Page 39 of The Scottish Duke
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.
Kneeling on the hearth in the cottage’s parlor, he began to build up the fire.
“You know how to make a fire, Your Grace?” she asked.
He glanced at her, his greatcoat around her shoulders. She was dwarfed in it, but at least she was warm. A good deal warmer than he was at the moment.
“My parents were determined that I wouldn’t be helpless. I can also tie my own shoes, obtain my own food, and shave myself.”
“I’ll bet that doesn’t please Matthews,” she said.
He glanced at her over his shoulder. “Do you know him?”
Of course she would. Maybe he just wanted to ask her opinion of the valet. It wasn’t forthcoming.
“You should take your coat back,” she said.
“No. You keep it. At least until you’re warmer.”
