Page 4 of A Scottish Bride for the Duke
“Yer Grace,” she said, sinking into a curtsy that she could feel was a little too mocking. Whoops. “I am here on me maither’s instructions. Where is the Duchess of Somerset?”
He advanced a few steps. “I won’t ask again. Who are you?”
Isobel kept her chin high, doing her best not to look intimidated by his proximity. “I’m a MacAlister. Me maither is a friend of yers. Where is the duchess?”
“A MacAlister?” He arched an arrogant brow. “Am I supposed to know the name?”
“Well, yer maither certainly does,” she said tartly. “I’ve been sent to stay with her.”
“Stay with my mother,” he repeated.
“Yes. Me maither sent me to stay with the duchess, and I fully intend to see that through. Where is she? I guarantee she will know me maither.”
“And who might your mother be?”
Isobel thought she did an excellent job ofnotrolling her eyes. He might be a duke, but that didn’t stop him from being a man, and a stubborn one at that.
“Catherine MacAlister. Countess of Glenrannoch.”
“Countess?” That dark brow arched high. “Forgive me—ah, my lady—but I know of no Countess of Glenrannoch. I’m not even sure Glenrannoch is a place.”
“Then perhaps ye ought to spend more time with maps,” she said tartly.
“You are impertinent.”
“And ye are blocking my attempts to fulfill me duty.”
“Yourduty?” He retreated back behind his desk, strolling with infuriating calm. “And have you given any thought as towhyI might be obstructing said duty?”
She had plenty of ideas, but she fancied he might think them even more impertinent. This was not the first time a gentleman had said as much, although she disliked the term. That implied that she had nothing better to do than offer a gentleman politeness when he did not offer her the same respect.
With a chill down her spine, she thought of the Marquess of Moreton, and forced him from her mind. Under the Duchess of Somerset’s protection, she would be safe.
“I think ye’re being unnecessarily cautious,” she said, deciding that was the nicest term she could find for him.
“Unnecessarily? Consider my position, if you will.” He paused, nostrils flaring in irritation.
The thought that she, too, was getting under his skin brought her a reasonable degree of satisfaction.
“You are a strange lady; you have forcibly entered my study. Not to mention that you are a Scot, and with a family name I do not know. You claim to know my mother, but you have no real connection to her—if you did, I would have met you before now. And yet I do not know. Why, under these circumstances, would I offer her whereabouts to you?”
Insufferably cold, she thought.
Aloud, she said, “So Her Grace isn’t here?”
Surprise crossed his face, along with a darkening of anger. No doubt he had thought to use logic to whittle her into submission, but she was not so easily cowed, and especially not when faced with such an appalling lack of politeness.
“I have a letter,” she said, withdrawing it from her reticule and handing it to him. His mother’s name was on the front. “That should explain everything.”
He barely glanced at the missive. “I am not in the habit of reading my mother’s correspondence.”
Her face heated with anger as she glared at him. “So ye will not accept my word at face value, ye will not provide me with your maither’s location so she can read the letter, and ye will not read the evidence that what I say is the truth? What, then, am I to do in this situation?”
Rain splattered against the window as the silence between them grew.
His brows had descended low over his eyes, and she felt pinned in place by the force of his glare. Although she was not easily cowed, there was something hard about his eyes she had never seen before. Not the menace she had seen in certainothergentlemen’s eyes, but unyielding all the same, like if she pittedherself against it, she might find herself shattering before he crumbled.
Not a feeling she was used to, not by a long way.
