The Heart of a Duke (11 page)

Not to mention his stomach lurched at the
thought of Langley taking her to bed.

Jacob should have never kissed her, because
now he had the barest inkling of what it would be like to spend
every night in her arms. It was killing him not to touch her, to
kiss her, to pull her into his embrace.

He shook the dangerous thoughts away as the
carriage rolled up the packed dirt drive to the massive castle set
upon a cliff that seemed to drop off the edge of the world. They
came to a clattering halt, and he stared, struck by the
view.

A massive forest spread out at the base of the
cliff, marching toward the horizon where the jagged peaks of the
surrounding mountains stood as proud sentinels against the strong
afternoon light. Raised mostly in London and the soft rises of the
English countryside, he had never seen the like. The beauty of it
caught him by the throat and refused to let go.

Elle turned to him as the driver opened the
door, her lips moving with words Jacob couldn't hear over the rush
of his own heartbeat in his ears. Framed in the doorway by the
greens and blues of Scotland, her eyes matched the vivid color of
the sky. It knocked the breath from him, and he broke eye contact,
gesturing she should precede him out of the vehicle, while he
struggled to find his footing on ground that had suddenly become
precarious.

Ducking out of the carriage in her wake, Jacob
straightened and raised his eyes to the enormous structure in front
of them. Truly, it could not be called anything but a castle. Grey
stone walls rose above them, scored and beaten by years of weather
and the passage of time. Elle smiled nervously over her shoulder as
she led the way under a soaring stone arch, toward the inner
courtyard and the front steps of the home. Glancing overhead, Jacob
blinked and nearly tripped over his own feet.

There was an honest-to-God iron gate secured
in the top reaches of the arch, leftover from the days of bloody
civil war and clan rebellion against their English
overlords.

Or as his born and bred in the Highlands
father used to tell it, the fight for their rightful
freedom.

If Jacob had learned anything in
his time practicing law, he knew a man's perspective was skewed by
which cause he chose to serve. His father had no intentions of
falling in love with a
Sassenach
, the daughter of an
English duke, and leaving his clan to live in London with her. But
fall he did, and hard.

It had taken persistence, patience, and a
refusal to be chased away, but eventually Jacob’s father had worn
the old duke down and convinced him to give the couple his
blessing. As Father liked to tell it, Jacob and Langley's
grandfather hid a romantic heart under all that cantankerous
bluster. Having known the elderly man for a decade before his
death, Jacob could only presume it had been buried quite
deep.

Father would have admired Elle for taking her
fate into her own hands and refusing to allow others to direct her
life. Jacob wished that his father and mother were still here to
meet her. They would have enjoyed her.

He followed her up the broad stairs to the
massive wooden door, trying and mostly failing not to notice the
way her bottom swayed under the thin summer dress she wore. A
silent butler held open the door for them, with a nod of faint
recognition for Elle, and they stepped into an airy
hall.

Ancient tapestries marched across stone walls,
and expensive stained glass windows let in a myriad of colored
light. It was beautiful and intimidating, just like the view from
the castle's front drive. The way Elle twisted her fingers
together, slender shoulders set tight, didn't escape his
notice.

"Ellie?"

They turned at the sound of a surprised
masculine voice. Peter Barnaby hurried toward them with eyes that
matched his sister's filled with concern.

"Oh, Peter! I'm
so glad
to see you."
Elle fell into her brother's arms and he looked over her head at
Jacob with narrowed eyes.

"As am I—though shouldn't you be at Brookdale
with Mother, and your future husband?"

Jacob studied the heavy wooden beams
crisscrossing the high ceiling at Peter's suspicious question. Elle
had gotten herself into this mess. Let her figure out how to weave
her tale best to capture her audience.

She stepped back from her brother, her wide
smile bright.

Jacob didn't believe it for a moment, and
since Barnaby had never been an idiot, it was unlikely he would
either.

"Ah. Yes, well, I've decided not to marry
Langley." Elle smoothed one hand over her hair. "His barrister, Mr.
Farrish, graciously agreed to accompany me to Scotland instead.
It's all perfectly fine; you mustn't worry a bit. Where's
Grandfather?"

Jacob coughed into his hand at the look of
outrage on her brother's face.

"Do you mean to tell me that you ran away with
the duke's barrister to avoid marriage?"

"No, of course not!" Elle's assurance caused
Peter to relax marginally, until her next words tumbled out. "I
actually left on my own, and Jacob chased me down at an inn last
night."

Oh, Christ.
If the look on Peter Barnaby's face was any indication, Jacob
had about thirty seconds left on this earth.

"Jacob?" growled her brother, cracking his
knuckles.

"Yes, of course, Peter. You recall him, from
our visits to Langley's estates as children. He's the duke's
cousin." Elle's smile was sweeter than sugar cubes, false without a
doubt, and he didn't think her brother was appeased in the least.
She turned to Jacob and gestured to her glowering sibling. "Did you
know that Peter is now Baron Barnaby? He's become a treasure
hunter! In fact, he's so good that the Regent himself created a new
title just for Peter, in gratitude for certain services rendered.
We're all rather proud of him."

"Collector of antiquities,
thank you very much
, and
it's not a public venture, Ellie. I believe we can leave the matter
at that." His irritated words were directed at his sister, but the
baron's narrowed gaze never left Jacob. "Exactly how did all this
come about, Farrish?"

"I was merely attempting to bring your sister
home to the duke." Jacob raised his hands in defense as the other
man stared at him with murder in his eyes. It was as if he knew all
the covetous thoughts Jacob had been entertaining over the years
about his sister. "I slept on a pallet by the fire to make sure the
lady remained safe, and had fully intended to be on our way back to
England this morning."

"Then why aren't you?"

Jacob shook his head in rueful bemusement. "I
assure you I was set on my course and cannot fathom how I have
drifted from it."

A sardonic smile tipped up one side of her
brother's mouth. "Yes, these things have a way of happening around
Ellie."

"So I am beginning to notice."

"That's rather unfair." Elle
placed her hands on her hips and regarded them both with a frown.
"I didn't
ask
you
to come after me. I was
fine
on my own."

Jacob ignored her, not willing to engage in an
argument in front of her brother. "I have delivered Lady Eleanore
safe to your doorstep, but I must be on my way as soon as
possible."

"I'm to stay?" Her question was rife with
shock, and the bright note of hope.

He could not look at her. "Yes. You'll be safe
at your grandfather's home, and happier."

"But must you leave directly? We only just
arrived." Something in Elle's voice had him glancing over. If he
didn't know better, he'd swear she looked... hurt. Impossible. Most
likely it was that she was loathe to lose a barrier between her
male relatives and herself.

"No, my dear, the gentleman will not be
leaving today.”

They all looked up as a large man with an
unruly gray beard and bushy eyebrows descended the staircase from
the upper levels of the castle, his step slow and measured due to
the cane he leaned on. Though Peter's expression went curiously
blank, Elle gave a soft cry of delight and rushed
forward.

"Grandfather!"

"What have you done now, Eleanore Barnaby?" He
gave her back an awkward pat as she threw her arms around him. Dark
eyes crinkled at the corners as she drew back, her expression
offended. One look at his slight smile and her face softened
again.

"I decided to wait for love rather than marry
the Langley boy, as you called him."

His gaze sharpened on her face. "Ahh. Did you
now? I'd imagine your father had much to say about
that."

"Oh. Um." Elle fiddled with the fringe on her
shawl, not meeting his eyes. "Well, I'm sure Papa will
understand... once I've explained it properly to him."

"I wouldn't wager on that," Jacob muttered to
himself, but the older man looked over, his eyebrows shooting
upward. Resisting the urge to shuffle his feet under such close
scrutiny, Jacob straightened his shoulders instead.

"Who are you?"

"Grandfather." Elle's admonishment was soft
but firm. "This is Mr. Jacob Farrish. He is the Duke of Langley's
cousin, and a successful barrister. He discovered me at an inn last
night and insisted on accompanying me the rest of my journey to
make sure I arrived safely."

Looking over at Jacob, she smiled, her arm
still tucked through her grandfather's. Her entire demeanor had
lightened since walking into the house, the toll of the last few
days dropping away under the happiness of reuniting with her
grandfather. Jacob hadn't realized how much he missed seeing her
true smile until it was directed his way again.

"Mr. Farrish, may I introduce my grandfather,
the Earl of Muir?"

The older man harrumphed as Jacob executed a
short bow. "It is a pleasure, my lord."

The earl looked between him and Elle with
narrowed eyes. "Yes. I'm sure 'tis. You are welcome to Sleeping
Giant Keep."

A fitting name for such a grand home
overlooking what must be half of Scotland. As much as Jacob would
love to stay and explore the forests and glen surrounding the
earl's castle in Elle's company, he knew the longer he stayed, the
harder it would be to walk away from her.

"Thank you, but as I said earlier, I truly
cannot stay. I must make haste for England. We were expected
tomorrow, and I must return as soon as possible to explain the
changed circumstances."

"No, I donna think so." The earl ran a
thoughtful hand over his beard. "You'll stay the night."

"The offer is appreciated, but—"

"'Tisn't an offer. You will stay the night."
Steely determination infused the older man's voice, brooking no
dissent. He looked at Elle's brother, who had watched the entire
exchange with a neutral expression. "Peter will show you the house
while my butler Kinley sees to your bags. Then we will have
supper."

Jacob could see there was no argument the earl
would accept. He would just have to stay and leave at dawn instead.
He could manage that.

"Well." He glanced at Elle to where she had
moved to the base of the staircase, one elegant hand resting on the
carved wood of the banister. Their gazes connected, her blue eyes
sending a warm cascade of sparks through him. "Perhaps just the
night."

Chapter Nine

Things were going well, or so Jacob thought,
right up until the dessert course.

"Ahh, I do love Cook's boiled pudding but I
canna manage another bite." The earl pushed away his plate with a
regretful sigh. He took a swallow of wine, then focused on Jacob
with the sharp gaze of a fox with prey in his sights. "I appreciate
what you've done for my granddaughter, Mr. Farrish."

"I didn't see any other option." Jacob placed
his fork down with care. He glanced across the table at Elle, who
smiled at him over her wine glass. "I could hardly leave Lady
Eleanore to make her way here, knowing she was alone."

"You made her your responsibility."

The way the earl put it sounded
so...
possessive
.
Jacob shifted in his seat.

"I suppose I did."

"He did the gentlemanly thing, Grandfather.
One can hardly fault him for that," Elle interjected, leaning
forward in her seat. The candlelight burnished her curls to a dark
gold; everything about her looked soft and touchable in the
wavering light.

Jacob fisted his hand on his thigh under the
table and resolved not to drink anything more than water for the
rest of the evening. Her nearness made it hard enough to
concentrate without adding alcohol to the mix, and he sensed he
would need all his wits about him for wherever the earl was taking
this conversation.

"I donna fault the man. I merely stated that
he has a great sense of responsibility and much pride in his
honor." The earl turned back to him, one bushy eyebrow raised. "Am
I wrong to say so?"

"I hope not, my lord. I think it would be
quite difficult to manage my profession were I
dishonest."