And now, here in London, the image refused to fade. The man infuriated her; he was condescending, exacting, and prideful. But her body paid that no mind. It remembered the shape of him, the scent of his cologne, the spark of something unspoken whenever he drew too near.
Elspeth exhaled slowly, lifting her hand to press her knuckles to her lips.
What a fool she was, wanting a man she could barely stand.
“Here is your tea, My Lady,” Abby said, suddenly materializing next to her.
How long have I been daydreamin’ about the cursed man?
“Thank ye.” Elspeth accepted the cup and took a small sip. “It is delicious.”
“Do you need anything else?”
“No, thank ye,” she said, pulling her shawl tighter still despite the flush creeping up her cheeks. “Any news from His Grace?”
“He has not left his study all day. Is there something you need? I could have a message sent?—”
“That willnae be necessary. But thank ye, dear,” Elspeth whispered as she set her teacup down beside her.
The damn Duke of Arrowfell, she mused as Abby went back into the house.
He infuriated her. A part of her truly despised the man for forcing her into this life. Yet, there was a pull, and it was deep, stubborn, impossible to deny. She allowed her mind to drift back once more to that memory, deciding it was safe enough to give it space before letting it go.
She pictured him, lowering his towering frame into the warm water, the spring air thick with peat and pine, the scent of raw manliness clinging to him. She felt his strong arm slide around her waist, holding her close as they’d slept.
Aye,I’ll need to find better ways to occupy meself than with thoughts of him.
But beyond distraction, she knew there was a far more daunting task ahead.
She had to devise a proper plan, a way to navigate this Duke and the world he ruled. A way to secure a future that would be hers and hers alone.
And that would take all her cunning and fire.
Chapter Five
“… a
nd then, for the gut, a bit of ginger root with a touch of spearmint, brewed with hot and not steaming spring water,” Elspeth declared, gesticulating enthusiastically, a stray blade of grass clinging to her skirts as she swept it away.
The midsummer garden party bustled gently around them, parasols dotting the lawn like pastel mushrooms, footmen weaving through manicured hedges with trays of cordial and chilled custard tarts. Birds chirped merrily from the yews, and a trio of musicians plucked a pleasant tune from beneath the shade of an elm.
“It settles the humors, aye, and eases an ache deep in the stomach. Though for true pains, like in the bones or muscles, willowbark is almost magical,” she added.
Lord Cranmore, a man whose nose seemed permanently upturned, raised a condescending eyebrow as he scratched his balding head.
“Magical, Lady Inverhall? Are we discussing potions and incantations now?” His tone was light but laced with ridicule, and Elspeth felt it.
“Indeed, Me Lord,” she responded, ignoring his sarcasm. “Nature holds many secrets, if only one is willin’ to learn them. I ken I am nae as powerful as the magnitude of nature. Why, for a restless mind, a cup of chamomile and lavender tea before bed is like a lullaby for the soul and a balm for the spirit. Juniper is kent to combat rheumatism. Aye, the earth gives us so much. We just need to listen.”
She beamed at the group, pleased with her descriptions.
Perhaps they will understand me.
Lord Ashworth, who had hosted that disastrous dinner four days ago, chuckled nervously as he sipped his wine. “Fascinating, Lady Inverhall. But… magical benefits? Are these not merely some old pagan folk remedies?”
“I half expect Merlin to appear out of the ether,” Lord Cranmore chimed in with a wry smile.
“Oh my! Do ye ken Myrddin Wyllt, too?”
