Page 55 of The Scottish Duke
“That if he had, I wouldn’t know, working alongside them all day.”
“He hasn’t,” Lorna said.
Each one of her needs had been taken care of, including food. One of the girls from the kitchen brought her noon and evening meal, complete with entrée and a dessert. She was being treated like a valued guest, which meant she didn’t have to lift a finger.
She was also being ignored by the Duke of Kinross.
Peter sat in the kitchen carving a header for the front door. After that, he informed her, he was all for making the cradle a little fancier. The duchess had brought that on her last visit.
“It’s the Russell cradle,” the duchess had said. “Every Russell child has been placed in that cradle.”
Neither of them mentioned this child wouldn’t officially be a Russell. Instead, he would carry the Gordon name.
“It needs something, Lorna,” Peter said when first viewing the plain wooden cradle. “Some flowers, maybe. Thistles or something.”
She was in the process of sketching what she’d like him to carve, a task she thoroughly enjoyed and one that kept her from thinking about anything else. She found herself so involved in her drawing that she didn’t hear anything until Peter cleared his voice at the door.
“Begging your pardon, Lorna, but the duke is here.”
“Ask him to come in,” she said, staring down at her journal and trying to compose herself.
In seconds he was standing at the entrance to the parlor, removing his coat.
Today he was dressed simply in a white shirt and black trousers. But no one would mistake him for a servant or worker on the property, regardless of his casual attire. First of all, his shirt was too blinding white, indicating that it was a special item of care in the laundry. Probably the laundress herself worked on it. Secondly, and more important, he had an air about him, one of command, perhaps, or maybe it was simply of belonging.
She told her heart to stop beating so fiercely, but it was no use. One glance at him and she changed from the woman she knew herself to be to the girl who’d watched him from behind the ferns and fronds in the conservatory.
It hardly seemed fair that he was so beautiful and a duke. It was as if all the good fairies had been present at his birth, determined to visit every blessing on this child.
May he beintelligent.
May he possess the ability tocharm.
May his smile bestow such magic that people will recall itforever.
May he be the most handsome ofmen.
Would those magical beings have also granted him a certain enchantment when it came to women? Would they have transported themselves into the future, seeing not the bairn but the man? It seemed as if they had, because he certainly possessed carnal talents.
“I didn’t mean to interrupt you,” he said, glancing down at the journal on the arm of the chair. “What are you working on?”
She smiled, and although she didn’t normally like to show her incomplete drawings to anyone, she held out the book.
“Something to adorn the cradle,” she said.
“The family cradle?” he asked, taking the book from her. “It can benefit from some adornment.”
“Peter will be doing the work. He’s very talented,” she added. “Have you seen his carvings?”
“I haven’t, but I’ll rectify that situation as soon as possible.”
He didn’t hand her back her journal, but began to look at the other pages. She wanted to ask him to stop but was too late. One page in particular caught his attention. He angled his head and studied it.
Oh dear.
“I didn’t realize you drew anything but herbs,” he said, showing her the page that interested him.
Eyes and more eyes filled the page. His eyes glancing to the left or right or staring straight ahead. She’d been fascinated with his eyes.
