A Scot to the Heart (Desperately Seeking Duke #2) - Caroline Linden Page 0,51

“And if you’ll be wanting a set of furnishings for your new domain, you’d better place your order now, for he won’t jump for any man, not even a duke.”

He laughed. “I’m not a duke, and it may be decades before I can afford so much as a footstool from the finest cabinet-maker in Scotland.”

She tilted her head thoughtfully. “How strange that must be, knowing immense wealth and power await one, yet possessed of none of it now and completely in the dark as to when one might be.”

He cleared his throat. “I’ve been given an income from the estate. Nothing to the duke’s, of course, but generous for a humble captain.” He paused. “The duchess his mother has run the estate for years, and I believe she was utterly appalled by the quality of the prospective heirs, once she located us.”

“There’s more than one?”

“My cousin. I’ve given up trying to remember what degree, but I never met the fellow before Her Grace summoned us both to the castle and said we must make ourselves worthy of her son’s title.”

“Or else . . . what?” She gave him that mischievous little smile.

“Or else we’d be flayed alive by her tongue, I suppose,” said Drew with a curt laugh. “In all honesty, it never crossed my mind to defy her. I’d sooner tell my colonel to kiss his own arse, and that would earn me a flogging.” He shuddered. “The duchess would be worse.”

She laughed. “I know that type of woman well.” They had come to a fence and turned to walk along it. “But only one of you can inherit. What will happen to the other?”

“Well, neither my cousin nor I have married or had a son yet. Until then, he’s my heir.” A frown touched Drew’s brow at the memory of Maximilian St. James, with his polished, cynical smile and calculating eyes.

“You don’t look pleased by the prospect,” she remarked.

“I don’t think my cousin took it seriously. He’s a rogue and a gambler, and Her Grace is resigned to him frittering away her money and help.” The duchess had never said Maximilian’s name after he departed the castle, but every day some passing comment or other would make clear her despair over him. “She strongly encouraged me to marry and secure the succession—” Drew broke off in chagrin. He’d felt so comfortable talking to Ilsa, he’d let his tongue run wild. “Forgive me.”

“No, I’d already heard that.”

Drew started. Here he thought he’d spilled his secrets, and she already knew? “Did you?”

“Oh yes.” She gave him a sympathetic look. “I heard far more than I should have, no doubt.”

Drew closed his eyes for a moment. “Bella or Winnie?”

“Both.”

He pressed his knuckles to his brow. He could only imagine what his sisters would have said. “Dare I hope you might forget every word of it?”

“Captain,” she said with a small laugh, “you need have no worry about my remembering any of it. You should be far more interested in who else they’re telling.”

They had come to a gate. Drew leaned down to open it, thinking hard. It didn’t take long. The dance at the Edinburgh Assembly Rooms, when he’d been forcibly introduced to at least five or six ladies and maneuvered into dancing with all of them. He’d thought his sisters were just being excessively sociable. Merciful saints above.

He motioned Ilsa to ride through the gate. Mr. Watkins awaited them ahead, his placid horse grazing on the tall grass by the end of the path. “They’ll be the death of me,” he muttered as he rode past Ilsa, the gate securely closed again.

“On the contrary, sir,” she said. “They mean to help you.”

He glanced back sharply, but she gave him a jaunty wave and put her heels to her horse, cantering off down the path. This time Drew only admired her form for a moment before urging his own horse toward Watkins.

Today he wanted to see the scope of the estate, not dig deeply into the details, so Watkins led him around the property without stopping to inspect anything. He pointed out the small village, the road to the farms, the mineral springs, and the stream that fed the mill. He showed Drew the distillery and the dairy, where Stormont produced whisky and cheese famed throughout Perthshire.

“Proud we are to have Stormont sustain itself, and not be a drag on His Grace’s purse,” Watkins assured him. “Mr. MacGill was quite clear that we were not to request funds, and we haven’t,