Page 108 of The Texan Duke
Elsbeth was taken aback. She’d never considered that the duchess would apologize to her. Or even that the Duchess of Lothian could be made to consider her actions.
“The Welcoming of the Laird will be a success, thanks to you,” Rhona added. “You’ve seen to everything perfectly, as you do, of course.”
Elsbeth stared at the duchess, wishing she could ask one of the dozen questions now flying into her head. The only thing she did—the only thing she had the courage to do—was flee.
All the way up the stairs to her rooms she considered the duchess’s words. Perfectly? Rhona thought she did things perfectly?
She’d studied hard so that she could give Gavin the correct answers when he queried her. She learned everything there was to learn about Bealadair to make him proud. Had she really tried to be perfect? Perhaps she had. She’d felt that she always had to try harder. She had to know more and do more than anyone else. If for no other reason than to justify being plucked from that hospital bed and brought to Bealadair when she was eight, given a home and a borrowed family.
Had she misjudged the duchess all this time? Had she seen Rhona as a woman steeped in propriety when all she’d tried to do was give her advice and direction like Mrs. Ferguson? Elsbeth had often expressed her thanks to Gavin for his kindness in opening his home to her. Had she once said those words to Rhona?
The feeling she was getting wasn’t the least bit comfortable, like trying to wear a bodice that was suddenly too small.
Connor was certain he was losing his mind. He was acting like a person he’d never before known, someone who had evidently been hidden beneath the man he’d always thought himself to be.
Even going to war hadn’t changed him as much as coming to Scotland.
It was like a giant mystery box labeled Life had been opened and he was finding things that he hadn’t expected. First of all, his father being a twin. Secondly, himself.
He wasn’t behaving right.
He had just seduced a proper woman on the floor of the library. And then, as if that weren’t enough, he’d gotten into an argument with her when it was over.
Loving Elsbeth was like nothing he’d ever done. His body urged completion, but his mind wanted to slow the minutes, elongate them until hours had passed.
The interlude in her bedroom and this afternoon in the library would always come back to him. He would never be able to forget the feel of her, her skin soft against his fingertips. The sweet curve of her buttocks, her small waist and large breasts.
He moved to sit at the desk his uncle had used every day, thumbing through his notebook for pictures of Elsbeth that he’d drawn, seeing details he got right and things he’d gotten wrong. Her nose wasn’t that upturned at the end. Her smile was broader, her jawline more sharply defined. And her hair, thick and black and glorious, tumbled over her shoulders when he’d released it.
He sat in the silence, the only sound that of the fire burning itself out. Some of Bealadair’s fires were fueled by coal. The one in the library took wood and was large enough for the trunk of a good-sized tree.
How the hell did he return to himself? He needed to get home. He needed to see the back of Scotland as quick as he could.
How the hell was he ever going to forget her?
His father had turned his back on his country and all for a woman. Had he been a wise man for doing so or a foolish one? Connor had always admired his father, but in this instance he wasn’t willing to emulate him.
Elsbeth was like no other woman he’d ever met. She was smart and kind, beautiful and funny. She cared deeply for people and was responsible to a fault. He loved her accent and her gorgeous gray eyes that lured him like fog and heated him like smoke.
Around her, he’d acted the idiot. He forgot that he was responsible for over two million acres, hundreds of men and their families—not to mention his own—and thousands of heads of cattle.
Instead, he’d totally and completely lost his mind.
Every time he looked at her, he saw Texas—the freedom and the vitality of it. The newness of it next to an ancient land like Scotland. Elsbeth did what she wanted. She acted independently. She was fierce and brave and stubborn.
He supposed there was something good about history and about people who came before, who knew so much and hopefully passed it down to their descendants. But there was also something good about being raw and new and young and maybe untrained.
His best lessons had come from his worst mistakes. He’d been given the freedom to fail, and he’d caused some spectacular fiascos. He hadn’t been tamped down, pressed into some kind of mold, made to wear a certain kind of suit and act in a certain way. He yelled when he was happy. He shouted when he was angry. He was Texas and so was she.
She just didn’t know it yet.
An idea had been niggling at him, one that would solve Elsbeth’s worries and make his own situation easier. The longer he sat there, the better it sounded. He stood, tucked the notebook back into his vest pocket, and made his way from the room, sending one last glance toward the carpet in front of the fire.
Chapter 33
Nothing got better for Elsbeth as the day wore on.
The ballroom floor, unfortunately right in the middle of the dancing area, was scuffed so badly that it could not be polished to a shine. If they had had enough time, Elsbeth would have requested that this part of the flooring be replaced.
