She was not fearful, she did not cringe or step away. She snapped out an answer, just as he would have expected his first lieutenant to answer him. “Sixteen shillings.”
Jack dug in his pocket for his purse. He took out a pound coin and shoved it at her. “Here.”
She didn’t reach for it.
“Take it. Take it. Don’t be a fool. It’s not a gift. You’ll owe it to me. Be honest, wouldn’t you rather be in debt to me than that vile shit?”
“There’s a lady present.”
He did not understand at first, but then he saw an almost-smile twitch her lips.
“Yes. There is. Forgive me. Lord Reeves is vile . . . feces. My lady, take the pound.”
She did not. The almost-smile was gone.
“We have had a short acquaintance, Lady Kinmarloch. You don’t know me. But I know you already know I’m a better man than Lord Reeves.” He thrust the money at her again even more vehemently.
She put out her hand and took the coin from him. Begrudgingly. Then she fixed her fierce half-moon blue eyes on him and grinned.
“Well, yer one that is certainly easier to look at,mo luran.”
Eight
The next day, Jack was very busy. The busiest he had been since he had resigned his commission.
A meeting with the steward, a sour man named Macsomething. All clearances were to be halted. Yes, Jack knew the duke had not been named yet. But—he flourished a letter signed by John MacNaughton saying Jack Pike was to act for him in his name—nothing new should be done until the dukewasnamed. And if that duke turned out to be John MacNaughton, as it most likely would be, and he found out his wishes had been ignored, the steward would almost certainly lose his position. The steward grimaced and whined his agreement. No new clearances. Although there were still too many farms in the duchy and pasturage was—
Jack cut him off. He did not like the man’s tone, his protestations. If he became duke, he would look for a new steward.
Next, a ride out to the pastures of Dunmore to speak with the shepherds and make it clear they were to use the hill passes to go to the other grazing sites in Dunmore. No more cutting through the farmlands of Kinmarloch. Jack didn’t care that it added two hours to the traverse.
One man stepped forward. “If a hut and a paddock could be built on the far piece of the duchy, some shepherds could stay the night with the sheep. Less travel for them back and forth. Less wasted time. Fatter sheep.”
Jack grunted. “What’s your name?”
“MacLeod.”
Damn. Was everyone in this rain-soaked part of the country a Mac this or Mc that? He would never be able to keep the names straight.
“I’ll see it’s done,” Jack said.
Back to the castle to see the steward again and to arrange for the building of the hut and the paddock as suggested by the shepherd Mcwhozit.
“But ye said naething new should be undertaken, Mr. Pike.”
Jack growled. “I am paying for it. If the duke doesn’t like it when he becomes duke, I’ll tear it down myself.”
A discussion of masons and materials and roofs followed.
By dinnertime, he had almost forgotten he had insisted Helen come for the meal. He bathed quickly and then realized he was long overdue for a shave.
He had a moment when he held the razor to his own jaw and regretted he had not brought his valet with him. But he had not trusted his valet enough to keep the secret that Jack Pike was really John MacNaughton, purported future Duke of Dunmore.
He could shave himself. Of course, he could. Hadn’t he done it for years on board a rolling ship? But he was out of practice and nicked himself twice.
He put on clothes he had not worn since leaving London, clothes he had thought he would have no occasion to wear in Scotland but his valet had packed anyway. A dark tailcoat, a fine linen shirt, crisp cravat, embroidered waistcoat, closely-fitted trousers.
I deserve a good dinner after today. Clean clothes, a bath, a shave. It has nothing to do with the fact that my dinner guest is Helen Boyd, the Countess of Kinmarloch.
