Page 1 of To Tempt A Highland Duke
Prologue
Fenworth House, Perth, Scotland 1814
Dougray Firth, Viscount Crew, enjoyed the quiet of the late hour, or early morning, whichever way you looked at it. He took another swig from the near empty bottle of whisky in his hand and looked up at the night sky.
Fate was a bastard. He’d known that for years, but tonight it stabbed him hard.
On this warm summer night he sat on the terrace of Fenworth House, the Earl of Fenworth’s countryseat, cursing his father, the Duke of Monreith. His best friend’s little sister, Flora, the woman he thought he would marry, was to be wed in the morning but not to him.
And whose fault was that?
He closed his eyes and sighed, letting the whisky wash away the terrible memories of six years ago. He’d been eighteen and his father’s meddling had destroyed his world.
He wanted the whisky to give him courage. To give him the courage to give his father exactly what he wanted—Dougray’s agreement to wed Flora instead. Doing so the day of her wedding would be a scandal, but they would live that down.
He also knew Flora would eagerly forego Lord Grafton if he asked her to marry him instead.
But he couldn’t marry her.
He loved her. She was his best friend. The only woman who got him through Connie’s death and the one person who had not let him give up on his search for his son, the son the Duke had taken from him.
BecauseDougray loved her he would let her go.
For to marry her could sign her death warrant.
He took another long slug from the bottle still in his hand. The fiery liquid burned his throat; that is what brought tears to his eyes.
He wiped his face with the sleeve of his linen shirt.
He sat consumed by misery when out of the corner of his eye he saw a ghostly figure slip through the front entrance and walk into the rose garden that led down to the small pond at the front of the estate.
He knew who it was and where she was going.
Dougray knew this house better than his own. He’d spent more time here than at his father country estate. Angus Mackenzie, the Earl of Fenworth’s son, was his best friend and Flora’s older brother.
He told himself not to follow, but his feet did not want to listen. The almost empty bottle fell to the terrace as he set off in pursuit.
He didn’t catch up to her until she had reached the summerhouse. This is where they’d come to be alone. To share their hopes, fears, and dreams. It was where six months ago he had stolen his first kiss from her.
She was sitting on the bench in her nightgown, her knees drawn up to her chest with her head resting on them. He heard a sniff and realized she was crying. The sound made him almost double over with pain.
“Don’t cry, sweeting.”
Flora jumped at the sound of his voice. She had not heard him enter, so lost in her own misery.
“Go away, Dougray. I want to be alone.”
He reached her side but could not bear to touch her. “Iain is a nice man. Will becoming his wife be so terrible?”
She looked up, her eyes awash with pain. “He’s not you.”
He crouched down in front of her. “I cannot marry you. I just can’t.”
She studied his face, and he did not hide the tear that slipped from his eye.
“This past year I really thought you had finally gotten over Connie’s death. I thought you’d opened your heart to me. We shared our hopes for the future. You let me fall in love with Connor as if he were my own wee boy. Just tell me why?”
He had no words. Instead, he leaned forward and pressed a soft, chaste kiss to her lips.
