Page 6 of A Scottish Bride for the Duke
“Your Grace,” the maid whispered. “It’s far too dangerous, especially for a lady.”
The way the duke looked at her suggested he thought little enough of her, certainly not that she was a lady. But after a moment, he pinched his nose.
“You played your hand well, Lady Isobel,” he said, his voice clipped. “It seems it would be impossible to turn you from my home now.”
“Not in the slightest,” she said in return. “In fact, I will be going now.”
“Make up a room,” he instructed one of the maids. “And inform Mrs. Hodge we have a guest. Presumably, my lady, you came alone, with no maid of your own?”
Her lips pinched. “As it happens, I do have a maid,” she retorted. “I believe she is in the kitchens.”
“So, you are not wholly lost to propriety,” he muttered. “Mrs. Hodge will find her a place to sleep for the night.”
Isobel opened her mouth to protest further, but after some thought, closed it again, and nodded.
“Ye are very kind, sir,” she said through gritted teeth.
“I hope I never have reason to be considered so again,” he said, and although she suspected it had not been a joke, she wondered if his comment hinted at a previously undisclosed sense of humor.
She passed the letter to him; he accepted it more out of surprise than anything else.
“There,” she said. “Better ye have it than me. Ye, at least, can pass it to its intended recipient. Given that I do not know her location, I cannot.”
Those dangerous eyes glittered at her. His nostrils flared, and she had the sense that he was holding himself in restraint. His fingers tightened around the paper.
“Now that our business is completed, my lady, be so good as to get out of my study.”
Chapter Three
“Never you mind His Grace,” Mrs. Hodge turned out to be a friendly, middle-aged woman, a belt around her thick waist with keys that jangled with every step as she showed Isobel up the stairs.
The house was certainly very grand, far more so than her mother’s home in the Highlands, for all, her mother was a countess, and she had grown up privileged.
“He can be a little short-tempered at times,” the housekeeper continued.
Isobel bit her lip before she could say something likea little?
“But he has a good heart underneath it all.”
“I’ve never seen evidence of it,” a younger maid whispered. “He has always had a temper, though.”
Isobel remembered the way he had loomed over her, the darkness in his eyes. She hadn’t been afraid he would hurt her, but he had certainly not been in control of his temper. Rather, it seemed as though his temper had briefly taken hold of him.
“We’ll get you settled,” Mrs. Hodge said, leading her to a small, well-appointed room on the second floor of the tall townhouse. Two maids were turning down the bed, which had been freshly made. “Don’t you worry.” She clucked her tongue. “Imagine, a mite like you in a storm like that.”
“I have seen worse,” Isobel admitted. “In Scotland.”
“Not from outside, I doubt.”
“Aye, well, no.” She had always been by the window, staring out into the dark night, captivated by the flashes of lightning and thunder that had split the world in two.
London was a very different place even from Edinburgh, the sheer size of it overwhelming.
Not that she was here to mope, she reminded herself. And at least she had not been turned out into the storm. She wouldn’t have worried so much for herself, but it would be cruel to poor Jane, who had endured the journey with her.
“Is there anything else we can do for you?” Mrs. Hodge asked. “Have you eaten? I could send up a tray.”
“Thank you, I would truly appreciate that.”
