Page 78 of The Texan Duke
Orphaned at sixteen, he survived by gambling, small games on the street at first before graduating to higher and higher stakes card games. Along the way he began to observe the men with whom he played. They talked different. They dressed different. They were as foreign to him as someone from New York.
He was determined to remake himself in their image. It might have taken him a decade or so, but he’d managed it. He’d also acquired a bit of polish himself and something else—a fortune.
As a gambler, he’d learned two lessons about life: you never won anything if you didn’t play, and losing wasn’t permanent unless you never played again.
Graham had known about his past, one of the few men who had. Sam had thought he’d known everything about Graham, but he’d been as surprised as Connor when the McCraight solicitor had showed up at XIV Ranch, claiming that Connor was the 14th Duke of Lothian and Laird of Clan McCraight.
Now he could only bless the circumstances that led him to this place. Unlike Connor, he was enjoying almost everything about the experience.
Of course, he hadn’t been shot, either.
As if Rhona heard his thoughts, she asked, “How is His Grace today?”
He smiled at her, amused at her insistence in calling ConnorHis Gracedespite the fact he was her nephew. Rhona was dead set on being proper.
“He’s determined to be up and about today. He’ll do it, too. I’ve never known anyone as stubborn as Connor.”
She nodded, but he could tell she wasn’t paying any attention to his words. Instead, she was looking toward Elsbeth, who, instead of walking in their direction, was leaving the ballroom by the other door.
“Is there a problem between the two of you?” he asked.
He half expected Rhona to announce, in that frosty tone she could adopt, that it was none of his concern.
To his surprise, she glanced at him and smiled faintly.
“Do you think there’s any possibility that His Grace will change his mind?” She placed her hand on his arm. “Is there anything that can make him reconsider?”
“You mean about selling Bealadair?”
She nodded.
“No, Rhona. He’s pretty set on getting rid of the place. But you must have known that something like this could happen.”
Had the McCraights just assumed the new duke would take residence and allow them to live cheek and jowl next to his family? What if Connor had been married with a family of his own?
“I wish I could tell you different,” he said, placing his hand over hers. Warmth filled him at the look in her eyes. He’d been around women enough to know that the Duchess of Lothian was not immune to his charm, such as it was. “But I can only tell you the truth. Connor only came to Scotland as a favor to his mother and to honor his father’s memory. He doesn’t want to live here.”
“Are you very sure? Can nothing change his mind?”
He patted her hand again, then gave her fingers a gentle squeeze. If they hadn’t been in full view of at least a half dozen people in the ballroom, he would have leaned over and given her a kiss. She might slap him, but it would be worth it.
As far as Connor, he would do as he wanted. Sam knew that well enough. Connor had been different ever since coming back from the war, but that was to be expected. He’d been working all hours of the day, filling Graham’s place, introducing new ways of doing things, and being the head of the family. He’d been too busy to have any fun. If nothing else, this visit to Scotland might provide some of that.
He’d seen the look on Connor’s face when he watched Elsbeth and Elsbeth’s furtive glances in return. There was something brewing there. Was it enough to keep Connor in Scotland? He didn’t know.
Nor was he sure that it was altogether safe for Connor to remain here. He had been assured, by Rhona, Glassey, Mr. Barton, and a variety of footmen and stableboys, that the shooting had to have been a simple accident. Some fool with a rifle had thought Connor was dinner.
No one had come forward to own up to their stupidity. Nor had he been able to find any clues at the old castle. Still, he didn’t like this feeling he was getting. He didn’t think it was an accident any more than Connor did. The only question was whether it was Felix or someone else responsible for nearly killing the new duke.
“You aren’t supposed to be up,” Elsbeth said, stopping abruptly in the doorway of the kitchen.
There was Connor, sitting at the scarred oak table in the middle of the kitchen with Addy and Betty, all of them smiling and looking as if they had been friends for years.
Connor didn’t even have the sense to wear the sling they’d arranged for him. No, his right arm was braced on the top of the table and he was sipping his coffee with his left.
“Oh, Miss Elsbeth,” Addy said, “His Grace has made the best coffee. It’s better than my own, I have to say.”
Elsbeth headed toward the table. Connor would have stood, but she waved him back down.
