Page 64 of The Texan Duke
She almost said a swear word, something she’d heard from the stableboys. Or the 14th Duke of Lothian.
“Once I get you on Samson,” she said, “I’ll go back and get your hat.”
If she couldn’t get it now, she’d come back for it. Him and his hat. She led him to where Samson patiently stood.
To her surprise, he leaned down and kissed her before she knew what he was going to do. At least that’s what she told herself. Nor did she push him away because he’d been wounded. She didn’t want to make his injury worse.
The man was dangerous. Even hurt, he kissed like a devil.
She lost herself for a few moments, and when she finally stepped back, he smiled down at her.
A few minutes later they reached the stone at Samson’s side. Now, all she needed to do was to get him to climb on it and he could drape himself over the saddle. The stubborn man, the foolish man, the idiotic man, refused to do as she asked.
“Please, Connor,” she said. “Just step up there and we can get you on Samson.”
To her amazement, he gripped the reins, put his left foot in the stirrup and mounted the horse with accustomed ease. Only the look on his face betrayed the effort it had cost him. He was suddenly stark white, his lips thinned.
“Let’s go.”
She told herself she was an idiot as she went to retrieve his hat.
“Good afternoon, Duchess.”
Rhona halted in the corridor and slowly turned to find herself being addressed by Mr. Kirby.
He walked toward her, holding his oddly shaped hat in his hands.
“A lovely afternoon, isn’t it?”
“You’ll have to forgive me, Mr. Kirby, but I don’t have any idea whether it’s a lovely afternoon or not. I’ve been involved with a great many tasks.”
“Then would you care to take a walk with me?” he asked, having the effrontery to offer her his arm.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Take a stroll with me, Duchess. You can show me the sights around Bealadair.”
She wasn’t the type to show someone “the sights” as he called it. Only one thing kept her from informing him of that fact in as terse a manner as possible, and it so surprised her that she could only stare at the man.
His eyes were lit with admiration.
Was he one of those Americans who were fascinated with titles? Was he simply impressed that she was a duchess?
“I’m afraid I don’t have time,” she said.
“What is so pressing that you can’t take a moment out of your day?”
He was presuming a great deal, but then he was an American. They had a way of speaking bluntly.
“Mr. Kirby, I have the duties of my station.”
“Wouldn’t one of those be showing a guest around your house?”
He stretched out his hand, leaving it in the air between them. She didn’t know what else to do so she placed hers atop it. He bent and kissed the air above her knuckles, just like the French and German dignitaries she’d met. When the kiss was done, he squeezed her fingers as if he were loath to relinquish her hand.
“Mr. Kirby,” she began, only to be startled by his smile. He had a way of looking at you as if there was not another human being in existence.
“Even if that guest is in awe of your beauty?”
