Page 29 of The Texan Duke
Would Connor be as amenable to learning about Scotland? She would just have to wait and see, wouldn’t she?
“Very well,” she said. “I’ll show him around Bealadair.”
She took a last sip of her tea and stood.
The thought of the duchess, however, kept her from smiling brightly at all of them as she left the room.
Chapter 10
Connor was all for telling his aunt that he didn’t need or want a tour of the house. He could wander around on his own just fine. If he got lost, he could ask directions from one of the servants.
Except, of course, all of his objections flew out the window when it turned out that Elsbeth was going to accompany him.
There she stood at the doorway to his suite, hands folded in front of her, her plain black dress making her complexion seem even more delicately pale. He wondered if she knew how beautiful she was or if she was one of those women who couldn’t quite believe it, no matter what anybody said.
From the interaction he’d witnessed the night before she wasn’t highly valued in the family. Instead, she acted like a hybrid, kind of a like a calf born of a Longhorn cow and a Hereford bull.
“Have I amused you?” she asked, tilting her head slightly.
He decided not to tell her why he was grinning. Instead, he grabbed his hat and coat and was ready to follow her.
“We aren’t going outside, Your Grace.”
He looked at her.
She sighed and said, “Connor. We aren’t going outside, Connor. You won’t need your coat.”
He reluctantly hung it back up, along with his hat.
“I have to admit, Elsbeth, that I’ve been cold ever since I arrived in Scotland. I hope every fireplace in this house is blazing away.”
Her eyes widened as if she were surprised. Was she unused to honesty? Or did the Scots not mind the weather? Did they have ice in their veins?
“It is certainly within your purview to order that, Connor.” Her voice only hesitated a little at his name. There, progress. These Scots sure liked their titles.
He wasn’t interested in seeing Bealadair. He was, however, interested in seeing more of Elsbeth. She intrigued him although he couldn’t say exactly why. Maybe it was because he’d been around beautiful women before, but none so self-deprecating. He wanted to know what made her that way. Was she simply modest, was it a pretense, or did she need a little more confidence?
“We’ll begin in the older wing, if you don’t mind.”
“As long as it’s warm,” he said.
She looked a bit worried at that. He had a feeling he was going to be cold and stay that way.
For some reason she looked uncomfortable with him walking beside her. He wondered if he was supposed to precede her—which would be ridiculous because he didn’t know where they were going. Or would it be more proper for him to follow her? That didn’t seem right, either.
She was just going to have to get used to him matching his gait to hers.
She was taller than his cousins, but she was still a head shorter than he was. She parted her hair perfectly in the middle and had arranged it in an artful bun at the nape of her neck. Because it was braided, he guessed that it was longer than it looked. For a second, and just long enough to warm him from the inside out, he imagined himself unbraiding her hair, slipping his fingers through the length of it.
Would his fingers meet if he put his hands around her waist? That was another thought he shouldn’t have, but he really couldn’t help himself.
His sisters would say that she was a little top-heavy—a comment he’d heard them make numerous times—but that was okay by him. He liked the way she filled out the bodice of her crow’s dress.
She smelled of lemons, of all things, and something else that reminded him of Bessie from home. Bessie liked to polish the parlor furniture with a combination of beeswax and lemon. He should ask Elsbeth what the scent was, rather than have all those thoughts about her shape.
She didn’t wear any jewelry, which made him wonder why. Was it out of respect for his uncle? For that matter, why was she still wearing mourning like the duchess when his cousins weren’t? Was it because she didn’t have any other clothing? That thought warmed him, too, but with irritation, not incipient lust.
“I’d prefer your amusement,” she said, startling him. “You have quite a fierce frown.”
