Free The Laird Who Loved Me by Karen Hawkins Page A

the grand portraits.” She glanced down the table at the duke, before saying in a low whisper, “I’ll count how many have the unfortunate Roxburge chin.”
    Caitlyn had to laugh. “No, no! You must ride!”
    “Oh, yes,” Lord Falkland interjected. “You can’t miss the views. Nothing like them for miles around.”
    Sally looked uncertain. “If you think I should go . . .”
    Caitlyn nodded. “We two will ask for the slowest, fattest mounts from the stables, and we’ll both be fine. If they have ponies, we’ll request those.”
    Sally laughed. “A pony would be perfect for me, but not for you, although it
is
kind of you to offer.”
    Caitlyn pshawed the notion and was glad when the duchess rose from her chair. Since everyone had finished breakfast, Lady Kinloss suggested they meet in the foyer in an hour for their ride. The other guests agreed and left to change into their riding habits. Caitlyn was escorted to the foyer by Dervishton and Falkland as Alexander remained in his seat, his dark gaze following her.
    Georgiana watched as Miss Hurst dominated the masculine attention, leaving with an eligible bachelor on each arm.
How pathetic. Men are such weak creatures, far too easily led by a youthful beauty.
    Knowing they were fools didn’t reduce the sting; Georgiana wasn’t used to sharing every bit of the masculine attention. It was quite acceptable for the Earl of Caithness to pay attention to Miss Ogilvie, for everyone knew he was on the lookout for a well-set wife. But it irked her to see a handsome, polished gentleman such as Lord Dervishton playing up to a pasty-faced ingenue such as Miss Hurst. What disturbed hereven more was the way MacLean followed the girl’s every movement, his green eyes considering . . . measuring . . .
interested.
    Lady Kinloss picked up a napkin and wrapped up a small slice of ham. “Muffin loves ham. I can’t give him too much, though, for it makes him gassy. Muffin’s stomach is so delicate! He never complains, but I can tell when he’s—”
    “Diane, would you mind leaving Lord MacLean and me alone for a few moments? I must ask his opinion about that set of matched grays I just purchased. One has drawn up lame, and I don’t know whether to keep him or have him put down.”
    Diane hopped up from the table with a nervous twitter. “Oh! Of course.”
    Georgiana waited for Diane to disappear out the door before she moved down the table to where Alexander sat, his gaze still on the open doorway as if he was lost in thought.
    Taking the chair beside his, Georgiana followed his gaze to the hallway, where Miss Hurst was talking earnestly with Lord Dervishton. Georgiana’s lip curled. The silly chit had no notion of Dervishton’s fickle nature, which was most useful to Georgiana in making MacLean jealous. The younger man was attractive enough, but he had nothing on the sheer masculine power and sensuality of the man now sitting beside her.
    She watched MacLean through lowered lashes, an unfamiliar pang of longing twisting her heart. Tomost people in society, she was the Duchess of Roxburge, the most beautiful and wealthiest woman in all of Scotland and perhaps even England. Only she and her doddering husband knew that he’d first seen her at the tender age of fourteen, working in a cotton mill dressed in near rags, dirty and barefoot, the illegitimate child of the town whore.
    Roxburge had been a jaded peer, tired of life and the vagaries of the ton, labeled an imbecile by the wits of the time because of a faint lisp and a tendency to turn bright red anytime someone looked his way. But Roxburge was no fool, and he had a deep appreciation for beauty in all forms—even in a girl dressed in rags with no shoes on her feet.
    He’d taken Georgiana home that day and, as soon as he’d been able to procure a fake birth record, had married her. Thus, the Duchess of Roxburge had been “born.” For the first two years, he’d sequestered her away in his northernmost