Chapter Ten

The day, though on the cooler side, was still beautiful. The leaves on the trees were just starting to change color, bringing a whole new vibrance to the town.

Clarissa and Gwen walked arm in arm down the sidewalk. They'd told their coachman to wait with the carriage and would call him if needed. They didn't need him following and watching their every move while they were away.

"Where would ye like to stop first?" Gwen asked.

Clarissa really didn't have a preference. There were so many places that caught her attention. A gem shop across the street would be fun to browse around in, not that she would purchase anything there. There was also a chocolatier that she would love to visit after they had tea. A bookshop. And of course, the modiste was a must visit since Gwen had mentioned that earlier.

"I dinna have a preference. I will leave it up to ye. But I am also perfectly happy strolling the streets and enjoying the fresh air."

Luckily, she didn't know anyone here, so she was free to walk without being stopped to chit chat or greet anyone other than the smile she gave to those she passed. She still couldn't clear what happened earlier with Alexander out of her mind. Were her feelings normal? She didn't ken. Romance was never a topic she spoke to her mother about.

Thoughts of her mother had her smiling. The lengths that woman went through to make sure Nicholas found a wife showed no limits. Thankfully, Nicholas had found Gwen because no matter how well intentioned their mother was, her choice of a match for Nicholas was horrible. He would have been miserable.

"How did ye feel when Nicholas first kissed ye?" The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them, and her cheeks flamed in embarrassment.

Gwen stifled a giggle behind her hand. "I remember it well. We were in the greenhouse." Her eyes took on a faraway look as she got lost in the memory.

A tall man passed them and dipped his hat in greeting as he walked past. Clarissa smiled back and waited for Gwen to expand on her answer.

When Clarissa had assumed she wouldn't say anything further, Gwen finally continued.

"No' only was it my first kiss with Nicholas, 'twas my first kiss ever. It was sweet. Gentle. Passionate. 'Tis hard to explain, I think. It sent this whirlwind of emotions through me and I dinna ken how to respond." Gwen turned to her. "Why do ye ask?"

Clarissa drew in a deep breath. "Since there is no hiding anything from ye, ye ken," she dropped her voice, "that we kissed."

"Och, aye. Dear Clarissa, it was obvious the second I walked into your room," Gwen said with a laugh.

"'Tis embarrassing to say. And wicked. Ye ken what would have happened if we were caught? But 'twas devilishly divine. My whole body tingled," she confessed.

"Ah, that's how ye ken it was a wonderful kiss," Gwen waggled her eyebrows in the most unladylike way.

They broke out into giggles and continued their stroll along the street.

"Oh, lemonade!" Clarissa noticed the vendor selling glasses nearby. "Let's sit and have a drink." She reached into her reticule for coin to pay and then, drinks in hand, they settled at one of the tables set up for patrons. It was the perfect spot to rest and talk. People bustling by or stopping for their own drinks, provided entertainment.

When she was younger, she loved going into town with her parents. She remembered how they would treat all of the siblings to the fizzy concoction. She cherished those memories. Before their father had gotten sick and passed. She missed him dearly, as did her brothers and sisters.

When he died, Nicholas was forced to take on the responsibility of the estate and the family. Something that fell on his shoulders at too young of an age. But he'd handled it well and took his duties seriously. Even when he was away, he'd ensured they had the support they needed. Financially, they were set while he served his country. Their mother was home to take care of the everyday tasks of the family. Unfortunately, she was much too focused on finding Nicholas a wife instead of her family duties.

As the eldest sibling after Nicholas, Clarissa stepped in to provide support to the younger siblings. They had always been a close family, but that just cemented their relationships.

"Mmm," Gwen mumbled, sipping from her glass, rolling her eyes. "I havena had a lemonade in years. Before my parents…" She let the words trail off.

Clarissa remained silent. She kenned it was a tender subject for Gwen, who had lost her parents in the most brutal of ways. She, like Nicholas, also had to care for her siblings, three brothers. But unlike Nicholas, she didn't have the means for such an undertaking. Clarissa was amazed at her tenacity. She'd fought and done everything she could and everything worked out in the end.

Clarissa was just happy that they had both found happiness in each other. They each had experienced their own personal hell. She could not think of two people that deserved it more.

"How about we visit the modiste after this?" Gwen suggested, changing the subject.

Neither of them really were in need of new gowns, but it would be nice to see what the local modiste created compared to the one back home.

Clarissa nodded. "Sounds like a splendid idea." They sat in silence for a few minutes. The soft breeze blew the loose tendrils of hair that had fallen from her barrette and fluttered them across her cheeks. She pushed at them and tucked them behind her ears.

Watching the people walk by—couples, friends, families—everyone rushing off to wherever they were going. Clarissa enjoyed watching them. The children most of all. More than one pointed to the lemonade vendor and plastered huge smiles on their chubby faces when they got their wish.

One day, she would love to have the same type of interaction with a family of her own. She had had lots of experience with bringing up her siblings, the youngest of which were a set of overactive twins. She had loved every minute of it, even if she was enjoying a little time away from them.

A butterfly flitted closely, its bright orange wings taking it from bloom to bloom of the flowers that were arranged in massive pots near the tables.

Sipping the last of her lemonade, Clarissa patted her stomach. "That hit the spot. What do ye think Nicholas and his friends are doing now?" she asked. Curious for any glimpse into what men did when they went into town.

"Och, I am certain they are at one of the gentlemen's clubs, talking about the devil kens what."

"More than likely, things we dinna want to ken about."

Gwen laughed. "Ye are probably right." She finished her lemonade and licked her lips. "Shall we carry on?"

"Aye. To the modiste." She held her arm out straight to point the way. "Are ye going to choose something?"

"Nay," Gwen shook her head. "I will just look to see what she has. Mayhap get some ideas to give to our own back home." She smiled wistfully, a faraway look in her eyes.

Clarissa studied her. Something was a wee bit off, but she could not put her finger on it and when the modiste's shop came into view, and they ascended the steps to enter, the thought left her mind.

Inside, the shop smelled of lavender and the space was warm and inviting. Bolts of fabric covered one full wall, stacked on racks for customers to see. Gowns, shawls, bonnets, aprons, everything you could think of were hanging on sale racks for those that didn't want their items custom made. On the far wall, a bank of mirrors was set up with a small dais in the middle. When someone stood in the center, they would be able to see themselves from all angles.

"Good afternoon, ladies," a middle-aged woman emerged from a cloth-covered doorway. "Welcome. How may I help ye?" She gave them a warm smile, her hands clasped in front of her. She studied Clarissa and clapped her hands. "I have just the gown for ye. Your coloring is perfect."

Clarissa and Gwen exchanged glances as the woman rushed about the shop, mumbling to herself about where she put the dress.

"Och! I believe I have it in the back. One moment, I shall go get it." She disappeared behind the cloth, and they listened at the sound of rustling fabric. "Got it!" The woman yelled to them. Bursting through the door, her arms full of silky scarlet material.

Unsure what to do, they waited and watched.

"Now, come here," the woman ordered gently, dipping her head to the corner of mirrors. "Ye must try this one on." She titled her head, assessing Clarissa.

The intense scrutiny caused her to blush, but she did as she was told and approached the woman.

"This may be a wee bit large for ye, but I can alter it without issue." The woman suddenly stopped. "How rude of me. I didna e'en introduce myself. My name is Alma, and I am the proprietor of this lovely establishment. I have the best gowns in town."

"'Tis verra nice to make your acquaintance, Alma. I am Clarissa and this is Gwen."

"I havena seen ye two around. Are ye visiting?"

"Aye. We're from Huntly. Visiting A—," she paused. She almost said Alexander, which would have been so wrong. "The Duke of Argyll," she finished.

Alma's brows lifted. "And what did ye say your surnames were?"

"We didna. But we are Gordons. Gwen is the Duchess of Gordon."

Alma quickly dipped into a curtsy. "Your Grace. Forgive me for no' realizing sooner."

"Please," Gwen said softly. "No apology needed. We were just strolling through town to enjoy the day and noticed your shop."

"Well, I am verra honored for your visit." She looked at Clarissa as if she were waiting to hear a title that she had not mentioned.

"Miss Gordon is fine," she offered. Though Duchess of Argyll had a nice ring to it. She took a deep breath and blew it out. She did not need to have her mind running with such thoughts.

"All right then, Miss Gordon. I believe this gown will look positively ravishing on ye."

Ravishing. She would never describe herself in such a way.

"Step up, let's have ye try it on."

Clarissa glanced at Gwen, who just nodded and waved her hands at her in encouragement.

Alma pulled on a curtain that hung with wire and offered privacy while she helped Clarissa undress and put on the new gown.

"It compliments your color wonderfully." She pushed the curtain open and helped Clarissa step up on the dais.

From this angle she could see how the dress fit from all sides. It was loose around her waist and hips, not so much around her bosom.

Measuring tape caught between her lips, Alma moved around her, taking measurements, and grabbing pins from the pin cushion attached to her wrist and stuck them where they were needed to tighten up the fit. When she was done, she stepped back and Clarissa sucked in her breath.

The deep red color of the dress played off her thick black hair and the two melded together to make the perfect match.

"Ye look beautiful," Gwen whispered. "Ye must get this one, Clarissa. 'Tis fate."

Well, she didn't ken about fate, but she would be lying if she said it wasn't as if the gown had been made with her in mind.

What would Alexander think? She scoffed. Why was she thinking such thoughts? They would only hurt her in the end.

But it would make the perfect dress for Yule. If she could even hold off on wearing it for that long. Who kenned. Maybe a special occasion would arise that would warrant it.

She smiled at Alma. "I will take it."

*

"Do ye thinkit will really work?" Alexander asked warily.

His friends nodded.

"If the bastard doesna care about the sheep, then he'll be looking to offload them," Malcolm said. "And right now, it looks as if it may be your only choice."

Unfortunately, Alexander agreed. They had brainstormed different ideas all afternoon at the club until finally settling on hosting a livestock auction. Of course, they wouldn't host it themselves. They didn't have the means, and it would be way too obvious that they were trying to draw Kitt out.

Now, they were back at Millwool further discussing their plans.

"I will talk to Archibald Allen about the auction and what we are looking to do. I think he will be fine in calling it. Besides, he owes me a favor," Finlay said.

Alexander raised an eyebrow in question at his friend. "Why e'er would Allen owe ye a favor? Ye arena e'en here much."

Finlay dismissed him with a wave of his hand. "Actually, he owes my father. But doesna matter, I can collect in his name."

"What will your father say?"

Finlay shrugged. "Naught most likely. 'Tis been a while since he has been to Argyll. I dinna expect him to return any time soon. Dinna fash."

Alexander blew out a breath. "I pray ye are right."

But he worried that somehow, some way, something would go wrong. What if the auctioneer Finlay knew did not want to participate? What if Kitt refused to enter the flock up for sale? Surely, the man must be ready to rid himself of them. Alexander did not see him as the type to hold on to such creatures, especially since he hadn't the slightest idea of how to care for them.

He had his savings he had stored away. He could only hope that was enough to win the bid.

Finlay stood, ready to leave to meet with Allen.

Alexander followed him to the door. "I wish ye luck. Please give him my thanks."

Finlay nodded and then was gone.

He could hear Nicholas, Gunn, and Malcolm conversing in the study. He should rejoin them, but Clarissa had invaded his mind. He knew she and Gwen had returned before them. Their carriage was here and the coachman that drove them into town was carrying boxes inside.

He was surprised they hadn't crossed paths since apparently, they had arrived back at Millwool only minutes apart.

Torn between his friends and Clarissa, Clarissa won out, so he went on a search to find her. It didn't take long. She was exactly where he expected her to be.

The library.

He slipped in quietly, and for a few moments watched her as she read, her slippered foot tapping the floor.

Lightly, he rapped his knuckles on the frame of the door; he didn't want to startle her when she was so engrossed in her book. Yet she still jumped.

"Sorry, I was trying not to startle ye. But I failed."

Clarissa straightened in the high-back chair she was sitting in and folded the book on her lap, nervously tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "Did ye need something?"

He almost groaned. Aye, did he, but he could never confess such things. "Nay. I noticed ye in here and thought I would see how your day in town went?" She didn't have to know that he had searched her out.

A huge smile brightened her face. "We had a lovely time. The weather was lovely as we strolled the streets. We visited the modiste and we e'en stopped for lemonade."

He smiled back, happy that she had enjoyed her time out.

"Ye can come in ye ken. I willna bite."

Again, he stifled a groan. Her comment was innocent enough, but thoughts of her teeth nibbling his skin had his body roaring to life and he folded his hands in front of him, trying to hide his body's reaction to her statement.

Stiffly, he walked over to the chair near hers, separated by a round mahogany table with a porcelain inset painted with flowers. "What are ye reading this time?"

She held up the book and he read the title. It wasn't a book he'd read before. It probably belonged to his mother. He certainly couldn't see his father reading such a tale.

"What is it about?" He wasn't overly interested in the subject, but he was interested in Clarissa and spending as much time as he could with her. If she wanted to talk to him about bonnets he would sit willingly and cling to every word.

The look she gave him made him think she was wondering if he was actually interested in talking about the book.

"I ask because I am no' familiar with it. It was more than likely my mother's."

Her brows creased. "I can put it back," she moved to stand, and he reached out, catching her hand.

Frozen in time, they both stilled. Her hand felt so small in his. The soft skin a direct contrast to his calloused hands. An odd thing for a duke, but he always preferred to do the work himself. Aye, he had staff that did a lot, but for certain things, his sheep, for instance, he preferred to be hands on.

He rubbed the pad of his thumb across her knuckles and caught the hitch in her breath. The pulse in her neck quickened and he fought the urge to nibble the delicate skin there.

"Please. 'Tis no' necessary. As long as ye are finding pleasure in it, then I want ye to continue to do so."

Pleasure.

A loaded word for his current state.

She pulled her hand away and he missed the contact immediately. Her eyes snapped to the door as if she expected Nicholas to come bursting through it at any moment.

"Are ye sure ye dinna mind?" She asked softly, her pink tongue darting out and wetting her lips.

The vision went straight to his groin.

He shook his head. "Enjoy it. When ye finish, ye will have to tell me all about it." He pushed up from the chair, not trusting himself to stay in the room much longer. The more time spent with her, the more he wanted to pull her into his arms and kiss the breath out of her.

Would she allow it? Mayhap. They seemed to both enjoy the other's company. But they had to get over the hurdle of Nicholas forbidding it.

He doubled back and leaned over her chair, his hands resting on the upholstered arms.

Her eyes rounded in surprise.

Not able to help himself, he lowered his mouth to hers, catching her lips in a soft kiss. He held himself back this time. Not like in the hallway previously, but he had the same response when he broke the kiss.

This lass would be the death of him.

She gasped when he straightened and he loved the way her fingertips went straight to her swollen lips.

"I would apologize for my actions, but I fear it would be insincere. So I shall no'."

He stopped at the door and looked over his shoulder. "In case I didna say it afore. Feel free to use this library as if it were your own. 'Tis nice to see someone appreciate it. 'Tis been empty for far too long."

He didn't wait for her answer. He needed to escape her scent. It filled his nostrils and lingered on his clothing. On his skin. It was as if she enveloped him like mist. No matter where he went, she was there.

Instead of going back to his friends, he made his way up the stairs and knocked on Christopher's door. He had not seen him for a couple of days. Not since they'd visited Ross. And while usually his brother did quite well at staying out of Alexander's crosshairs, a couple of days was a new feat.

He waited a few moments more when no sound from within could be heard, and then knocked again, his knuckles rapping firm against the wood of the door.

Still no answer. "Christopher?" He called out but was only met with silence.

He pushed opened the door and stepped inside. The room was neat. The bed made. The drapes were open, and he could see the meadow where his sheep should be ambling about, grazing on the grass.

Stepping in further, he studied the room. It hadn't been used in a while. The water basin was dry. He walked over to the desk and noticed a folded piece of paper with his name on it.

Snatching it up, he flipped open the note and read.

Dear brother,

Please believe me when I say I am verra sorry for what I have done and the pain I have surely caused ye and the people that depend on us. I think it best, now that ye have returned, for me to take my leave and put an end to any more embarrassment of the Campbell name.

Your brother,

Christopher

Alexander blew out an exasperated breath and looked to the ceiling. He was afraid that Christopher would do something like this. He always preferred to run than face whatever consequences that came about due to his careless actions.

The only thing Alexander wished for was that his brother stayed safe. He knew that he couldn't lose any more of their holdings in the gambling hells. He'd already lost what he could, and now that Alexander was back and had removed Christopher's name from anything pertaining to Campbell holdings, there really was naught he could use.

Maybe he was off clearing his mind, cleaning himself up. Becoming a productive member of society.

Alexander had to laugh at that. One could dream, he thought as he pocketed the note, and left the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

"Is everything all right, Your Grace?" James said from the hallway. "I havena seen Mr. Christopher in a day or so."

"Aye. He has left. I dinna ken where, nor do I ken for how long, but I think 'tis safe to say 'twill be some time afore we see him again."

James bowed in acquiescence. "I will ensure his room is no' disturbed, Your Grace."

"Thank ye, James."

He headed back downstairs and entered the kitchen. Cook was standing over a steaming pot and turned when she heard him enter, her brows creased. "Are ye hungry, Your Grace?"

"Nay," he shook his head. He wasn't, but he wasn't satisfied either, if that made sense. He didn't feel satiated, but he was afraid no amount of food would satisfy his hunger. Nay, the only thing that could do that was currently occupying his library.

Cook cocked her head and studied him. "I'll make ye a cuppa then, Your Grace."

The cheery woman was always so good to him, he didn't have the heart to tell her nay, so he sat at the table in the corner and waited for her to heat the water.

"Has Miss Gordon asked for any refreshments?" he asked trying to make his voice sound casual. Uninterested.

Cook turned and smiled, her eyes twinkling.

She was too sharp. So aware, she picked up on everything.

"She hasna, but I heard her and the duchess had a wonderful time in town and enjoyed food and drink while they were out."

He nodded in agreement.

"She is quite bonny, Miss Gordon, isna she?"

Alexander perked up at the question. He knew it was a trap. She would not ask such a question if she didn't sense something there.

Unable to lie, he agreed. "Aye. Verra bonny indeed."

She moved about the kitchen, picking up the tin of tea leaves and setting the teacup and saucer on the table in front of him. "She had a couple of callers this afternoon."

"What?" He straightened, his back stiff. "Who?"

Who the hell had dared to come calling for Clarissa at his house? Somehow, this felt like a slap in the face to him.

"I dinna ken. James turned them straight away since all of ye had gone into town." She retrieved the kettle and poured the water into the cup, over the leaves. "I do believe they are going to return tomorrow.

Hell's teeth they willna.

Alexander would have to make sure he stayed home tomorrow. It would be rude of him to turn away a caller, especially since he had no right to Clarissa. She was not his betrothed. Nicholas had forbidden it.

He may not turn them away, but he would be sure to be present in the parlor when whoever called today came back.

Not that he was a betting man, that was his brother's area. But if he were he would bet his estate that one of the people panting on his doorstep tomorrow would be Kitt. That leech would have the nerve to show up and make an offer. Alexander almost laughed. Little did he ken that Clarissa had heard his offer.

No way would she accept him. Thankfully, Nicholas knew of Kitt as well and would not allow him to get close to Clarissa, let alone agree to any type of union between them.

Speaking of unions, the thought of Clarissa marrying another man drove a spear through his heart. He wouldn't survive seeing her promised to another. Hopefully, Finlay was having luck with Allen. They would need to announce the auction as soon as possible and execute their plan quickly. The longer they delayed, the more he would lose Clarissa.

And his flock. But as the time passed, Clarissa was more forefront in his mind. He needed to ensure he could care for her.

And he would.