A Scot to the Heart (Desperately Seeking Duke #2) - Caroline Linden Page 0,31
would she do that?”
“Did she?” Duncan brightened. “I knew I liked her. Such intelligence and wit, not to mention a splendid figure.”
Drew glared at him. “Why would she want to invite you?”
“Perhaps she fancies an amour with me.” Felix draped his arms over the back of the sofa and looked smug. “I trust you’re going to invite her to this impromptu house party, too. I’d be very grateful.”
“Not so you can flirt with her.”
“Planning to flirt with her yourself?” His friend gave him an evil grin. “I told you that little book would be helpful.” He wagged one finger playfully. “She’s one of the finest catches in all Edinburgh. I’ll expect your profuse thanks at a later time.”
This time Drew managed to ignore the images Duncan’s words conjured up. “If not her, then who?” he demanded as Duncan threw aside his reading and sprang to his feet.
“Who what?”
“Whom did you think I meant, when you looked so elated to think you were invited to Stormont?” persisted Drew.
“Hmm? No one,” said the fellow airily.
“No.” He stopped, nonplussed. “Not Winifred?” He’d been startled by how beautiful his younger sister had grown. Duncan must have noticed, too.
His friend paused in the doorway. “No,” he said over his shoulder, “not Winifred. Until later, St. James.” And he was gone, banging the door behind him.
Which left Drew annoyed, puzzled, and somewhat startled to realize that he had, in fact, planned to invite Ilsa Ramsay to Stormont Palace.
After the exhilarating walk with Captain St. James, when her mind had filled with wild, irrational fantasies of what might happen between the two of them, it took only a few words from Aunt Jean to send her thoughts crashing back to earth.
“Oh my dear, there you are! Heaven above, I’ve been so worried.” Jean was waiting just inside the door, ready to close it behind her. “The streets are not safe these days.”
“What has happened? I walk every morning and you don’t complain.”
Jean clicked her tongue in reproof. “Haven’t you heard? There was a robbery at the goldsmith’s shop near Parliament Square!”
“This morning?” exclaimed Ilsa. Her walk home had brought her very near Parliament Square.
“No, lass, last night! Mrs. Crawley and Mrs. Douglas were here with the news!”
“Oh.” Ilsa tried not to sigh impatiently. Mrs. Crawley and Mrs. Douglas were two of Jean’s humorless gossipy friends. Wearing one’s hat at the wrong angle set the two of them off in a frenzy of censure. “Then the thieves were long gone by the time I ventured near.”
Jean gave her a sharp look and shot the bolt on the door. “Don’t make light of it! Thieves, within feet of our front door!”
Almost a quarter mile, thought Ilsa. “Robert was with me,” she told her aunt. The pony had already ambled back into his room and could be heard nosing about his bucket of oats.
“Robert!” huffed the older woman. “That pony is no protection!”
“And the Misses St. James were as well, before their brother fetched them,” added Ilsa, partly truthful. “I was not alone until I reached High Street, which was filled with people.”
“Thank goodness.” Jean exhaled in genuine relief. “But you mustn’t risk it again. First these brigands breaking into shops. Next it will be houses, where someone is sure to be home, and before you know it murder will be done.” Aunt Jean dogged her heels all the way to the drawing room.
Ilsa put on her smock. She’d bought more green paint on her way home and thought she would finish her painting of Calton Hill. “Thieving is one thing, murder another—far more effort and trouble. I’m sure the thieves wouldn’t want to bother.”
“Ilsa!” Jean inhaled so hard, Ilsa feared she might faint. “You are too careless. It’s only a matter of time before the thieves turn to violence. We must ask your father to put a guard at our door. We must bar every window and make certain Mr. MacLeod loads his flintlock. And you—! Promise me you will not go out at all until the villains are caught.”
Ilsa had been only half listening to her aunt’s tirade, but at this she put up her hand. “No, Aunt. Pockets are picked every day in the streets, and still we go to the shops. I shall be careful, but I am not staying in every night.”
Jean stiffened. “You must,” she charged. “For your own safety.”
“I shall not be careless of that,” Ilsa promised, “but how can we let fear of these thieves keep us trapped at home indefinitely?”