Page 4 of The Duke
“Oh.” She looked rather taken aback by this response as she slowly tried to fold up her damp cape.
“Here, give it here.” Her clothing would hardly dry like that. He snatched the garment out of her hands and hung it over a smaller trophy, where it started to drip. Kit turned back to her, unable to keep the annoyance out of his voice. “No one in their right mind would wish to go to Tintagel Manor. It is not somewhere desirable. You must have heard the rumours about the place?” Kit shifted away as the damned rescued dog propped himself up next to the fireplace, enjoying the warmth.
“Well.” She paused as she removed her gloves and then proceeded to try her best to press at the waves of her hair, letting great drops of water land all around her. The pair of them needed towels, Kit thought, and probably a hot bath and warm meal. Which meant he should ring for the house staff, although something was keeping him from going across and pulling the cord.
The strange elfin girl continued to press and play with her hair, and suddenly a vivid image of this woman slipping those damp articles of clothes off her body as she slid into a tub flashed through his mind and he tried his best to immediately forget that idea. But it continued dancing through his mind, making his pained body all the more aware. “You are correct, a good few people seemed sceptical of our desire to travel down here…”
“You’re here with your husband on business?” That would explain the use of the termour.
“Not exactly.” She shivered, and Kit knew he was being a terrible host. “I mean…” She paused, seeming to remember where they were, as well as the false intimacy they had shared on a horse that hadn’t actually meant any sort of real knowledge of each other. “We haven’t been introduced.” She strode closer despite the frown that Kit gave her. “I’m Miss Elspeth Keating.” Then she offered him her hand to shake. “I know this cannot be far from Tintagel Manor, the locals said…” She paused as she looked down at her own hand and then slowly lowered it as Kit hadn’t taken hold of her fingers. “Well, is it close to here? Perhaps you could tell me where?”
Elspeth.
He played that name around on his tongue, wondering where that it had come from. Perhaps Irish, he thought, or maybe Scottish. There was a poetry to it, a Gaelic inflection that embedded in his mind the fact she was definitely part fairy or from some Arthurian legend. It galled him to think that it suited her. Mystical, quaint, and alluring.
Now she was staring at him as if he were quite, quite mad, and Kit realised that he was just looking back at her and hadn’t spoken, but he doubted he wanted to know what business she had with him or Tintagel Manor. Whatever it was, the outcome meant she wouldn’t be leaving, and that would be a problem. It wasn’t safe here, not for anyone, and certainly not for an outsider who had no idea of how merciless this place was.
“No one can have business with Tintagel Manor,” came his gruff reply. He turned away and peeled off his inner coat. If he didn’t have guests, he would remove his wet shirt, but he didn’t think that was appropriate. Could he scare her away? “It’s cursed.”
“Yes, that’s what several of the locals said too.” She gave a strange little laugh, but when he looked back at her, she was staring at him with a serious look. “But I don’t have anything to prove such talk.”
“Yet.”
She wrinkled her brow, considering his sceptical remark. “Life is rarely that exciting. I certainly never saw anything that would justify curses, or such outlandish claims. There are enough badpeople in the world to explain away the horrors that happen without getting the mystical involved.”
“You clearly haven’t been in Cornwall for long enough.” Kit’s own voice was ribald with cynicism, but he hoped, despite this, the naïve chit believed him. To his annoyance, Miss Keating looked far from convinced.
He moved to the nearest door, pushed it open, and stepped through to the adjoining library. A grateful wave of warmth greeted him, and he was pleased to see the fire had been lit, and was roaring away, adding heat and a burning golden light to the room. A simple fare set out on the table close to it. This meant he did not need to bother any of the servants.
“Sir, if you could please...” She had followed after him into the library, with her damned wet dog close to her heels. At a second the annoying dog gave a shake and Kit watched as the spaniel sprayed droplets across the carpet.
“Pets should be kept outside.”
“He’s hardly a pet—he’s a rescue. If anything?—”
Kit turned towards her, having reached the sanctuary of the fireplace, but having received no comfort from it. He fixed the intruder with an angry look, to which she gave him an undaunted smile and said, “Can you tell me where Tintagel Manor is? You see, I need to speak to the owner. I do hope it is not far. It is very urgent. One might even say the matter is of life and death.”
“You are not very subtle.” Kit was normally a darn sight more polite. Or he had been at university. At parties. At social events. Now words felt rusty in his throat, and being forced to speak, to talk to this intruder, was not something he desired to continue.
“Well, you’re abrupt, and at risk of being rude,” she replied. “We cannot have everything in life.”
“No indeed.”
“But I will have to know where Tintagel Manor is. The sooner you tell me, the sooner I can be gone from here.” It was clear shewould like nothing more than that, to leave him and be gone from this crumbling and ancient site.
Deciding he’d had enough of this silly debate, Kit growled. “Unfortunately, I must inform you that this is, in fact, Tintagel Manor.”
“Oh.” She took a step closer and frowned as she studied him. To his surprise, she said, “No, that won’t do. You’re too young to be Lord Phileas.”
Realisation dawned on Kit that the demanding little madam had presumably been seeking his father. However, since the man was dead, there was very little that could be done to solve that particular issue. In truth, no part of him wished to reveal such details to a stranger. “My age has nothing to do with it. If you are seeking Tintagel Manor and its owner, then that is me.”
“You are Lord Phileas?”
“No,” he finally said. “I am his son. I am in charge here.”
“Oh.” She swayed a little. “And Lord Phileas…”
“Is dead.”
