Page 24 of To Defy a Highland Duke

Berget joined her and, with a saucy grin, plopped down beside her on the bench. There was scarcely enough room for them both given the paniers beneath their skirts. A secret smile lit her violet eyes and curved her mouth.

Oh, to be in love.

“I saw ye dancin’ with the duke last night.” She winked and nudged Marjorie’s shoulder, causing her to miss a note. “Och, sorry.”

“Shh, keep your voice down.” Marjorie battled the urge to slide a glance toward Lady Abercrombie, fearful she’d heard Berget’s innocent remark. “The duke was merely being a good host, Berget.”

Berget shook her head, oblivious to Lady Constance’s flapping ears. “I dinna think so. He didna dance with anyone else.” She cast a covert glance around the delightful music room decorated in rich shades of berry and gold. “Several of the ladies have commented on it. And there’s one in particular who seems most miffed by that fact.”

Ah, so Berget was aware.

Marjorie didn’t have to ask which one. Her scalp tingled, and again she wondered if Lady Abercrombie had overheard Berget.

I shan’t look at her. I shan’t.

Lowering her chin, her focus on the ivory and black keys, Marjorie continued playing. “He but rescued me from a…delicate situation with Lorne Buchannan. I believe, as our host, he felt obliged to redirect my attention from the unpleasantness.”

She cut Berget a swift glance.

Her amethyst eyes wide, Berget sat upright so swiftly the russet curls framing her face bobbed. She leaned nearer, whispering, “I’d heard he and his father departed early this morn. What happened?”

It relieved Marjorie that Bothan Buchannan had departed as well. He’d seemed too eager to indulge his grown son’s whims. Sweeping the room with her gaze, leery of eavesdroppers, Marjorie said, “Why don’t we stroll the gallery? We’ll have more privacy there.”

At once, Berget stood and shook out her rose and cream silk skirts.

Marjorie ended her piece and, amidst polite clapping, hooked her hand through Berget’s bent arm. On the lawns beyond the high windows, Chimera and Sphynx romped in the snow, rolling over and over atop each other. She and Berget made their way to the upper gallery, which Marjorie had discovered last night.

“How did ye ken this was here?” Berget asked, craning her neck to stare at the dozens and dozens of breathtaking paintings. “They are magnificent. I had nae idea the duke was a patron of the arts.”

Neither had Marjorie.

She’d labeled him a barbaric boor, and the more she’d come to know Keane, the more complex he became. Nonetheless, she still smarted from his abrupt departure from the dance floor last night.

All day, she’d wracked her brain over and over, trying to recall if she’d said or done anything to warrant such a cool reaction. She hadn’t. She could only conclude Keane had regretted asking her to dance. And given the aloofness toward her from a few of the other ladies today, she understood why. If he danced with her, politeness required him to do the same with others.

Only he hadn’t. And, quite naturally, that had led to speculation.

She’d avoided a scene with Lorne Buchannan only to have her name on everyone’s tongues after all. Not only was that disconcerting, but now her name was also linked with Keane’s in a fashion she was certain he’d not appreciate. Still, no one had coerced him into asking her to dance.

Just when he disarmed her with his charm and consideration, he became a boor again.

“These are spectacular,” her sister-in-law declared, awe threading her voice as she peered at the paintings. “Ye dinna answer my question though.”

She slid Marjorie a side-eyed glance.

Drat. Marjorie had hoped she’d not noticed.

“How did ye ken about the gallery?” Berget asked. “I thought the duke wasna takin’ us on a tour of the castle until tomorrow.”

“I believe that is still the plan.” Marjorie considered a painting of a woman holding a chubby babe. “I came upon the gallery last night after I left the ballroom. I couldn’t sleep and needed to walk.” Because a certain raven-haired, hazel-eyed duke had her at sixes and sevens.

She quirked a crooked smile. “I couldn’t exactly go for a stroll outdoors.”

At a quarter past eleven. In the snow.

Which was exactly what she’d have done if she’d been at home. Killeaggian’s gardens had always provided a peaceful retreat. How many tears had she shed amongst the plants and trees? How many prayers had she sent heavenward while sitting on the stone bench along one side of the quaint wall-in courtyard?

And no one had ever been the wiser.