A Scot to the Heart (Desperately Seeking Duke #2) - Caroline Linden Page 0,37

. . .” He grinned ruefully. “I’ve not actually invited her yet.”

“Come on, then.” She opened the door and led him up the stairs to the drawing room. Drew almost held his breath, hoping this wouldn’t be a monstrous mistake.

It was instead a great surprise. Agnes opened the drawing room door to reveal Ilsa Ramsay on a ladder, wearing an ugly smock with a paintbrush in her hand. The ceiling of the room had been painted a pale sky blue at the edges, fading to white directly overhead. A plump older woman stood beside her, arms full of what looked like draperies, her face taut with frustration.

“But you cannot do such a thing, dear,” she was protesting in a shrill tone that instinctively made Drew’s spine stiffen. “It’s not done!”

“It is if I do it,” was her response, spoken lightly but still ringing with finality.

“Oh my,” said Agnes innocently, gazing upward. “It looks like the sky.”

Ilsa Ramsay turned around, a blinding smile on her face. “Exactly my intent! Thank you!” She caught sight of Drew and the smile vanished like a snuffed candle, but he still reeled from it. Alive with pleasure, bright with excitement, her face was . . . mesmerizing.

That must be it. He was entranced—bewitched.

He shouldn’t like it so much.

“Captain.” She put her brush back into the pot of paint balanced atop the ladder and climbed down. “I did not expect visitors.”

That was obvious. There were cloths flung over the furnishings and of course the ladder in the center of the room.

“I do beg your pardon, Mrs. Ramsay.”

“I brought him in,” said Agnes, removing her hat. “You must blame me if you get paint on your coat,” she told him before turning back to her friend. “He can stay only a moment.”

“Of course,” murmured Ilsa, as if that warning had been meant for her and not for him. “Aunt Jean, this is Captain St. James, who is Agnes’s brother as you must have guessed. Captain, may I present my aunt, Miss Fletcher.”

The draperies hit the floor with a flump. Eyes still flashing at Ilsa, Jean Fletcher bobbed a perfect curtsy. “I’m delighted to make your acquaintance, Captain.”

“The pleasure is mine, Miss Fletcher,” he said with a courtly bow.

“Are we painting the walls, as well?” Agnes was gazing upward again. The walls were a plain, ordinary green.

The older woman stiffened. “No, indeed not.”

“Yes,” said Ilsa. “Here will be the horizon.” She went to the closest wall, took a pencil from her smock pocket, and struck a line on the wall at chest height. The older woman gasped as if it had been a dagger to her chest. “And it will continue up to meet the sky above.”

“Ilsa!” The older woman was an angry shade of crimson. “People do not paint their drawing rooms to look like the outdoors!”

Drew grinned. For a moment Ilsa’s gaze connected with his, and he could swear she nearly smiled back. “I do,” she replied.

“Let us go sit in the—the dining room.” Miss Fletcher appeared to make a great effort not to look at the ceiling, the mark on the wall, the discarded draperies, or her niece. “At least it is tidy and proper in there.”

“I beg you not to trouble yourself, ma’am,” said Drew. “I’ve no wish to intrude. Agnes, perhaps another time—”

“Drew came to ask if you would care to accompany us to Stormont Palace, Ilsa,” said Agnes. “We’re to spend a week there, exploring the maze and hunting for ghosts.”

“Ghosts!” Ilsa’s brows went up in delight. Miss Fletcher made another pained noise.

“I make no promises about ghosts,” Drew said, but couldn’t resist adding, “on either side of the question.”

“As long as you can’t swear there are none, we have hope.” Ilsa removed her smock but seemed to have forgotten about the cloth around her head. It showed off her neck and shoulders, and a glorious expanse of bosom; she wasn’t wearing one of those kerchiefs women usually shrouded their shoulders and bosoms with. It took an effort to keep his eyes on her face.

“Then you’ll join us?” he asked. “My plan is to depart in three days’ time.”

“Perfect.” She bestowed that dazzling smile upon him and Drew nearly wobbled on his feet. “I should be finished painting by then.”

This was too much for Miss Fletcher. She excused herself and stalked from the room, pausing at the door to call back sternly, “Do not throw out the draperies!”

Agnes grinned as the door closed. “You’re going to throw them out?” She walked over