Page 99 of The Texan Duke
It had been a very long time since she’d felt this lost and alone. She’d been eight years old and visited in the hospital by three officious gentlemen who informed her that her parents had not survived the accident, but she had, and wasn’t she the most fortunate little girl?
She hadn’t felt fortunate.
She had a feeling she’d feel the same way when Connor left, when he packed up his saddle and strode to his carriage without a backward glance toward Bealadair. Or her.
She’d wanted to talk to Douglas, so she’d requested that the driver take the carriage around to the stable instead of pulling into the front of Bealadair.
As if she summoned him with her thoughts, Connor was standing there when the carriage rolled to a stop. His hat was pulled low over his forehead so she couldn’t see his eyes, but from his stance she could tell Connor McCraight was not in a good mood. He was leaning against a fence post, his arms folded in his leather coat, one booted foot crossed over the other.
Snow was drifting down lazily like feathers, but it didn’t seem to touch him. Maybe Nature itself knew better than to bother with His Grace when he had, as Mr. Kirby had once called it, his “mad on.”
Elsbeth thanked the stableboy who opened the carriage door for her.
Why was Connor waiting for her? It was quite evident he was, especially when he pushed back the brim of his hat with one slow finger.
Oh, dear, that expression wasn’t friendly at all.
Somehow, he’d acquired Gavin’s frosty look when he was being all ducal and aristocratic. In Connor, it seemed to be even more intense.
She gathered her cloak around her and stepped out of the vehicle.
Connor approached her, walking slowly, almost like a large feral cat stalking a bird.
“Stop that,” she said.
He stopped.
“If you think I’m going to be intimidated by that look, you’re wrong. I’ve faced down the Duchess of Lothian all my life, so I know all about people who act all aristocratic.”
“I thought she was a crosspatch, but according to Sam, she’s very agreeable.”
She’d never heard the Duchess of Lothian described as agreeable by anyone.
He frowned at her, which was marginally better than that glare.
“Besides, I don’t act all aristocratic.”
“Then stop looking at me like that.”
He shook his head. “Where the hell have you been?” he asked.
“What?”
“You stop doingthat,” he said. “Repeating what I say. Just answer me.”
It was her turn to frown.
“Is it any of your concern, Your Grace?”
“You were gone three days.”
“I know how long I was gone,” she said.
She did wish he would move back, away. He was large and rather formidable up close.
“Elsbeth.”
“You stop doingthat. You shouldn’t say my name like that. It’s entirely too personal.”
