A Scot to the Heart (Desperately Seeking Duke #2) - Caroline Linden Page 0,38
to the pile of drapery fabric and picked up one.
Ilsa shrugged. “She keeps hanging them back up. The only way to stop her is to dispose of them.”
Drew glanced around. With the windows uncovered, the room was filled with light. He tried to picture it with hills and grass painted to the line she’d marked, with a bright blue sky rising above it.
“Calton Hill,” he murmured.
Her head came up in surprise. “Yes, that’s right.”
Drew gestured at the wall behind her. “Will you paint the Edinburgh view there?”
She came to stand beside him and studied the wall. Right now it held a large painting in an ornate frame. “An excellent thought. I hope my artistic skills are sufficient.”
“Paint it as it is on a winter day with fog, and no one will be able to tell. Great gray clouds with a steeple here and there.”
She laughed. “Not precisely the view I wish to capture.”
“Hmm. Something more like this, then?” He nodded at the painting. It depicted five somber ladies all in black, except for the white caps on their heads and the wide, old-fashioned collars around their necks. “Family?” Drew asked doubtfully.
“No.” Ilsa grimaced. “My father bought it. My aunt thinks it adds solemnity and dignity to the room.”
He couldn’t help it; a snort of laughter escaped him. She did the same, and in a moment both were shaking with it.
“The solemnity of a gallows,” he said, lips trembling.
“Ladies that severe must send their victims to be drawn and quartered,” she returned.
“Hanging is too tame for them?”
“Can’t you just see them with the scythe and dagger?” Ilsa lowered her voice dramatically. “Pronouncing sentence and carrying it out on the spot?”
“And finishing in time for tea. Ah—I spy a decanter of sherry there, as well. Thirsty work, drawing and quartering.”
Ilsa laughed again, sending his heart leaping. Buoyed, he turned and swept out one hand at the opposite wall. “Paint Arthur’s Seat there, beside the hearth. Our father used to take us there—” He broke off at the sight of Agnes. Lord, for a moment he’d entirely forgotten his sister was in the room, listening and watching with sharp interest.
Ilsa turned. “A splendid idea.” She glanced at him, followed his gaze, and cleared her throat. “Shall we take those to the charity school, Agnes? Perhaps they can use the fabric.”
“You really mean to get rid of the drapes?” Agnes came closer, her eyes skipping between the two of them. “Altogether?”
Ilsa flushed but gave a firm nod. “I do. Perhaps I’ll replace them with something lighter.”
“All right. And you’ll come to Stormont Palace?”
Drew looked away, studying a sconce on the wall with fierce interest. Agnes had noticed something, damn it.
Ilsa wet her lips. “I don’t want to intrude on your family. Perhaps I should not . . .”
“Oh, he plans to invite other people.” Agnes shot a challenging look at Drew. “Isn’t that right? Mr. Duncan, you said, and some handsome, witty gentlemen, as well.”
“Right,” he said, glaring at that sconce. “Monteith, perhaps. And Kincaid. It would only be a week’s sojourn.”
“Please think of me, Ilsa,” said Agnes. “Don’t leave me alone with them for a whole week.”
Ilsa smiled reluctantly. “I shall consider it.”
“Good.” Agnes went and pulled the bell. “Shall we have tea? I’m famished.”
“Yes, of course,” murmured Ilsa.
“It was your idea,” Drew told her under his breath. “Do say you’ll come.”
She glanced at him, her eyes wary.
His mouth quirked. “But you must promise not to give me away if I pretend to be a ghost, to give my sisters something to occupy their time.”
At this her smile slowly returned, impish and conspiratorial. “That is something I would not miss seeing!”
“Excellent,” he whispered, with a wink. He bowed, and as he did so, added in a bare breath, “Thank you. It looked to be a tedious journey until your suggestion.”
“I hope you still think so, whilst wandering the corridors clanking an old chain,” she whispered back.
He grinned and took his leave. His sister gave him a searching look, but he simply grinned at her and left, too full of . . . something to let it worry him.
Agnes closed the door behind the captain and folded her arms. “The trip was your idea?”
“Hmm?” Ilsa realized she was still smiling at the door the captain had disappeared through, and turned her back to it. The cloth she’d wound around her hair brushed her shoulder, and with dismay she jerked it off. That whole time she’d been standing there with an old piece of linen