The Duke

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Authors: Catherine Coulter
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eldest, but I looked older than Brandy. Don’t you think that I should be the one to escort the duke to dinner?”
    â€œNo, little pet, you take Bertrand’s arm. It’s a solid arm, a strong arm. Be a good girl now and don’t argue with me or else I’ll have to say things to ye that ye won’t like at all.”
    Brandy stood awkwardly, unconsciously pulling her shawl more closely over the gaping buttons. Without turning, she reached out her arm. She felt soft satin beneath her fingers and sent a quick look at the duke.

7

    H e was smiling down at her with all the obnoxious tolerance of a kindly uncle. As she walked beside him through the entrance hall and across to the dining room, she felt the two guineas click together in her pocket. She had thought to give them to Lady Adella. Now she wasn’t quite certain what to do with them.
    â€œThe past seems disturbingly alive,” the duke said thoughtfully, eyeing the rows of bagpipes strung from nails about the walls. Indeed, he thought, he felt like he’d chanced to walk into another world in another time. A huge battle ax hung from the mailed hand of an empty suit of armor. What he assumed was the Robertson colors, a plaid of red, yellow, and green, were draped in dusty folds about a red coat of arms in the shape of a shield above an empty, cavernous fireplace.
    â€œYes,” she said, “particularly during a winter storm blowing from the sea. The winds whistle down the chimney and make the tartans quiver and billow out, as if they were alive.” She shut her mouth. Talk about boring him with talk of her halibut that all of them had eaten for two days. This kind of talk would send him right off to sleep.
    Ian looked down at the girl beside him and saw that her arched brows had drawn together in a frown. Hesaid with all the regret in his repertoire, which, truth be told, wasn’t all that large, “If you’re remembering my behavior of this afternoon, Brandy, I would ask again that you forgive me. I was tired and had suffered nearly two days of delay. But that’s an unpersuasive excuse, isn’t it? Actually, it scared the very devil out of me when Fiona ran in front of my horses, then you were dashing after her. I think I lost a good ten years off my life. I think by tomorrow morning I’ll have a gray hair in my head. Forgive me?”
    She felt churlish. She felt stupid and backward. He was splendid, everything a duke should be. He was kind and sincere. He was possibly noble. But he thought she was a bloody child. Well, damnation. “Of course, ye’re forgiven. Do you ever yell?”
    â€œYell?”
    â€œYes, ye were very angry, yer face all red, the veins in yer neck throbbing hard, but ye didn’t yell. Yer voice just got real hard and cold. Very clipped.”
    â€œYes, I yell. But not at—” He broke off. He’d nearly said, “not at children.” But that wasn’t right. She was eighteen. She was a woman. It was amazing. He wondered if she had a headache, wearing her hair plastered back so tightly. And the old gown she was wearing was more suited to a fifteen-year-old. Where the blazes did that ridiculous shawl come from? It looked older than Lady Adella, which was saying something. Then he felt more guilt than he could accept. There was no money, that was it. Certainly there was no money for a girl child’s clothes. He felt like a clod.
    He forced a calm smile and directed her attention to the fireplace. “The three wolves’ heads in your coat of arms—when you were a child, did you sometimes fancy they snarled at the thought of invaders?”
    â€œEven now sometimes when I think about them I wonder. Aye, I sometimes fancy that they were onceproud and fiercely alive, defending the castle. It’s as though they are under some sort of evil spell, holding them lifeless for all time. It’s a pleasing and romantic notion.”
    He saw the glow

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