The Heart of a Duke (8 page)

Well, wasn't that too bad? She wasn't going to
throw her game to soothe Langley's ego. He'd just have to get used
to losing.

Unfortunately, she seemed to be losing in the
game of Corner the Duke. Langley wasn't even aware they were
playing, and the blasted man still managed to evade her. She folded
her arms and sighed.

"How am I supposed to make him
kiss me if I can't
catch
him?"

The sound of choked laughter had her spinning
around, nearly slipping off the settee in her haste. How mortifying
to be caught in the truth.

Jacob stepped out from behind the open door,
giving it a shove with his fingertips that had it swinging shut on
silent hinges. His gaze glittered with amusement, at her expense,
of course. All the warmth that had been in his eyes that afternoon
as he watched her play pall mall was quite gone.

"Looking for Langley?"

"I certainly wasn't looking for you," Elle
muttered, pleating the material of her skirts between nervous
fingers. The man was constantly in her way. Making her feel things
she shouldn't. Causing her to behave in ways that would turn Mama's
hair pure white. He was surely the very Devil.

Picking up the snifter of brandy she now saw
that he had been pouring when she had invaded the duke's study,
Jacob wandered to where she sat and dropped down next to her. He
crossed one long, elegant leg over the other and studied her over
the top of his glass with lowered lids.

"Looking for trouble is what
you're doing. Entering Langley's study with the intent to catch him
alone?" The smile that slid over his lips was no smile at all,
laced with something bitter enough to make her heart ache.
"
Tsk, tsk,
Lady
Eleanore. I didn't realize you were so bold."

Her stomach fluttered at the dark
velvet caress of his murmur. Elle rubbed her lips together,
suddenly feeling out of her depth. She was more than aware of
Jacob's reputation with the merry widows of the
ton
, but he would never touch her as
long as she was betrothed to his cousin. His sense of honor would
keep her safe.

Safe.

Her marriage to Langley would be quite, quite
safe. He would never look at her like he could perfectly imagine
her without a stitch of clothing. He would never make her skin heat
and tingle with the anticipation of his lips on hers. Their union
would never produce this odd feeling of breathlessness in
her.

She shifted on the cushion, and the gypsy
locket bumped gently against her chest. The metal was warm and
silky smooth against her skin. As she studied Jacob, she absently
lifted the heart on its chain and tucked it into the low scoop of
her neckline.

His eyes followed her movements, then flicked
back to hers, something indefinable swimming in the golden green
depths of his gaze.

"It was not boldness that pushed me to search
out the duke this evening, but desperation, I fear." A smile
wobbling on her lips, Elle rose. She moved to stand in front of one
of the tall bookcases that lined the walls, pretending to study the
titles of the thick, leather-bound volumes. What she needed to
confess would not be easy. "Perhaps it was for the best he was not
here. I've been asking myself a question now for some time, and I
now realize I've been looking for the answer in all the wrong
ways."

"That sounds... ominous."

She turned to look at him, amusement sparking
through her at the wary tone in his voice. "That would depend on
how one looks at it, Mr. Farrish."

"I think, seeing as we will be family within a
month and we've always been friends of a sort, you might call me
Jacob instead."

"I don't think we will, actually."

His brows drew together, and he set down his
crystal tumbler with a precise click on the side table. "Won't be
friends?"

Elle drew in a deep breath, tension breaking
free in her chest.

"Won't be family."

Jacob blinked, looking nonplussed. Opened his
mouth, then shut it again. After a moment, he unfolded himself from
the settee, standing to face her.

"Is this a joke?"

She shook her head. "I promise you this is not
a rash decision—"

"How could it be anything
but
?"

"I've been unhappy for some time, and while
I'm quite certain Langley has a mild fondness for me, that is not
enough. Not anymore."

He moved toward her, but Elle backed away. She
did not want his sympathy, or his pity.

"Eleanore." The intensity in Jacob's voice
halted her, and he stepped closer. Placing one palm on her cheek,
he gently forced her to face him. The compassion in his gaze was
nearly her undoing. "Do not do this. You'll be ruined. You'll lose
everything."

The tenderness with which he brushed his
fingers along her jaw pushed her to ask, "Will I lose your
friendship? You stated earlier we were friends, of a
sort."

His gaze sharpened, studying her.

"Will I lose you too?" she whispered, reaching
up to fold her fingers over his, frightened by the strength of
sorrow that thought brought her.

His expression blanked, and slowly he drew his
hand away from her. Dismay filled her as he took one step back,
then another.

"Of course not. You may always count on my
friendship."

But he didn't look at her as he said
it.

"Of course," Elle echoed, numbness overtaking
the hurt, giving her the distance she needed to summon a smile and
drop into a curtsey. She did not wait for his bow, hurrying past
him. Forcing herself to take measured steps down the hall, her mind
raced ahead, sorting the things that must be done.

She could not go home. Papa was there, and he
would just put her back into a coach to Brookdale. Any of her
loving friends would offer refuge, but she knew she could not ask
any of their families to stand against hers and the
duke.

Only one person had ever intimated that Elle
might have the right to choose her husband for herself.

Grandfather
.

She had been eleven, and Mama had taken them
to visit her childhood home in Scotland for the summer. Grandfather
had taken Elle fishing, against Mama's wishes. She had been dirty,
shoeless... and never happier in her life. He had cast his line out
onto the loch, and looked down at her from under thick bushy
eyebrows, his blue eyes twinkling.

"So you're to marry Langley's boy, eh? An' how
do you feel about that?"

Elle had scratched her nose and lifted her
face to the morning sun, wiggling her dirty toes in the soil.
"Fine, I suppose."

"Hmmph. Do you like the boy?"

A careless shrug made him smile.

"I suppose. He's rather bossy, but most boys
are, I've noticed. Perhaps it will be different when we are
married. It's so far off, I don't think on it much."

"It's no' that far off, wee one.
You donna have to settle for
fine
, just because your father made
some archaic deal with a Sassenach." He laughed at Elle's wide eyes
and tugged on his dark, full beard. Leaning down toward her, his
gaze turned serious, blue eyes searching her face. "You are
descended from Scottish royalty, Eleanore Barnaby, and never forget
it. The song of the Highlands resounds in your blood and you will
always have a place here. You need not marry the
Englishman."

"But Papa said—"

"Your father doesn't know what he's speakin'
of." Her grandfather's voice went flat. "He's never been in love.
He picked my Hannah because she was a beauty, and he thinks my
lands will be of use to him when I tip my toes up for the las'
time."

He shifted on the bank of loch, laying down
his pole to stare out over the water. Elle held her breath, amazed
at this new side of him she was seeing, a man who guarded his
privacy well.

"Donna make your mother's mistake. She married
for prestige an' money, an' has paid a heavy price for it. Marry
for love, little Ellie, like I did." His gaze went distant and
dreamy, a faint smile tipping up the ends of his mouth. "Ah, your
grandmother was a one. You shoulda seen her, in our youth. I
couldna keep away from her, she drove me mad with love."

Elle wrinkled her nose.
"Grandfather,
please
."

He raised his bushy brows. "I may seem more
ancient than these mountains around us, but once I was young, an'
in love. I would not trade my fifteen years with tha' glorious
woman for anything in th' world."

When Elle had merely shrugged in discomfort
and changed the subject, her grandfather packed up the fishing
poles and they strolled back to the house. It had not been spoken
of again, and after a while, she put it aside. Over the years she
had learned that duty to her family trumped any small, private
desires of her own. And for the most part, it had not bothered her
to think of marrying the duke.

Until recently.

Now she needed an ally in her rebellion, and
there was only one place she could go.

Scotland.

Chapter Six

Elle straightened as tall as she could and
looked down her nose at the head groom, her heart thundering in her
throat. She only hoped she could play the haughty lady well enough
to convince him.

"My grandfather has taken ill, and the duke
kindly lent me his fastest carriage to take me north."

The older man peered past her into
the shadows of the deserted courtyard, scratching his head
doubtfully.
Oh, please, let him ask no
more questions.

"D' ye have a maid or chaperone to travel with
ye, m' lady?"

Dear God, she was going to be caught if they
lingered much longer. Elle summoned her most charming smile and
gestured to where Julia stood in miserable silence against the
stable wall, her hood drawn up. "Of course I do. What lady would
travel without one?"

"Well... I guess it's a'right. If the duke
said so." The groom turned and went back in to arrange the carriage
for them.

Still, she didn't dare breathe until they
rumbled out of the courtyard and turned onto the road that would
take her northward. The darkness outside the carriage was absolute,
the inky color of the sky only found in the wee hours of the night.
They had left the duke's residence at just a few minutes after two
o'clock, which would hopefully give her six or seven hours before
anyone arose and missed her.

Perhaps more if Julia was able to disguise her
absence the way Elle hoped.

She commanded the driver to stop just down the
road from the manor as soon as they were out of sight, and let
Julia out of the carriage. The girl cried and begged her to come
back, but Elle refused, reminding Julia of the promise she had
made. The maid was to tell everyone that her mistress was ill,
taken to her bed with an aching head, and merely wanted to sleep.
If Elle was lucky, she could even gain an entire day's start ahead
of whoever was sent after her.

For they would send someone after
her.

It was madness, what she was doing.

Deserting her betrothed, running to Scotland,
fleeing to a grandfather who might turn her away at the door. Her
only hope was that he would recall the words he had spoken to her
on that long ago summer day and help her. If nothing else, Peter
would be there. Her brother would persuade Grandfather to let her
stay, if it came to that.

Elle closed her eyes and settled into the
corner of the carriage as it started down the road again, trying to
ignore the way her head smacked the wall every time they hit a rut,
and the painful knot of doubt and fear in her stomach. Something
cool touched the base of her throat, and she remembered she was
still wearing the gypsy locket.

Oh, dear.
She would have to send it on to London when she arrived at
the castle. Valera should have it. Perhaps it would bring her the
fated happiness the gypsy girl had spoken of.

Elle would decide her own destiny from now
on.

Unfortunately, she soon discovered that while
she might aspire to control her future, she could not control the
greed of innkeepers who preyed on weary travelers.

"Two pounds merely for one night's rest?"
Elle's voice rose in disbelief. The innkeeper was taking advantage
of her lone status, and it was an outrage. "I assure you, sir. Your
inn is not so elegant as to be worth such a fee."

The rotund man spat on the ground and rubbed a
hand under his nose. "Well, my lady is welcome to find another
place to stay."

Compressing her lips, Elle swallowed her
frustration. He had her over a barrel and knew it. There was
nowhere else. She was not travelling the North Road where there
were inns aplenty, but had elected to stay on the smaller roads
that wound through the countryside and its tiny villages. There was
nowhere else to stay the night, unless she wanted to sleep in the
carriage as she had done the first evening. It had been awful, with
her startling awake at every small sound, despite the knowledge her
driver was asleep under the carriage, his gun on hand to protect
them.