The Scottish Duke Page 9

  It was as if the birth of his heir didn’t concern him one whit.

  Perhaps it hadn’t at that point. His emotional estrangement from Ruth had led to a physical separation. He’d spent more and more time in Edinburgh, until he’d finally come home three weeks before the baby was expected. However, he’d used his own initiative and hired a doctor. A useless precaution, as it turned out.

  The birth had been difficult from the beginning. He knew something was wrong when the midwife had requested his mother be in attendance and she, in turn, had sought out the physician he brought with him.

  Two people trained in the art of birth attended Ruth, yet they couldn’t save her. At first it had seemed the child might survive, but that wasn’t to be, either. He’d been a little boy with a perfect porcelain face who appeared to be sleeping. His mother had held his child and rocked him for a few moments, tears falling down her face.

  He’d walked out of the room without speaking to anyone.

  Now he was faced with the same god-awful situation.

  Why hadn’t Lorna protected herself? Why hadn’t he? Why had he allowed lust to overwhelm him when he’d never done so before?

  It was her, of course.

  Even now the attraction was evident. He shouldn’t be lusting for a woman so far gone with child. But it was his child. That shouldn’t have aroused him, either.

  What was the word? Gravid? He’d never considered it before, but it meant full, didn’t it? She’d been empty and now she was full. He’d done that.

  Perhaps it was something merely biological between them. A random act that had been ordained because she was female and he was male. He knew he’d never done anything so precipitous. Nor had he ever wanted another woman the way he’d wanted her. Enough that he hadn’t bedded anyone since.

  She was going to have his child.

  Fate couldn’t have picked a more confusing woman than Lorna Gordon. First she was a mystery, then a ghost. She’d been a maid, yet she was filled with pride. He’d expected her to be greedy, but she’d banished him from her room.

  They were strangers who’d had an intimate encounter, one resulting in a child.

  At Blackhall he would ensure she had whatever she needed. Once she was there, perhaps this fascination she held for him would ease. He would be able to return to his work without images of her appearing before him.

  He’d summon a new doctor, someone with more expertise in birth, and keep him at Blackhall until she delivered. He’d install a different, more competent midwife. He’d check in on Lorna every day. He’d know what was happening, unlike before.

  There, a plan, and one he would implement immediately.

  “What were you doing there? Did Reverend McGill send for you?”

  “Send for me? No. I wouldn’t have come even if the reverend had dared to summon me.”

  “Then what were you doing in Wittan?”

  “I am willing to concede that the child you are carrying is mine.”

  “How very kind of you.”

  He ignored her sarcasm. “In addition, my mother thinks highly of you, as does Mrs. McDermott.”

  “While I am grateful for such a character reference, I really don’t care what you think of me.”

  “You can’t return to Wittan Village.”

  Her eyes narrowed and her lips thinned. She glared at him as if he were the most loathsome creature she’d ever seen.

  “How will you support your child?”

  “That is none of your concern.”

  “Come to Blackhall,” he said. “There’s a small cottage on the grounds that used to belong to the gamekeeper. I’ll have it prepared for you. You can live there with your child. All I ask is to be able to visit from time to time. You’ll be given an allowance and the child will be educated as befits his station in life.”

  “As what, a bastard?”

  “No,” he said stiffly. “As my child.” When she didn’t respond, he said, “I’m offering you a home, Miss Gordon.”

  “Everyone will know.”

  “Everyone knows now. Or do you think you’re immune to gossip? The minute my mother read that letter, word spread.”

  She turned away, staring out at the view of the icy scenery.

  What the hell was she thinking?

  “If you go anywhere else, the same thing will happen. Maybe not right away, but eventually. You’ll be isolated, cut off from others by condemnation. That won’t happen at Blackhall.”

  She glanced at him. “So you’ll command people to be pleasant to me, is that it? You’ll dictate how they feel, what they say?”

  “No. They’ll respect you because you’re a family guest.”

  She turned back to the window.

  What else could he say to convince her? Blackhall was not unlike a village, but at least he could control how she was treated there. He couldn’t do anything in another village.

  “What would your father want?” he asked, searching for something to say. “What would he want you to do?”

  “You don’t know my father. He didn’t care about what other people said.”

  “But he’d never been unmarried and pregnant, had he? Don’t be stupid and stubborn.”

  “Don’t be ducal and despicable.”

  He considered her for a moment. He had handled the whole matter clumsily. He needed to be more charming and perhaps more honest.

  “I came to Wittan to tell you that I believe the child you carry is mine. I’m willing to provide for you. I’ve settled an amount of money on you to be administered by my solicitor. However, that does not make your situation any easier. As I said before, even if you go and live in another village, you’re bound to be found out eventually and treated exactly the same. Come and live at Blackhall. You won’t face that kind of intolerance.”

  “I won’t be your mistress,” she said.

  One of his eyebrows arched upward. “Not in the condition you are, surely.”

  “My declaration is hardly amusing,” she said.

  “Amusing? God forbid,” he said. “This is the least amusing situation I’ve ever found myself in.”

  “If I return to Blackhall you must let people know.”

  “Must I?”

  She nodded. “I don’t want it bandied about that we’re lovers. It’s one thing to have made a terrible mistake once, but to compound it would be idiotic.”

  At the time, she’d said she enjoyed herself. Had she changed her mind?

  “Promise me,” she said, “that you’ll make it known that I’m not your mistress.”

  “How am I to do that? Call a meeting of the staff? Oh, by the way, the enceinte Miss Gordon and I have had no relationship at all.”

  He focused on her. She didn’t look away.

  “Do you think they’ll believe that?” he asked.

  She took a deep breath before answering.

  “I can’t do anything about the past. It’s going forward that I’m concerned about.”

  He turned his head and stared out the window.

  “You’re safe from me, Miss Gordon. I shall not sully your person. God forbid.”

  Chapter 11

  Lorna lay her head back against the seat and closed her eyes. She’d never been hated before. But she’d never before disobeyed the basic tenets of propriety. She’d bent rules. Then, she dared to walk among the righteous people of Wittan Village without hanging her head in shame.

  After Reverend McGill’s ranting this afternoon, she had the feeling she would be considered immoral regardless of what she did from this point forward.

  Harlot. Whore. Fornicator. Those labels might well be affixed to her for life.

  She’d been terrified facing the minister and the crowd he was whipping into an angry frenzy. But, then, she’d been equally frightened on first realizing she was pregnant. She knew the minute the housekeeper discovered her condition she’d be released from service. What would she do? Where would she go? How would she survive?

  She hadn’t had time to
feel shame. She’d been too busy making plans. She’d kept her position until it was difficult to hide her pregnancy. She left Blackhall before Mrs. McDermott or the members of staff knew of her condition. She’d chosen Wittan Village in which to live because it was close enough for Nan to visit.

  Her plans might have worked, too, if the duke hadn’t appeared. Everything fell apart the minute he showed up. It was as if she’d been paddling toward shore all this time. Suddenly she was hit by wave after wave and was now floating alone in deep ocean currents.

  She knew she wasn’t the first woman to find herself in trouble. Was every village in Scotland filled with only virtuous females? Was that why there was such venom against her? Were they fearful that the village girls and young women would succumb to passion as easily as she had?

  Although she didn’t want to go back to Blackhall, she couldn’t think of another option. He was right. Even if he settled money on her—which she would take for her son’s benefit, not her own—the same situation might easily occur in another place.

  She was so tired of being afraid.

  If nothing else, returning to Blackhall Castle would mean an end to the fear.

  What was he thinking? Why didn’t he speak? She could almost see the duke sitting there frowning at her. Sometimes she thought the vision of the man was papered to the inside of her eyelids.

  Would her son look like him?

  She believed, from the beginning, that the child she carried was a boy. She would love him with all her heart and always protect him. She didn’t want him to lack for anything. No doubt every mother felt the same.

  Mother. She’d said the word over and over to herself for the past eight months and it still had the power to scare her. She was Lorna Gordon, but in one short month she was going to be a mother. Her child was going to stare up at her with innocent eyes and expect her to provide love, safety, food, and warmth. She would. Somehow, she would, even if it meant dealing with the Duke of Kinross.

  How would the others see her return? She’d left as a maid with good references. She was going back as the mother of an illegitimate child: the duke’s bastard. She could just imagine the talk in the servants’ quarters. They wouldn’t be any more understanding than the villagers of Wittan.

  Putting aside her pride wasn’t an easy thing to do even if it was for the best. Yet she couldn’t rid herself of the feeling that she might come to bitterly regret this decision.

  She opened her eyes to find herself the object of his study. To be stared at so single-mindedly was nerve-racking, but she wouldn’t look away. Instead, she held his gaze for as long as she could, anything but think of that night. Anything but marvel at how handsome he was and what an effect he had on her, even heavy with his child.

  Her breasts were tender, but the nipples shouldn’t harden just because he was sitting close. Her body shouldn’t remember each touch of his fingers on her skin, how his cupped hand smoothed from her shoulder down her arm. How he stroked the length of her legs as if he’d never seen such limbs before and marveled at all the curves and hollows.

  She had to remember that he hadn’t truly seen her, not in the two years she’d worked at Blackhall. She had to recall that he was the Duke of Kinross. She had to call to mind their stations in life, so different that one should never touch the other.

  But they had, hadn’t they? On a magical night that shouldn’t have been but was, and one that extracted a heavy price for both of them.

  Alex wondered if he was wise taking Lorna back to Blackhall. Probably not, but at least he’d be able to protect her there.

  Also, he would see her every day.

  She would be a constant reminder of his flaws of character, of his failings. She’d be an object lesson of sorts or a human hair shirt. Perhaps he’d simply wonder about his insanity on that far-off night. He’d see her as she was, just another woman. Any fascination that lingered in his mind would be blown away by the winds of rational thought.

  She wouldn’t be an enigma to him. She wouldn’t occupy space in his mind. She would fade away.

  He would stop thinking about her and be about his work.

  As it was now, each time it stormed, she entered his mind. Every dark cloud summoned her.

  What kind of fool was he?

  The kind of fool who brings a woman heavy with child into his home. He could just imagine the reaction from the other residents of Blackhall. A damn good thing he was the titular head of the family. Everyone would simply have to accept Lorna’s presence there.

  “Who wrote the letter to my mother?” he asked. “It wasn’t you, was it?”

  She looked directly at him.

  “No, it wasn’t. I would much rather you had been left in ignorance. If you hadn’t come to Wittan, I wouldn’t have had to go through Reverend McGill’s trial by shouting.”

  He couldn’t argue with her. An irritant, that.

  “Who was it?”

  She closed her eyes. “Does it matter?”

  “A friend, then? Someone who disapproved of your decision to live at Wittan?”

  She smiled slightly. “Yes, she most definitely disapproved.”

  The carriage had only gone a short distance before Lorna made a curious sigh, settled into the corner, and fell asleep.

  Her bonnet, an ugly blue thing with a single squished fabric rose, looked uncomfortable. So, too, the bow beneath her chin. He wanted to take it off, smooth his knuckles over her flushed cheek and procure a pillow for her.

  He watched her for several moments. Her head rocked a little with the movement of the carriage and her eyelids fluttered.

  At first he thought it was a trick of the light, but her complexion possessed a radiance it hadn’t had before. Her lashes were long, hiding her deep brown eyes, her lips full. Her cheeks were still flushed. She had an attractive neck, and he’d never noticed such a thing on a woman before. His gaze traveled to her bosom before he forced himself to look away.

  As they turned into the grounds of Blackhall, she blinked open her eyes.

  “I fell asleep,” she said softly, her lips curving a little as if she ridiculed herself.

  He nodded. “You needed your rest.”

  She only continued to smile at him, her gaze warm. What was she thinking?

  He should have focused on the approach to Blackhall, or come up with the right words to explain his actions to the inhabitants of the castle. Instead, he found himself staring into her eyes, trying to remember if he’d ever seen that color of brown before, lightened with gold but with a dark circle around the cornea. They fascinated him with their curious tilt.

  Or maybe it wasn’t her eyes that intrigued him as much as her smile.

  She wasn’t the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, but there was something about her that drew his eyes to her again and again.

  She sat there enduring his stare, only patting her skirt with the tips of her fingers.

  What he was feeling now wasn’t lust but a curious tenderness. He wanted to keep her safe, ensure she was cared for and protected. Surely those emotions were only because of her condition. Any decent man would feel the same.

  “Is the child mine?”

  “I thought you said you were willing to accept that it was? Have you changed your mind, Your Grace?”

  “No. I’d just like to hear you say it.”

  He half expected her to demur or refuse to answer.

  “Yes,” she said, keeping her gaze steadily on his face. “It’s yours. I’ve not lain with anyone but you.”

  He only nodded, feeling a tightness in his chest he hadn’t anticipated.

  “We’re almost home,” he said, unnecessarily as it happened, since they’d already turned into the gates of Blackhall.

  The day was an ugly one, the sky filled with gray and lowering clouds the color of a dove’s belly. Yet the gray stone, black chimneys, white sills and door frames of Blackhall were beautiful in any weather. The pine forest was a deep emerald backdrop providing touches of color. />
  Instead of following the road around and climbing the hill to where Blackhall was perched overlooking the loch and the glen, Charles turned left, traveling down a much narrower road. Once past a section of forest, the carriage stopped.

  “I think this will be a good place for you to call home,” he said.

  She didn’t say anything as he opened the carriage door and extended his hand to assist her.

  He held her cold hand, wishing her gloves were thicker. The faint tremor disturbed him. Was she afraid?

  He stared down at their joined hands, wondering what words would ease her mind. Should he tell her that he thought her eyes were fascinating? The upturned corners made him want to study her face. Her teeth weren’t perfect. Two of them in the front overlapped slightly and she must be sensitive about it. A few times he’d caught her putting her hand over her mouth or glancing away when she smiled.

  If he wanted to ease her mind completely, he should tell her how often he remembered that night. Too many times to make him completely comfortable. He’d expected to be able to dismiss her as a drunken escapade, but he recalled everything that had happened between them.

  Did she remember?

  Where had she learned to kiss? For a virgin, she’d been too skilled.

  Her lips were pink and full, and as he watched, she bit the bottom one. He kept her hand in his, wanting to warm her, to do something else for her, but he didn’t know what.

  After opening the cottage door, he let her enter without him, turning to Charles and giving him a set of instructions. Only then did he follow Lorna and set about to make the cottage as comfortable as possible.

  The building had only been vacant for a month or two, the gamekeeper having been lured away to another estate. He hadn’t yet replaced the man. When he did, he’d either offer him one of the other cottages on the estate or a spacious room in the servants’ quarters.

  This cottage was the closest to Blackhall. The thatching on the roof had been replaced in the last six months. The walls had been whitewashed recently. The stone floors were strewn with leaves but were otherwise in good condition. The only problems that he could see were dust and the cold.