A Scot to the Heart (Desperately Seeking Duke #2) - Caroline Linden Page 0,76
in love with him.
And no, she hadn’t set her mind against marriage. She had no interest in Mr. Grant or any of the other gentlemen Papa kept prodding her toward, but she couldn’t say the same about Drew. She kept telling herself they weren’t meant to be together, but every minute they spent together made her wish they were.
Her heart thumped loudly in her ears. If he wanted to court her, could she turn him away? No, she didn’t think she could.
So what was stopping her? The gossips had done their worst a year ago, and she had survived. It was hard to tell herself she and Drew had no future when he was standing in front of her, because anything seemed possible when he was near her.
Perhaps there wasn’t anything to lose by risking it.
“Well,” she asked, her heart racing, “what precisely are you asking?”
His lips curled in a slow, devastating smile. “Nothing more than to spend time with you.”
“Where?”
“Anywhere. The Assembly Rooms. One of Edinburgh’s fine coffeehouses.” His brows arched suggestively. “Perhaps an oyster cellar now and then.”
She smiled. “It won’t be like at Stormont Palace.”
“Sadly no,” he agreed, looking wicked now. “I vow it would frighten Duncan fair out of his skin if you slipped into his lodgings like a ghost.” She bit back a laugh. He sobered. “My mother hopes that you will be able to keep our engagement for dinner this evening. I also hope you will come.”
That made her breath catch. This was sounding very much like courtship. “Yes, of course I will . . .”
“Excellent.” He glanced around, then lowered his voice. “If there weren’t some people impinging on our hill, I would kiss you. In the interest of propriety . . .” He offered his arm. “May I escort you home, my dear one?”
With a warm flush of happiness welling within her, she accepted his offer and his arm.
Dinner was wonderful. Bella and Winnie had won over their mother about Cyrus the kitten, even when he tried to climb the tablecloth during the dessert course. Agnes was in excellent spirits and whispered that Drew had told their mother about their visit to the oyster cellar, and Louisa had only cast her eyes heavenward and sighed. Mrs. St. James welcomed Ilsa warmly, and made a point of conversing with her at length, something Ilsa could never have imagined a month ago.
It was so amazing, she couldn’t help but mention it to Agnes after Drew had escorted them home. Her friend gave her a gleaming look. “You know why, don’t you? She sees how Drew looks at you.”
Ilsa’s mind jumped to that last night at Stormont Palace; someone had seen something. She could only stare, mouth agape.
Agnes nodded. “Mama’s no fool. She didn’t dislike you before, but now she most certainly wants to like you.”
“Oh—” Ilsa flushed with anxious happiness. “I do hope she can—”
“Would you accept him?” Agnes prodded.
“Hush! There’s been no question asked to accept.”
Her friend laughed. “But if he were to ask, would you consider it?” She clasped Ilsa’s hand. “Selfishly, I hope so. You must know Winnie, Bella, and I would adore having you as our sister.”
Ilsa had no memory of her mother. She had never had a sister, and Malcolm had been the only surviving child of his parents, as well. She had not thought of the fact that marriage to Drew—and it still felt dangerous even to think those words, as if they tempted Fate to spite her again—would give her a new family, with beloved sisters and a caring mother, a family who teased and laughed and annoyed and loved each other. Again she could only stare at Agnes, dazed.
It ran round and round inside her head as Maeve brushed her hair before bed that night. It was too good to be real, she told herself, but as she lay in her bed and closed her eyes, she dreamt of Drew tangled in the sheets beside her, looking at her with heat in his eyes and a wicked smile on his gorgeous mouth.
In the morning she came down early to breakfast, the image lingering in her mind and somehow becoming more possible with every passing hour. She drank her tea and gazed out the window, daydreaming of what might be, if it were real.
It lasted until just before the clock struck nine, when Winnie hammered on the door of her house and burst into the room, hat askew and cloak barely tied.