Page 32 of A Dash of Scot
The fact of the matter was that he was fairly certain…he was in love with Poppy Featherstone.
“Are you well, my lord?” Grant eyed him with concern, looking ready to grab Dougal if he somehow collapsed.
“Nay,” he croaked, every emotion swirling into a tight knot that held his tongue in his throat.
The butler nodded. “Neither am I if I may be so bold. Is there anything I can do for ye, my lord?”
Dougal shook his head, flexing his fingers, which had become numb in his clenched fists. There was nothing to do. At least, nothing anyone else could do. “Good day,” Dougal managed to say.
“As well to ye, my lord.” Grant nodded, though he didn’t close the door, just watched him with that same look of concern.
How terrible did he look on the outside that the butler seemed ready to catch him?
Dougal cleared his throat and turned around, taking the steps a bit slower than usual in case his body decided to plant him on the ground in retaliation for this situation being so out of control.
As Dougal rode back down the street toward his house, a familiar carriage sat out front. The crest of Lucia Steventon’s father was boldly gilded on the side.
She’d returned. Bloody fecking hell. This was the last thing he needed. The absolute last. Of all the blasted timing!
His insides hardened as if he’d swallowed a boulder molded by his sister. Lucia opened the window of her carriage as he passed. She popped out her pretty blonde head and smiled at him as if she’d finally found the treasure she’d been searching for.
Dougal couldn’t help his surprise and attempted to mold his expression to say otherwise. This was highly improper. Ladies did not arrive at men’s homes, even if they were engaged. Even if her presence was desired—though, in this case, it was not.
“My lord.” Lucia’s tone was familiar, even though she used a formal expression. Her gaze roved over his figure on the horse. “I was hoping to catch you. It’s been so long since we last saw each other.”
Dougal made a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat, uncertain what to say in this particular situation. A polite gentleman might invite her inside, but a polite gentleman would also be worried about inviting her inside. And while he was mostly polite, he wasn’t feeling very courteous at the moment, considering Lucia had decided to come back from a decade abroad to nail the lid on his coffin.
“We were passing by,” she continued, waving her hand inside the carriage to someone he couldn’t see.
At that moment, the carriage door opened on the other side. But the person stepped around the back to greet him. Sir George Steventon.
Dougal held his grimace tightly inside, not wanting the elder gentleman to see his displeasure at such a visit. It was one thing for a lady to come uninvited to a man’s house, quite another for her to show up with her father.
“I inquired inside, but you weren’t here.” The statement sounded almost like an accusation. The man was gray all over his head, thinning at the temples, and had a permanently pinched look about his face. No doubt, with a daughter like Lucia, he was kept plenty on his toes.
Dougal managed to clear his throat, hoping it would clear his head and give him the right thing to say, but alas, no luck.
Dougal dismounted, holding the reins and keeping his horse between him and the carriage. Fortunately, he was tall enough to see well over the animal, though Sir George had to look up. Poor fellow.
“Do come in, then.” Though the invitation was given, it wasn’t given with pleasure. Dougal didn’t feel the need to be friendly. After all, they were putting him out, and he might as well set a tone now. The last thing he wanted to do was invite them inside to be browbeaten into a marriage he’d forgotten about. And one that seemed suspiciously convenient now for a woman he’d not seen in years. If only he could crack open their heads like a couple of walnuts and figure out what had brought them here.
Once settled in his drawing room, Dougal called for tea. He sat opposite the father and daughter. Lucia looked even more boring than she had before. Her face was expressionless. Her eyes lacked life. How had he once found her captivating? His gaze fell on the sideboard where a crystal decanter gleamed in the sunlight, beckoning him to drink the contents. That was how, of course. Drink seemed to give a man a different view of people, women in particular.
“Glad we caught you in town,” her father said, shifting on his chair. The way his gaze wouldn’t quite meet Dougal’s rankled.
“Very lucky indeed, as I am leaving shortly,” Douglas said, making the declaration before he’d even had a chance to contemplate if that were what he would be doing.
The only plans he’d made thus far were to open his castle in the north. But they need not know another thing about it. Only that he was unavailable for whatever this was. Felt like an ambush, to be sure.
“Is that so?” Lucia’s father seemed perturbed, glancing at his daughter, who wore an equally perturbed expression, but Dougal didn’t care. “We were hoping to get a wedding date established.”
Now was the chance for Dougal to call off the whole thing, but he didn’t want to embarrass Lucia nor incite her father into calling him out into a duel. But he also couldn’t ignore the reminder of a life they hadn’t planned. A foolish whim they’d shared a decade ago when both of them had been practically children and both in their cups. This matter needed to be settled before it went any further.
“I dinna believe a formal proposal has been made,” Dougal countered. He kept his expression neutral, daring them to argue.
Lucia sat up straighter and, to her credit, made her expressionless face form into embarrassment—for him. She even blushed a little. Och, but she was cunning. “My lord, you have forgotten. Friends surrounded us. Many witnesses to your declarations of…love.” At this, her hand fluttered to her heart, and she batted her lashes.
He’d seen better acting at Covent Gardens. She was truly bad at this, and she clearly wanted something from him. Needed something.
