Page 20 of Return of the Scot
With an unladylike snort of disgust at herself, Jaime pushed open the door and stepped down on the walk, surprised that her legs didn’t tremble with nerves. A stray dog weaved between her and her groom, looking pitiful, and nearly skin and bones.
“Poor hound. Put him up with ye, and we’ll see he’s taken care of. I will no’ be long,” she told her coachman. Jaime had always had a soft spot for strays.
The iron knocker in the shape of a unicorn was heavy in her hand, but she didn’t yet let it fall. She was well aware she’d gone against the grain once more by not sending a calling card ahead. By not being issued an invitation. And even worse, by not arriving with a chaperone. All of which she didn’t care about. The duke had now shown up uninvited at her home and her place of work, so why shouldn’t she do the same? The papers were already wagging their tongues. What was one more bit of gossip?
That thought cemented in her mind, Jaime let the knocker drop, hearing it thunder through the cavern of the inside of his house.
A moment later, a man the duke’s age answered, examining her as if she were a rare species that he’d never encountered before. Dressed in a kilt and tails, he must be the butler.
“Can I help ye?” he asked.
“I’m here to see His Grace.”
The man narrowed his eyes. “Is he expecting ye?”
Jaime hesitated, shifting on her feet, aware of the eyes at her back. She wanted to lie but gave him the true answer. “No, but he’ll see me all the same.”
The man’s eyebrows shot to his hairline, and he opened the door wider, stepping out of her way and sweeping his hand in a gesture for her to enter. Well, that was unexpected. She had truly expected him to slam the door in her face. Dukes did not take orders from mere lassies.
“I’ll just let him know ye’re here.” The man sauntered off, leaving Jaime to stand in the grand foyer’s center, glare at the winding marble stairs to the upper floor. Polished wood floors covered in expensive rugs. Oil portraits of dukes and duchesses, ranging back hundreds of years. Overhead, a vast chandelier held two dozen candles, their wax dripping down the sides. The pure opulence and wealth in that entryway gave way to irritation. By taking the seat of his dukedom at Dunrobin, she’d still not robbed him. The man was rich beyond reason.
“Miss Andrewson.” Lorne’s voice was soft, coming from somewhere in the shadows behind the stairs.
He stepped out, rolling the sleeves that were halfway up his forearms back down in a gesture of propriety, but she couldn’t stop looking at the strength rippling along his exposed flesh in that brief moment. Dear heavens. There was a little flutter in her belly that she chalked up to nerves and nothing, absolutely nothing, else.
Jaime cleared her throat, aware she should curtsy and not wanting to do it anyway. “Your Grace.” She settled on a slight bend of her neck.
Lorne gave her a once over, his expression leaving his thoughts a mystery. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?”
Pleasure? He was mad if he thought this visit was pleasant at all. His eyes danced as he came to stand a mere foot away from her. Aye, he appeared amused at her intrusion rather than irritated at seeing her again.
“I had a question for ye.” Jaime tried to keep her voice confident. She laced her gloved fingers in front of her.
He didn’t make a move to lead her into his drawing room or study but instead crossed his arms over his supremely muscled chest and stared down at her. How had he maintained his strength when he was “dead?”
“Where were ye?” This was not the question she’d come to ask and had nothing to do with her sister, but curiosity had gotten the better of her. She let her gaze rove over his figure.
“Imprisoned.” The word was curt, and all the merriment that had been in his eyes before she’d asked evaporated.
He did not expound on the explanation, and she was too embarrassed at her forwardness to press. Her bringing it up had caused his mood to so swiftly change, leaving her with more questions. And worse—sympathy. The man must have been through purgatory. But why should she care?
“Is that the reason ye came?”
Jaime shook her head. “Nay, no’ at all.” She was getting flustered and hated that he was able to take away her wit so easily. Well, she might as well blurt the reason before he kicked her out on her ear. “Ye were at Dunrobin before ye came to Edinburgh, were ye no’?”
He crossed his arms over his chest and stared down at her. “What’s it any business of yours?”
Well, this wasn’t going well at all. “I take that as an ‘aye.’”
Lorne shrugged, moving from ire to indifference. “I choose no’ to say.”
“Why?”
“Many reasons.”
Was one of those reasons Shanna, and the other Gordie? Well, she wasn’t leaving here without an answer. Jaime squared her shoulders and pressed on. “If ye did happen to be there, and for whatever reason, ye choose no’ to tell me, I would hope that ye would at least alleviate some worry I’m having.”
Lorne let out a derisive grunt. “Ye, worried? I thought ye a hard arse.”
