Page 18 of Return of the Scot
“Well, ye must know Sutherland wool has been coveted around the world for the last six hundred years.”
She didn’t flinch, which meant she was well aware, and it was likely one of the reasons she’d wanted to get her hands on Dunrobin. And it was lucky for him that a decade ago, he’d moved the majority of the flock and fleece company to his holding in Dornoch. Something she might not have anticipated when she’d purchased his family seat.
“Why would ye use Andrewson?”
“I’ve heard ye’re the best.”
“Flattery will get ye nowhere.”
“Is it flattery or a fact?” Hooking a thumb in his coat pocket, he leaned against the frame, blocking her exit but giving her room to retreat backward.
“Fact.”
He grinned, and she grimaced in turn.
“Miss Andrewson, I could escort the duke around the docks if ye wish,” her clerk said.
Jaime looked ready to agree, but her words contradicted his observation. “I’ll do it. Mind, it will be quick. Come on, Your Grace.”
She shooed him, and Lorne wondered if she would put her hands on him to shove him forward—thought about waiting long enough to see if she would. But the pained expression on her face was enough to have him moving. Why did she hate him so much?
Sure he’d broken off the engagement with her sister, resulting in humiliation for all parties, but the deep-seated hatred within her seemed to go way beyond that. Perhaps one day, she’d find out the truth about Shanna. He could blurt it out right now, but he was certain she wouldn’t trust his word over her sister.
“This way.” Jaime marched forward.
He followed, watching the way her shoulders squared, and as much as she tried to be militant in her departure, there was an enticing sway to her hips that he could not ignore.
That gentle rocking drew his eye to her arse in the soft green gown she wore with a plaid bodice. A working gown, but it didn’t matter if it wasn’t made to entice—for it was her, and not the fabric, which drew his attention. And that was a problem. Lorne hurried to walk beside her.
Jaime glanced over at him, that same pained and pinched expression she wore every time he was around her—well, today and yesterday. It was starting to grow on him.
“What do ye really want, Sutherland?” she asked. “Ye’re no’ a delivery lad. And I’m no’ fool enough to believe ye would use my shipping company for your exports, breaking off a long-standing partnership with your current export company, especially given our present circumstances.”
They rounded the corner, and the docks came into view. Massive ships rocked in the quay, their high masks stabbing at the sky and their sails tied down tight. Men teemed, carrying crates and barrels. Hammering, chiseling. Busy with all that kept her company running. The salty scent of the wharf was stronger as a breeze blew in off the water.
Lorne glanced sideways at Jaime, watching her expression soften as she took in the docks, her ships, her employees. There was pride in her face, a satisfaction that he could understand. And it made him long to be back at Dunrobin, to be back in the fields with his crofters. To be right there in the thick of everything that made the lands thrive. He might have been born a duke, but he was no stranger to work, and he’d never been one to shun the working men who made his entire existence possible. Nay, he leapt right in there with them.
In fact, he wouldn’t have minded right then and there, rolling up his sleeves and—
A shout came from their side as two men worked to carry a precarious crate and wavered on their feet, slanting sideways as if they were going to fall. The box started to tip.
Lorne dove into action, picking up the leaning side until the men were steady on their feet. It’d been an age since he’d worked his muscles, and though he strained, his body remembered what it was made for, and he held onto the weight, waiting until they were ready for him to release it.
“Good God, what is in this?” he asked, the weight of the crate all centered on that one side rather than evenly distributed. Probably had happened in the way they lifted it and was the fault of whoever had done the packing.
“None of your concern,” Jaime quipped, waving over another dockhand to take Lorne’s place.
“Thank ye, Your Grace,” the men speaking the words their mistress did not seem able to utter.
Lorne nodded and stepped out of their way as they continued on the path toward the ship, struggling as they went.
“I should help them,” he said.
“They’ll manage.” But as she said it, the three of them wavered again, only this time they were amidst their men, who hurried forward to help them settle the awkward haul.
Lorne raised a brow at her, but she ignored him. Why was she being so stubborn?
“Listen, Your Grace,” Jaime said, turning to face him fully, though she stared at his forehead rather than meeting his eyes. She ran her tongue over her lower lip, and he watched its quick glide, trying not to be mesmerized. “I spoke with my solicitor this morning. He informed me that ye have the right to reverse the sale and return the funds to me for the deed. But I warn ye that I’ll fight it.”
