidently, the man hadn’t known that he was about to be a father. He stared at his wife wide-eyed.

  “Was it you?” Connor asked his cousin.

  To Lara’s credit, she didn’t look away. Yet she didn’t rush to admit what she’d done.

  “It was her,” Elsbeth said. “Her child, if it’s a boy, would become duke if something happened to you.”

  Connor didn’t want to be duke, but he wasn’t going to stand by and let someone try to kill him because of the title, either.

  He didn’t even bother asking if that was enough to make his cousin act as she had. To this group, titles were important. They might be the most important thing about a person. Not who he was or what he wanted from life, but the label circumstance or an accident of birth had slapped on him.

  It was the single biggest difference between the two families, and because of it, he didn’t think there could ever be any true relationship between them.

  He couldn’t wait to get home.

  “I know you’re all for sending her to the calaboose, Connor,” Sam said. “I’m asking for a little mercy.”

  Once again, his eyes met Sam’s. He wasn’t going to remain in Scotland, but he already knew Sam’s plans.

  “What’s a calaboose?” Elsbeth asked.

  “I think you call it a jail,” Sam said.

  “Good heavens.” Rhona looked at Connor, her eyes wide. “You can’t send a member of the family to jail.”

  “One member of the family shouldn’t try to kill another one, Aunt.”

  To his surprise, Rhona didn’t answer.

  “Well, what stands for the law around here?”

  “The magistrate,” Elsbeth said. “Shall I send word to him?”

  Connor looked at his cousin, then at Sam. He wouldn’t have to worry about Lara. He’d be safely back in Texas.

  Did Sam really know what he was asking?

  He should have expected that his cousin would start crying. Women in the family way were often tearful. Heaven knows his sisters had been. At least Felix moved from his chair to embrace his wife, pulling her into his arms and patting her back, all the while glaring at Connor.

  “There won’t be any more accidents,” Felix said.

  He was torn between ignoring the lot of them and calling the magistrate or leaving the problem to Sam. He met the older man’s gaze again, considered the matter for a moment, and finally reluctantly nodded.

  “I told you that I was set to sell Bealadair,” he said, speaking to the whole of the family.

  Every eye in the room turned to him.

  “I’ve come to know you all and understand that it would be a major change in your lives to have to move somewhere else. Therefore, I thought long and hard about my decision.”

  Their smiles were tentative. He’d bet that they all thought he was going to say that he’d changed his mind, but that wasn’t what he was going to say.

  “I wanted the person who purchased Bealadair to continue on with the advances my uncle made, especially the school and the new farming techniques. I wanted him to be able to promise that he would revere Bealadair’s history as it should be. I’ve received an agreement on those points. The sale of Bealadair will be final as soon as Glassey has reviewed the documents.”

  “You’ve done it, then,” Elsbeth said, surprise tingeing her voice.

  He looked at her. “Yes. I’ve done it.”

  “You’ve sold the estate?” Rhona asked.

  He nodded.

  “Then what’s all this about being concerned about our lives changing, Connor?” she asked.

  He nodded to Sam. Let him be the one who told her.

  “Because I’m the new owner, darlin’,” Sam said. “And I don’t want any of you to move.”

  “You?” The duchess’s eyes went wide. Her face was suddenly flushed and she was fanning herself as if it had become as hot as Texas in here. Evidently, she hadn’t been aware of how wealthy Sam had been—at least before buying Bealadair.

  Connor turned to Elsbeth and said, “Well, since we have to do this Welcoming of the Laird thing, will you accompany me?”

  She looked at him, her eyes wide. Slowly, she nodded.

  “I like your gown.”

  “Thank you.”

  “It’s purple,” he said.

  She smiled. “It’s called plum.”

  “I like your hair, too.”

  “Thank you.”

  Her eyes were sparkling and he was tempted to kiss her right there in front of everyone.

  “You’re a very surprising man, Connor McCraight.”

  If she was surprised now, just wait until she heard the rest of his plans.

  They turned and walked o
ut of the room, leaving the Scottish McCraights behind them.

  “Have you ever heard of the Texas two-step?” he asked.

  She shook her head.

  “Well then, Elsbeth, I’ll have to teach it to you.”

  He grinned at her and she smiled back.

  There was only one more thing to do before he could leave for home.

  Chapter 35

  Elsbeth couldn’t bear this. She really couldn’t.

  For a week Connor had been attentive to her, seeking her out on her errands, talking with her about Texas, of all things. Texas! As if she wanted to be able to envision the place where he’d be living. He couldn’t stop waxing eloquent about the place, making her feel even worse as preparations continued for Mr. Kirby to take over Bealadair and Connor to relinquish all ties to the estate.

  One day they revisited the castle and she’d come close to weeping, standing on the promontory and watching as the wind whipped the waves of the firth. Soon he would be on that ocean, sailing away from Scotland, from his heritage.

  From her.

  Just as he was severing all ties to Bealadair, so was she. She had a long talk with Mr. Kirby, leaving him instructions on all the matters that she’d handled over the years.

  “Won’t you stay?” he asked in a kind voice. Almost as kind as Gavin’s, which was the only reason tears peppered her eyes.

  They sat in the library, a place she’d avoided assiduously for the past week, but of course she had no option when the new owner of Bealadair requested her presence.

  “I think it best that I find new accommodations,” she said. She’d finally decided on one of the sweet houses the attorney in Inverness had shown her. Now all she had to do was muster some enthusiasm for living there, for creating a life separate and apart from Bealadair.

  At least she would be close enough that Addy could come on one of her days off. Or Muira.

  “This is your home, Elsbeth.”

  She didn’t know how to answer that. Yes, it had been a home when Gavin had been alive. He’d made it a home for her. Then Connor had filled that void for a tiny stretch of time.

  Perhaps it would have been better if she’d never met Connor. If she’d left Bealadair long before he arrived.