Page 21 of The Texan Duke
He considered his sisters pretty and he supposed his cousins were, too. He had met his share of beautiful women and most of them, in his estimation, had a very good idea of how attractive they were.
Elsbeth Carew, however, was different from all of them.
He had the feeling that if he leaned over and said, “Elsbeth, you’re one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen,” she would be surprised, first. Then, no doubt, she would demur, claim that she was no such thing, that he was mistaken or that fatigue had caused him to make such a comment. Or perhaps his eyesight was failing. Then she would ask him what he wanted for his dinner.
Her gray eyes reminded him of a Texas sky in winter. Or the fog around San Antonio. There was a black circle around the iris as if to further enhance the distinctive color. Her feathery lashes were so long that they brushed her cheeks when she blinked. He found himself caught up by the sight.
Her hair was black, but not just any black. It reminded him of midnight, when the world was silent and he was awake and staring at the canopy of stars above him.
He studied her face for a moment, wondering what it was that made her so beautiful. It wasn’t just the color of her eyes. Her nose was neither too large nor too pointed. Her mouth was the perfect shape, even at rest. When she smiled, the expression lit up her face. Her chin wasn’t too squared. Her forehead wasn’t too broad nor too short. Everything about her was separately perfect and together they created a memorable face.
Yet there was something else about her, something that intrigued him. Perhaps it was the determination he’d bumped up against accidentally.
She was a head shorter than he, but he had the impression that the difference in size didn’t matter to her. If it came to a war of wills, Elsbeth Carew would give as good as she got.
He found himself smiling, and when she frowned at him, his smile only got bigger.
Her hands attracted him as well, and he couldn’t ever remember being fascinated by the shape of a woman’s hands or how she used them. Her fingers were long, the nails short, and he found himself watching her gestures.
Perhaps he was fatigued from the journey after all. Not thinking straight was what Sam would call it.
“I would appreciate it if you would call me Connor,” he said. “Glassey has already treated me to chapter and verse of why I must be addressed as Your Grace. I know I won’t be able to change everyone’s mind, Elsbeth, but it would be nice if there was one person in Scotland who could be a friend.”
“Perhaps you could convince your cousins,” she said. “After all, they’re your relatives.” Still, there was a look in her eyes, the same compassionate expression as when she’d been discussing Bealadair’s housekeeper. He had a feeling that she was on the cusp of committing etiquette treason.
“Please,” he said, realizing that he wasn’t fighting fair. His sisters had always told him that a pleading man was nearly impossible to refuse.
“Perhaps not in public,” she said.
He was gracious in her capitulation.
“Not in public, then,” he said. “Only in private.”
For a moment she looked as if she wished to take back her agreement. Or maybe she was simply determined never to be alone with him like they were now.
“Do you always wake at dawn?” he asked.
She nodded. “There’s a great deal to be done,” she said. “I like to get a good start on the day. Plus, I find it nice to be awake when others are asleep.”
He felt the same.
“Do you like to dance?”
Her eyes widened and he wondered if he had broken another Scottish rule.
“I’m afraid I was the bane of our dancing instructor,” she said. “Your cousins are all quite accomplished dancers. I am not.”
He had the feeling that she’d be good at the Texas two-step and was determined to dance it with her, at least once. “Do you ride?”
“I’m afraid I don’t have a great many talents,” she said. “Your cousins, on the other hand, are very accomplished in a great many ways.”
He didn’t give a flying flip what his cousins could do.
He forced himself to drink some of his coffee. This batch was as bad as the first. He liked his coffee strong and this was like weak tea. He wasn’t fond of tea.
“Why did you bring your saddle?” she suddenly asked.
She sat with her hands together at the edge of the table, reminding him of a student awaiting the answer to an important quiz.
