Page 6 of The Duke's Christmas Scandal
Tavi’s mind blanked.
“Leave what?”
“The gift,” those lips said, quirking up at one corner. “The one you were so anxious to find a moment ago?”
“In the wagon.” Tavi shook herself. What was she doing, staring at his mouth and thinking about how it might feel pressed against hers? “I placed it on the bench, along with my satchel. I didn’t want to carry them with me, in case I couldn’t find my way inside.”
“I’ll fetch it.” He shoved his feet into his boots and laced them tight, then thrust his arms into his jacket, saying, “I know the grounds better than you do. I’d never forgive myself if you were lost between here and the barn.”
“I am not so directionally challenged as to get turned around within sight of a castle!”
Although, her misadventure this morning said otherwise.
Mr. Harkness ignored her protest.
“I’ll look for your husband while I’m at it, shall I?” He winked and went out into the dark.
Tavi had the distinct impression he was flirting with her.
She wasn’t altogether certain she minded.
* * *
Ian
Ian foundher battered leather satchel right where she said it would be, tucked beside an unassuming waxed sailcloth bag. He trudged back to the ruined castle with both objects, cursing the wind and missing the warmth of the fire.
His pretty visitor had made herself useful during his absence by washing the few dishes from their supper and putting them away. The relief in her eyes when he returned with her precious parcel twisted something inside him.
“Thank you, I would have been devastated if it were damaged or lost.” She hugged the unassuming package.
“Your husband, alas, is still missing.” He placed his coat over the edge of the mantel and his boots beside the dying fire. Soon, they would have to go upstairs.
She huffed and rolled her eyes.
“What’s in the bag?”
“A gift for my sister.”
“Yes, I know that much.”
“Baby clothes,” she clarified. “Gowns and a blanket and hats and booties and all that. Plus a few new things for her.”
“You made all that?”
“I’m an accomplished knitter and an adequate seamstress, I’ll have you know.”
“Adequate seamstresses are all the rage in London.” Catching himself, he added, “Or so I hear.”
London was a long way from Northumberland. A groundsman would have little reason to go there. He didn’t wish to reveal his new status quite yet.
She laughed and swatted his arm playfully. Ian’s midsection turned hot at the sound.
“How would the caretaker of an ancient pile of barely-habitable rocks know anything about which ladies’ accomplishments are popular in London?”
Ian sidestepped her question. They were both telling lies, now. He should inform her that thispile of barely-habitable rockshad once been the seat of a prominent dukedom, and he’d just been declared the heir.
But his elevation was too new. He still wasn’t sure how he felt about becoming a peer of the realm, albeit a relatively impoverished one. He liked “Mrs.” Dawson too much to risk their fragile friendliness by announcing,I own this property, and, by the way, I’m a duke.Especially to a woman who was clearly not from the aristocracy herself.
