Page 62 of The Scottish Duke
“No,” he said. “Alex.”
Her eyes widened. She didn’t say anything for a moment.
“I believe we’ve gone past the need for formalities, don’t you?”
To her credit, she didn’t glance away. She never had, being one of the few people he’d met who didn’t wilt in the face of his determination.
He had to remember to keep her at arm’s length.
“Or Kinross, if you prefer.”
“Alex,” she said.
He nodded, feeling a need to acknowledge her capitulation.
“Lorna.”
It wasn’t the first time he felt as if they were attuned to each other, but it was the first time that he also felt the moment was dangerous, one that he recognized.
He should leave now, before he became even further ensnared. Now, before he wanted to stay, engage her in conversation, ask about her thoughts. Too late, that moment had passed a while ago. But it wasn’t too late to leave to protect himself.
“I’ve picked out a name for the baby,” she said, startling him.
“Have you?”
His voice was carefully neutral, not revealing how he felt about her announcement.
“Robert,” she said.
“What if it’s a girl?”
“It isn’t.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“I just am,” she said.
“Robert isn’t a Russell name.”
“He won’t be a Russell,” she said softly. “He’ll be a Gordon.” When he didn’t speak, she added, “It’s my father’s name.”
He nodded, wondering why what she’d said had so shocked him. He’d known his child was going to be a bastard. What he hadn’t realized was how much the idea revolted him.
When he finally left Lorna, he felt a reluctance to do so. That, too, was a warning, one he’d be a fool to ignore.
Once back at Blackhall, Alex headed to his office, where he dismissed Jason for the day. When the door closed behind his assistant, he went to the long row of card files containing the hundreds of fingerprints they’d taken. It was an easy enough task to locate those for the servants at Blackhall.
The card was in his handwriting, but he couldn’t remember the occasion or even the day. Lorna must have sat in front of him, but he’d been interested in her fingers, not her appearance. Still, he’d written that her hair was ginger, but he hadn’t indicated that there were red and gold highlights in it.
He’d noted that she had brown eyes, but he hadn’t said that they were filled with intelligence, that she sometimes held a spear in those eyes, and that she was not the least bit cowed by him. Had they talked? Or had he been curt with her, as he’d been told he was by others in similar situations?
He’d only indicated that she was on the staff at Blackhall, one of the upper maids. Not that one night she’d masquerade as someone else and he’d be completely convinced she was enchanting and fascinating, only to realize that she’d vanished.
He’d written nothing about her ability to scorn him with a glance.
He hadn’t the Sight. How could he have known that one day he would stand here, clutching her card and wondering about her?
She was talented, something he hadn’t expected. She was also occasionally defiant, another character trait he hadn’t anticipated.
