Page 9

Without another word, he pushed past her and into the shop where the duchess was examining several phials with her women. They were smelling, touching, examining. Titus walked up to her.

“M’lady,” he said. “I have a question tae ask ye.”

Lady Ayr was instantly attentive. “Of course, Titus,” she said. “What is it?”

At that moment, the woman in the pale green dress was just coming in through the door and Titus pointed to her.

“That woman,” he said. “Who is she?”

All eyes turned to the diminutive woman in the doorway, including Lady Ayr’s. When she saw who Titus was referring to, she smiled.

“Do you not recognize her?” she said. “That is our own Esme.”

The name meant nothing to him. “Esme?” he repeated as if it might help him remember. “I dunna know her.”

Lady Ayr laughed softly, putting her hand on his arm. “Of course you do,” she said. “She came to us right before you left us. Her father is a great Spanish warlord from Navarre. She is meant for my son, Conan. Do you recall her now?”

He was starting to. He knew he’d seen her before, but he simply couldn’t place her. Now, it was starting to come back to him.

Years ago, a young and frightened Spanish lass had been brought into the fold at Culroy Castle, seat of the Dukes of Ayr, on a dark and stormy night. He remembered because the lass had screamed until Lady Ayr took charge of her and whisked her away. Everyone thought she was injured or dying, but it turned out she was simply terrified.

Esme… dee-ON-tha…

He rolled the name around in his mind a few times.

That’s not what she’d been called at the time, however. Everyone referred to her as Flaca, a girl on the cusp of womanhood who was all arms and legs. Skinny and pale, with a boyish body.

She certainly didn’t look like that now.

“It’s not Flaca, is it?” he asked hesitantly.

Lady Ayr nodded. “Aye, ’tis Flaca,” she said. “Only we do not call her that any longer. She is Lady Esme Marabella Silva y de Gracia, a lady of fine Spanish breeding. She will make Conan a fine wife, very soon.”

Titus found himself staring at Esme, who was standing by the door with an anxious look on her face. Her gaze darted between Lady Ayr and Titus, hearing what was being said about her.

But Lady Ayr didn’t give Titus a chance to respond. She took him by the arm and led him over to Esme.

“Esme, do you remember Titus?” she asked. “This is our very own Titus, a cousin to my husband. His father is the Duke of Kintyre and Lorne.”

Esme never had a chance to reply – the other women who knew Titus, or at least knew of him, crowded around to greet him. Titus was looking at Esme when she was pushed out of the way by overeager women. Women who wanted to closely inspect the handsome, muscular man Lady Ayr was flaunting.

They pressed forward.

“Tell us what activities you have been engaged in since you left Culroy,” Lady Ayr said for the benefit of her ladies. “We have often spoken of you with fondness and hoped you had fared well.”

Titus didn’t think that was quite the truth. There had been no love lost for him at Culroy. He recognized most of the women with Lady Ayr now that he’d gotten a chance to look them over, but he didn’t know them well. Normally, he wouldn’t have given them the benefit of his attention, but something prompted him to respond.

Esme, pushed to the rear of the group, was watching him.

Maybe he simply wanted her to know how great he was.

“I am a professional warrior, m’lady,” he said, tearing his gaze away from Esme to focus on the duchess. “Ye can tell the duke that I’ve learned tae fight and I am well paid for it.”

Lady Ayr’s gaze moved over his well-muscled and quite perfect body. “I can see that you have grown quite… strong,” she said. “Are you a mercenary, then?”

He shook his head. “Nay,” he said. “I am a warrior who fights for my living.”

“I do not understand.”