Tempting The Laird. Julia London

      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.

      * * *

      THEIR NEXT ORDER of business was to call on the MacLarens. Uncle Knox had only recently met the influential laird MacLaren, and he was rather taken with him. Catriona could instantly see why when she was introduced—MacLaren had the same build as her uncle, was roughly the same age and possessed a booming laugh that he employed frequently. “You will be amazed at my collection of American tobacco products,” he crowed as he and his wife led Catriona and her uncle into a receiving salon.

      “Ah, American tobacco. A finer cheroot I’ve not enjoyed,” Uncle Knox said as he took up a position at the hearth.

      Catriona looked at him curiously. “How have you come upon American cheroots?”

      “My dear, my acquaintances stretch round the globe,” he said, and drew a large circle in the air.

      Mr. MacLaren burst into loud laughter. “Then you must have a look at my American tobacco, sir, aye? You’ve