A Scot to the Heart (Desperately Seeking Duke #2) - Caroline Linden Page 0,28

did. You must be certain they can keep a secret.”

“Goodness, Captain,” she said with an admiring glance. “You surprise me.”

He just looked at her, a little smile playing around his mouth. He had a gorgeous mouth, the sort that could tease a woman to no end, pleasure her and torment her and break her. The sort of mouth she could almost feel, pressed up against her ear, crooning wicked promises as his hands did scandalous things to her very willing body . . .

Stop. She had to stop thinking things like that about him. Remember the English lady he would wed, or even the wealthy Scottish one, if his sisters had their way. Remember that he would be an English duke and was leaving Edinburgh in a matter of weeks.

“I understand congratulations are in order,” she told him. “I’d no idea your family had such illustrious connections.”

His eyes darkened before he dropped his gaze. “Thank you.” His tone expressed the opposite.

Yes, that was better. She was much safer without his glinting regard on her. “Is it a tender subject?” she teased. “Surely not—one of the most elevated titles in the land! It is my deepest honor to walk humbly by your side, Your Grace.”

He stopped. Ilsa turned to walk backward, her fingers in Robert’s mane to keep her moving away from him. “Don’t,” he said.

“Why?” She widened her eyes. “Is it not the sort of good fortune all men dream of?”

“Not if it spoils the conversation we were having.”

Her steps slowed. “Does it?” she said evenly. “How odd. Why would mention of your grand and glorious expectations spoil a friendly conversation?”

“It does if you use it to declare ever so subtly that we are different.” He opened his arms. “Regardless of what I may be in years to come, today I am just an ordinary fellow, a lowly soldier.”

She laughed in surprise. “And that means we are . . . what?”

He came closer. “Friends. I hope.” Despite the words, his glance was heated. “We ought to be, at any rate, since my sisters think you are one of them.”

“Ah,” she said. “So you think of me like a sister.”

His eyes flashed. “I never said that.” And he offered his arm.

She thought about it, told herself not to do it, and then slid her hand around his elbow. Goodness, he was strong. His forearm flexed under her palm and a shudder of appreciation went through her. Malcolm had been tall but lean, a rangy fellow always humming with nervous energy. The captain was as steady and solid as a rock.

She knew she ought not to have touched him.

Robert wandered off, cropping the grass as he went, and the captain stepped closer, shielding her from the breeze and making her suddenly very warm and restless.

Friends friends friends, she reminded herself. Friends did not want to kiss each other.

“I suppose,” she said as they began walking again, “that your visit to Mr. MacGill’s office was related to your inheritance.” It made sense, after Agnes’s revelation.

A hesitation. “Yes.”

“Agnes has heard me mention Mr. MacGill several times, and she never mentioned he was your family’s solicitor.”

The captain cleared his throat. “He certainly is not. He’s the duke’s solicitor.”

She nodded. “Then, as your friend, may I ask you something about him?”

It had been festering in her mind, the way MacGill treated her. Aunt Jean had told her that she was the problem; she ought not to have gone to see him alone, or questioned his judgement, or tried to make decisions about her money at all. It put people off, Jean scolded. Papa waved his hands and said he would deal with MacGill, suggesting that she was unable to do so herself, and that she was probably being a hysterical female about it anyway. And Papa would most likely tell the solicitor simply to be gentler with her, not to treat her as any sort of intelligent, capable being.

“Of course,” said the captain.

Ilsa kept her gaze on the spires of town. “My question is this: What would you expect Mr. MacGill to do if you asked him to do something of which he did not approve?”

He frowned. “Something unethical? Or illegal?”

“No!”

“Then I’d expect him to nod his head and do it.”

“And if he protested?” she asked. “If he told you to wait six months and refused to do it sooner?”

He blew out a breath and thought. “If he made sound arguments against the action, I would consider them, of course. One never wants to charge headlong