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Hamlin stared at him. Norwood. He was English, quite obviously. Should he know him? He didn’t recall the name and wondered what in bloody hell he was to be accused of now.
The woman cleared her throat.
“Ah. And my niece Miss Catriona Mackenzie of Balhaire,” he added.
Hamlin looked again at the woman. She smiled prettily.
A moment passed as Hamlin considered the two of them. Miss Catriona Mackenzie of Balhaire arched a brow as if to silently remind him he was to fetch the duke. And then, in the event he did not recall what he was to do, she said, “If you would be so kind as to tell the duke we’ve called, then.”
Her voice lilted with a Scottish accent. It was a lovely, lyrical voice, and he imagined her reading stories to children, soothing them to sleep. It was a voice quite at odds with her direct manner.
“You might tell him yourself,” Hamlin said.
Norwood’s eyes widened with surprise, and he exchanged a look with his niece. The two of them suddenly burst into laughter, startling Hamlin and his men.
“Good God, man, we cannot simply waltz into a grand house and announce our presence, can we? That is not the way things are done. One must inform the duke we’ve called, and he must decide if he shall receive us.”
“Is that how it is done, then?” Hamlin drawled, aware that the niece was looking at him with amusement shining in her eyes.
“Well,” the earl said, smiling jovially, “perhaps I should say that is how we do it.”
Aye, the English thought themselves superior in every wee thing. Hamlin folded his arms across his chest. “I am the duke.”
The niece looked startled, but Norwood seemed quite diverted by it, as if they were playing a game. “You are Montrose?”
“I am.”
He looked at the men behind Hamlin, and whatever he saw there convinced him that Hamlin was telling the truth. “The devil you say. Well, then!” he said, smiling broadly now. “A pleasure to make your esteemed acquaintance, your grace.” He bowed low. “You will forgive me for not recognizing you straightaway, but you can imagine my confusion, seeing you whale away at a nail as you were.”
“Why should that confuse you, then?”
Norwood blinked.
“Because we’ve never known a duke to lift more than a cup, have we, uncle?” the niece said, and laughed.
Hamlin shifted his gaze back to her. This woman had not an ounce of conceit in her. Nor an ounce of manners, as one might expect, given that she was the niece of an English earl.
“Aye, well, this duke is no’ afraid of a hammer. Or a cup.”
“Apparently no’,” she said with a pert smile, and her gray-blue eyes glittered like the surface of the lake in bright sunlight. Hamlin was momentarily blinded by it...until he realized that all gathered were waiting for him to speak.
He turned toward Watson. “Go, then, and inform Stuart we’ve visitors, aye?” he said low. He turned to his guests and said, “If you will be so kind as to carry on to the entrance. My butler will show you in. I’ll join you shortly.”
“Thank you, your grace,” Norwood said, and gestured for his niece to come along.
Hamlin watched her ascend to the driver’s seat once more, then stepped out of the way of the cabriolet, which proved to be a wise decision, for the niece started up the team with such enthusiasm that they practically launched into space with the small carriage flying behind them.
Hamlin looked around at his men. They were all staring at him as if they’d seen a comet. “Aye,” he said, in taciturn agreement. No other words were needed—to a man, they all understood that what they had just witnessed was not the natural way of things.
CHAPTER FOUR (#u01228827-fbef-5a9b-adf8-3aafd8d665c0)
STUART, A PRIM and proper butler, as thin as a reed, his neckcloth tied as tightly as a garrote, showed Catriona and her uncle into a small drawing room with brocade drapes, furnishings upholstered in silk and a wall of books. A clock on the mantel ticked away the minutes for them.
“He means to make us wait,” Catriona said as she made her third restless trip around the room.
Uncle Knox had made himself quite comfortable on the settee and was currently examining a porcelain figurine of a small Highland fiddler. “Well, darling, we did make a rather unfortunate mistake in thinking him someone other than the duke.”
“Who could blame us?” Catriona asked. “He looked like a carpenter, he did.” A strong, strapping, handsome carpenter. His eyes were as black as his hair, his lashes as black as his eyes. His shoulders were as broad as a horse and his hips as firm as a—
“We should not judge a man by his appearance,” her uncle absently opined.
It was too late. She’d judged him by his appearance and had found him ruggedly appealing. “No,” she agreed. “But might we judge him a wee bit? He doesna look a murderer, does he?”
“I hardly know, darling. I am not acquainted with any murderers. I’m uncertain what to look for, precisely.”
Well, she’d never known a murderer, either, but she was convinced the duke did not look like a murderer. He looked like someone who ought to be wearing a crown, or leading an army of Highland soldiers, or breaking wild horses. He had a commanding presence—even more so once she’d realized with a wee thrill that he wasn’t a tradesman after all, but a duke and all that entailed—but not for a moment did he look the sort to murder. Catriona would be bitterly disappointed if she discovered he was.
She made her fourth trip around the room. She’d never been very good at waiting. In fact, she had coaxed her uncle into calling at Blackthorn Hall today because she couldn’t bear to wait another moment to discuss the abbey, which Uncle Knox was reluctant to do. He wanted her to put it out of her mind for a time, and enjoy her visit. But Catriona could not put it out of her mind for any length of time, really, and certainly not without something to divert her instead. So she’d cajoled him into calling on the mysterious Duke of Montrose.
She paused at the shelving to examine his books. The duke had a collection of tomes concerning history, astronomy and philosophy. No plays, no sonnets. A serious man, then. Daisy brought Catriona novels from England, tales of chivalry and love and adventure on the seas. Did the duke read nothing for pleasure? Was the man who inhabited that physique opposed to the simplest diversion?
“Sit, Cat, my love. You’re wreaking havoc on my nerves.”
“I canna sit and wait like a parishioner for the end of the sermon,” she complained.
Just then, the door swung partially open. A russet-haired head popped around the edge of the door about knob high. The head slid in just so that two brown eyes were visible. And then the door slowly swung open.
Uncle Knox gained his feet, clasped his hands at his back, then leaned forward, squinting at the creature who peeked around the door. “Good day,” he said.
The child moved, presenting enough of her body to know that it was a lass who eyed them. The other half remained hidden behind the door. “I’m Eula,” she said. “Who are you, then?”
“Good afternoon, Miss Eula,” Uncle Knox said. “Lord Norwood.” He bowed. “And this is my niece Miss Mackenzie.”
Catriona curtsied.
The lass looked at Catriona, her gaze sweeping over her, lingering on the hem of Catriona’s gown, which had been embroidered with vines and bluebirds. “Did you come to call on Montrose?”
Uncle Knox exchanged a look with Catriona.
“That’s the duke,” the lass said. “He lives here, too.”
“Aye, we have,” Catriona confirmed.
“Are you his friends?”
“Not as yet,” said Uncle Knox. “But we do mean to change that.”
The girl slid all the way into the room, her back to the wall. “He doesna have any friends,” she said, staring at them suspiciously.
Uncle Knox covered a laugh behind a cough.
“Aye, we’ve heard it said,” Catriona agreed.
The lass pushed away from the door and came closer to Catriona, peering at her curiously, her gaze taking in every bit of Catriona’s gown, her face, her hair. “You’re verra bonny.”
“Thank you kindly,” Catriona said. “So are you, Miss Eula. Do you live here, then, with his grace?”
She nodded. “I’ve my own suite of rooms.”
“How wonderful. I should imagine them quite grand, aye?”
“They are,” the lass agreed matter-of-factly, and traced her finger over the figurine that Uncle Knox had been examining. “I have two rooms, I do, but one is for sitting, and one for sleeping. That’s the way of proper ladies.”
“I see,” Catriona said.
“Eula.”
The deeply masculine voice was quiet but firm, and Eula was so startled that she knocked the figurine to the carpeted floor. Catriona bent down and picked it up. She smiled and winked at Eula before she rose, and returned the figurine to the table. She looked over the lass’s head at the duke. He’d donned a proper coat, but he was still lacking a collar or neckcloth. And he had not, she noted, combed his thick, black hair.
“You’re to be at your studies,” he said coolly.
“But we have callers,” Eula said.
“Rather, I have callers. You have studies. Go on, then.”
“Aye, all right,” Eula said with dejection, and began to slink to the door, but at the pace of a slug, pausing to examine the tassel on a pillow, an unlit candle. When she at last reached the door, she glanced back.
“Feasgar math,” Catriona said with a smile.
The lass’s pretty brown eyes widened with surprise.
“Good afternoon,” Catriona translated.
Eula smiled with delight. She waved her fingers and sort of slid around the duke. As she went out, the duke ran his hand affectionately down her arm. So he cared for the wee minx. Which meant he wasn’t entirely reprehensible.
The duke closed the door behind Eula and looked at Catriona and Knox expectantly.
“Very kind of you to receive us, your grace,” Uncle Knox said. “I should have sent a messenger—”
“Aye,” he said curtly.
Catriona arched a brow. Was he miffed with them still, or merely unpleasant?
“Well, then, we are agreed. In our considerable defense, we’ve only just arrived at Dungotty.”
The duke said nothing.
“It’s ours now, you see,” Uncle Knox said.
Still nothing.
“It was an exceptionally good investment,” Uncle Knox added quite unnecessarily. Catriona politely cleared her throat, which caught her uncle’s attention.
“Yes, well, I have come for the summer, which is what brings us here today, your grace. I should like to extend an invitation to you to dine at Dungotty. I have invited my neighbors to the north, the MacLarens. Are you acquainted?”
The duke regarded Uncle Knox a long moment before responding. “I am.”
“Splendid! We will have a fine evening of it. I’ve brought a cook from France, and I do not overstate his culinary skill, I assure you. You will not be disappointed, your grace.”
The duke folded his arms across his chest as if he anticipated Uncle Knox would say more. His eyes, black as coal, moved to Catriona and flicked over her.
“You need not answer straightaway, of course,” Uncle Knox continued. “You will need time to consult your diary, quite obviously, busy man that you must be. We should like to dine on Thursday evening if it pleases you, so if you would be so kind to grant us the favor of your reply by Wednesday, it would be most appreciated.”
The duke stared at Uncle Knox with a clenched jaw. It was curious that he should be so tense in the face of an invitation to dine. Curious and rude. Uncle Knox, quite unaccustomed to taciturnity in anyone, looked helplessly at Catriona.
She stepped forward and took her uncle’s arm. “At any other time we would be delighted to stay for tea, your grace, but as it happens, we’ve many calls to make today.”
His gaze narrowed. “I didna invite you to tea.”
“No?” she said cheerfully. “Then I do beg your pardon. I must have assumed you would as it would be the courteous thing to do, aye?”
“Oh,” Uncle Knox muttered, and squeezed her hand. “Oh, no. No, Cat,” he muttered.
But the duke was not bothered by her pointed remark because he said, “I donna disagree,” and moved to one side and opened the door, thereby giving them a clear path to an exit.
“Thank you,” Catriona said, and curtsied deeply. “We do look forward to your favorable reply, despite your obvious displeasure with the invitation.”
“Oh, dear me,” Uncle Knox said. “Your grace,” he said with a nod of his head, and with his hand firmly on her elbow, he escorted Catriona past the duke. She wouldn’t know if the duke watched them go or not, for she refused to look at him.
In the hallway, Stuart appeared seemingly from nowhere, and with a sweep of his hand, he indicated the path to the main doors, then walked briskly ahead of them. When they reached the foyer, a footman was on hand to open that door so they would not be hindered for even a moment in their departure with a bothersome wait for someone to turn a knob. And no sooner had they stepped onto the landing than the door closed behind them so suddenly that Catriona turned her head to assure herself that her gown had not been caught.
“Well,” Uncle Knox said, yanking on his sleeves, “I’ve scarcely met a ruder man.”
“He’s absolutely diabolical, is he no’?” Catriona asked with gleeful terror as the two of them began their walk down the steps. “I’m more determined than ever to know if he is a murderer, that I am.”
“I would caution you in pressing your cause, darling, for if he is indeed a murderer, he may very well determine you ought to be murdered.”
“True,” she said thoughtfully. “Then again, he might no’, aye?” She winked at her uncle.
“I’ve indulged you in this chase, but I’ve done all that I can for you, darling. You should have heard the hue and cry Mrs. Templeton unleashed when I said we meant to invite him to dine. One would think she was being murdered that very moment. If you want my opinion, you should not concern yourself with him at all. He has a black reputation. They say he is a candidate for the House of Lords, but I can’t see how that could possibly be, given his sour demeanor and penchant for disposing of unruly wives.” He paused. “Or perhaps that is the very thing that recommends him.”
“You believe it!” Catriona said triumphantly. “You believe he’s done something awful to his wife. You do, Uncle Knox!”
He patted her hand. “I’ve not yet made up my mind, but after today’s interview, I am leaning toward the affirmative. Hopefully, he will agree to dine with us so that we might glean something.”
Catriona laughed.
They climbed into the cabriolet. She took the reins from a groomsman and guided the team around. She had the strongest desire to look back at the massive ducal seat as they rode away, but she wouldn’t allow herself to do it. Still, she had the strangest feeling they were being watched. Perhaps he was studying her back, determining where, precisely, to insert the dagger. Perhaps the ghost of the duchess was watching her.
