Page 6 of The Scottish Duke
Or maybe they had.
Except for the glances when he’d entered the ballroom, he’d been left alone. No one came up to greet him. No guests complimented him on the decor of the ballroom or the quality of the refreshments. No one said a word about his appearance or glanced toward the dance floor in an unmistakable hint.
He didn’t dance and most people knew that. Certainly the women with whom he’d been associated over the years. Some people had the patience for the activity and the prattling conversation that accompanied it. He didn’t.
The woman in the golden gown didn’t glance toward the dance floor once. Nor did her gaze ever shift from him. She was daring and direct and just what he needed tonight.
“Your Grace.”
The footman was at his side with a full glass of whiskey on a silver salver. He shook his head, surrendered his empty glass, and strode toward the woman, giving up spirits for another, suddenly more important, thirst.
Chapter 3
The duke was the most handsome man she had ever seen. She knew she wasn’t the only female at the castle who stopped or slowed her duties when he walked past. His blue-green eyes were such an unusual shade that she could have stared at him forever. But it wasn’t just his eyes that made him stand out from other men. His face was square and strong. He had a cleft in his chin and twin dimples, one on either side of his mouth. They showed even when he wasn’t smiling.
The Duke of Kinross didn’t smile often.
Instead, he could turn his eyes on you, making you feel as if you were melting into the floor. She didn’t doubt he could command her to do almost anything and she would have done it without a word of protest.
He’d never spoken to her. Not in the two years she’d been at Blackhall Castle.
She’d seen him in his kilt before, attire he wore for formal occasions, but had never seen him appear as fierce as he did tonight. He stood there with his uncle, staring at the inhabitants of the ballroom, his face as immobile as stone, his eyes fixed on a point she couldn’t see. Tall and commanding, he was the perfect duke, an imposing descendant of all those stalwart men portrayed in the gallery on the third floor. Not one of those ancestors, however, was as handsome.
He made her think of the Highlanders of hundreds of years ago. Men who fought against themselves or the English. She wondered about the story of the first Duke of Kinross, who’d been rewarded for his courage with a dukedom, and had built this castle that was added onto over the years.
Alexander Russell, the ninth Duke of Kinross, was a devastating man. Yet he was a mystery, too, wasn’t he? Aloof and unapproachable, except on those nights when he watched the skies and she watched him.
Suddenly, he turned his head and looked straight at her.
Did he recognize her? Was that why his face suddenly stilled?
She couldn’t breathe.
She should have asked Nan to loosen the corset a little, but she wouldn’t have fit into the dress otherwise. At the time, she’d reasoned that fashion dictated the dress be tight around her chest. Now she felt as if she were going to faint. That would be a disaster, wouldn’t it? Not only would she call attention to herself, but she’d be found out.
She’d saved most of her wages for the last two years, but it wasn’t enough to live on, not permanently. She’d been more than lucky to be introduced to Mrs.McDermott. She couldn’t be dismissed, especially without a reference.
A thought she should have had a day earlier.
Lorna pressed her hand against her waist, watched the duke slowly walk toward her. People parted as he passed, curious glances following him. He was Moses and they were the sea. He was a hot knife and they were butter. He was the Duke of Kinross and they were only observers to this tableau of disaster.
The door was to her right. She could escape the ballroom, go down the terrace steps and around to the conservatory. There, she could hide until she was certain no one would see her gaining access to the servants’ stairs. She would retreat to her room, remove this damnable dress, and lecture herself sternly. No doubt Nan would think that she had finally regained her senses.
He was coming closer. His gaze hadn’t moved from her face. Was he going to shame her in front of everyone? Would he pull the mask off? Would he banish her in the storm? Or would he simply demand to know why she was here?
She would tell him anything but the truth, that she’d wanted to see him and be seen. For once, she didn’t want to be invisible. This one time, let the Duke of Kinross see her, Lorna Gordon. Not a maid, not one of the silent army that served him. Let him see her as a woman. Let them exchange a few words, even if it was polite banter.
Not once had she considered that he might impale her with his gaze, or that he would march on her like a Highlander intent on capturing an English city.
What did she do now? Terror rooted her to the spot. Her hand reached out and grabbed the handle of the door.
She suddenly wanted to be outside, to experience the wind, to tilt her head up to see the fast-moving clouds. But if she opened the door, people would turn to look at her. A few of the women with their elaborate hairstyles would frown in her direction.
“Go ahead and do it,” a voice said at her elbow.
He was here. He was here.
At least he wasn’t going to shame her in front of everyone.
