A Scot to the Heart (Desperately Seeking Duke #2) - Caroline Linden Page 0,85

inside she found herself apparently alone. The garden fluttered and trilled with birds, but no other people, not even gardeners. It was peaceful and somehow invigorating. She took a deep breath and felt her shoulders ease.

Strolling leisurely, marveling at the plants, she had made it to the statue of Mr. Linnaeus, patron saint of botanists, when Drew found her.

“A sight that does feed my poor soul.”

She turned in pleasure. “Mr. Linnaeus?”

Drew came closer. “No. All I see is you.” His gaze seemed to devour her. “’Tis good to see you.”

That low growl did something inside her, quietly peeling back the veneer of decorum and propriety that muted her passionate urges. She smiled. “And you, Captain.”

He offered his arm, his expression focused and intent. Ilsa slid her hand along his forearm, letting her breast graze the side of his arm to see his hand contract into a fist.

“I’m puzzled by one thing,” she said as they walked around the pond. “The garden isn’t open for viewing until twelve, yet the man at the gate admitted me after asking my name.”

Drew had a satisfied air. “I discovered that the promise of a donation to Dr. Hope worked wonders upon his willingness to bend that rule.”

She caught her breath. “You bribed him so we could walk in the garden?”

He turned up the path that led to the greenhouse, the slate roof tinged blue in the rising sun. “No,” he said, opening the door for her. “I bribed him so I could have a private conversation with you and not be rushed or interrupted.”

“My.” She raised her brows at him. “One wonders why you desire so much privacy . . .”

His eyes smoky, Drew brushed his thumb across her lips. Ilsa’s heart lurched into her throat. “You’ll see.”

Mercy, whispered her helpless heart. “Show me . . .”

His fingers curled around the nape of her neck. His lips skimmed across her brow. “Patience, love.” He pressed a light kiss to her temple, right by her ear.

Her skin felt cold and hot at once when he released her and stepped back. The stoves that warmed the plants in winter were snuffed out, but she would have sworn there was a blazing furnace behind her. A sheen of perspiration made her shift stick to her bosom and she took a deep breath to quell it. “I hope everything is being done for your mother and the shop,” she said, seizing on the most ordinary topic she could find.

“Yes.” He led her through the soaring ferns and palms. “Which is to say, not much. They’ve no idea who the thieves are, but I’ve made a suggestion for running them to earth.”

“Oh?”

He nodded once. “Aye. That’s why I’ve been so occupied of late.” He gave her a look. “Why I’ve not been to call sooner.”

Her skin prickled. She was surely the most sinful creature in the world, imagining how he might have come to call, kissed her, made love to her on the drawing room sofa and made good use of the privacy offered by Jean’s impenetrable new drapes. “Hmm,” she said, hoping it sounded politely interested and not lustful.

His wicked mouth curved, as if he knew what she was trying not to think about. “But that’s not why I hoped to speak to you.”

“Oh no!” she protested, flushing from head to toe. “I—I want to know. What have you suggested? Shall you haunt every attic in Edinburgh, hoping to act upon the guilty consciences and send the thieves screaming into the streets?”

His knowing smile only grew wider. Ilsa waved one hand in front of her heated face, recalling how they’d concluded that night of haunting.

“No, a more craven appeal to the guilty conscience. A King’s Pardon,” he said.

Ilsa blinked. “A pardon?”

“For one man, who gives information on the rest of them.” He lifted his shoulder. “To stop the robberies. Those robbed deserve to know and seek justice, and everyone else, including my family, deserves to sleep in peace. The thieves have been devious. It’s almost as if they had keys, or someone opening the doors for them. They’ve never had to break in violently, which is surely how they’ve gone so long undetected.”

That had not been in the newspapers. “And the procurator agreed?”

“And the lord advocate. They’ve sent a man to London for the Crown’s approval.”

Ilsa said nothing. The English Crown would be more likely to approve such a proposal made by the Duke of Carlyle’s heir.

Again Drew divined her thoughts. “My inheritance has become terribly cumbersome of