Claiming His Scarred Duchess (Scottish Duchesses #5)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

“There is nae need for bloodshed, Yer Grace,” Lady Isla MacDougall rasped, her voice pitched an octave lower than its usual high timbre, as she pulled her hood down to hide her face. “I apologize for me rash words. A duel was… a ridiculous notion.”

“A ridiculous notion indeed, Lord Dalrigh,” Benedict Wyncall, the Duke of Ealdwick, replied sharply as he towered over her in the dark, dank London alley.

“Indeed,” she said, too quickly, her palms sweating despite the cool November air. “So…so…”

How can I pull this disguise off?

Her mind and heart both raced with worry, yet her soul couldn’t help but hope this trick would work—that the Duke would really think she was her brother and not a woman masquerading as a man.

“So. Here we are, my lord. How do you propose we proceed? This duel is at your behest, not mine.”

I can do this, Isla willed herself, clutching the rough wool of her brother’s coat tight around her body to obscure her curves.

The fabric smelled of him. She took a deep breath as the scent of the rain mixed with peat provided a familiar comfort.

Unfortunately, the relief was short-lived. She lifted her eyes and met the Duke’s gaze, sending a shiver down her spine.

The man had been only a shadow in the distance moments ago.

Now, he was a towering, formidable presence in the thinning twilight.

His eyes were as blue and twinkling as the waters of Greece.

His broad shoulders seemed to take up the entire width of the alley, only accentuated by his looming height.

His beard was neat, complemented by his rich, black hair, which was slicked back perfectly.

Despite the hours she had spent all evening, steeling herself for this very moment, practicing her brother’s movements and intonations, she was impossibly thrown by him—she felt like a rag doll in a tornado with the way he shook her.

She had purposely arrived half an hour early to calm herself before the duel, yet it was of no use. Her heart still hammered against her ribs, relentless as a timpanist’s beat.

I cannae falter now… me duty is to protect me family at all costs. I must play me part in this cursed farce. Aye, even if this Duke is a sight… I must stay focused. I cannae let him unnerve me…

“Your letter was quite clear on the terms of our meeting. I am surprised at this sudden change of heart, my Lord,” he said, breaking Isla from her thoughts.

“I was… misled by the rumors,” she replied, her voice low and even.

“Misled?” The Duke pressed as he took a slow step toward her, his sparkling azure eyes piercing a hole in her, even in the dim light of early dawn.

“Ye must forgive me pride… F—f-family is everything to a Scot,” she said as she took a breath, the air thin and sharp on her throat. “It was a mistake. Me mistake.”

“A most cautious choice of words for a, ahem, man known throughout the ton for his Highland temper. Do you mean to say that you no longer believe your sister was compromised?”

“She is a lass of great honor—”

“That notwithstanding, how does that change your charge against me and my integrity? Are you not looking to defend that very honor you speak of?”

“We ken she was nae compromised. Some busybody saw her pass by ye and decided to create a story. We ken she would nae allow such a thing to happen!”

“We? Is there someone else here I am not aware of?” He asked as he looked around the alley mockingly.

“Nay! I mean… Me brother—I mean, me older sister and I had discussed this matter together before this meetin’,” Isla cried as the tone of her voice crept up, forcing her to feign a dramatic, low cough. “This cool air is gettin’ the best of me…”

The Duke’s eyes narrowed on her. She gulped.

“A man of honor would not simply stand by and allow such accusations to fester,” he said with a raised eyebrow. “You are most curious.”

“Fandan,” she muttered under her breath—he was indeed arrogant and so frustrating.

“I beg your pardon?”

“I mean… well,” Isla stammered. “I cannae see how bloodshed would accomplish anything. Let us nae be foolish.”

“I agree with that, but I am most confused at your acquiescence. A man of honor would not allow such gossip to tarnish his family’s name. You are a most singular man, Lord Dalrigh.”

Isla felt a subtle shift in the air in his words, the way he called her a man, not once but twice. Perhaps it was a subtle relaxation of his shoulders the more she spoke, or a change in his tone as he called her Lord Dalrigh. Whatever the cause, she could feel it in her bones.

He is baitin’ me… he kens somethin’ is awry.

Her hands, hidden in the folds of her brother’s coat, tightened into fists. Every instinct screamed at her to flee, but she knew that she had to stand her ground no matter the cost.

She had protected her family before with her life, and she would do it again.

Still, I am in over me head.

She was trapped, pinned by the chilling intensity of his stare as they stood in heavy silence.

Her eyes flitted down from his eyes to his coat, then she saw it.

A pang of dread shot through her as she suddenly noticed the subtle shape of a pistol tucked into the inside breast pocket of his coat. There was no mistaking it.

“Are all Scottish lords so careful with their tone?” the Duke asked, taking another step toward her. “So… measured?”

“Not all of us are so eager for bloodshed.”

“I confess, your note hinted of a most fiery temper. I hate to press, but I am most perplexed as I do not see evidence of that here. You seem… nervous, Lord Dalrigh. I say, you are like a gazelle in front of a lion.”

“Daenae mistake me reason for weakness. Ye were wrong. Me words in that bloody letter were written in haste,” she said as she took a step forward, instantly regretting the movement as her hips swayed.

“And not all of us move with such poise,” the Duke said as he took another step toward her, his gaze dropping to her feet.

I should have worn Callum’s boots, but I was afraid I couldnae walk! Oh, bloody Hell!

A hot flush crawled up her neck as her stomach began to wretch. Her carefully constructed facade, the hours she’d spent practicing this exchange, had all been for naught.

“I daenae ken what ye mean, Yer Grace,” she said, her voice cracking.

“I think you do, my lady.”

At that moment, a gust of wind tore down the alley, catching the edge of her hood and yanking it from her head. Her dark blonde hair, pinned back in a desperate attempt at a man’s style, sprang free with a vengeance.

There was no hiding now, yet Isla held her shoulders high as she considered her next move.

She watched the Duke’s eyes widen as he took in her face.

“An explanation. Now,” he barked as he stared at her.

She knew that look. He was surely examining the hideous, diagonal scar that went from her brow to her nose, just passing her lips and ending on her jaw. She felt the familiar burn of shame, and her shoulders slumped.

“Yer Grace…I apologize for me deception,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “Ye must understand… I only wanted to stop the madness.”

“Madness?” he repeated, his eyes still fixed on her face. “A duel is madness, to be sure. But for a woman to intervene in such matters?”

“It is for me family…”

“Ah, I see. You are perhaps here… to stand in for your brother?”

“Aye. I am Lady Isla MacDougall.”

“Well, this act is another sort of madness entirely. Do you have any idea the danger you put yourself in? You could have been hurt, or worse. You are lucky I am a sensible man.”

What would that matter to ye? She thought, unable to understand why his gaze still held hers so tightly.

“Please, Yer Grace,” she pleaded, her voice regaining its strength as her protective instincts resurfaced.

“I beg ye, put an end to this. Use yer influence to silence the rumors about me sister. Truthfully, I daenae ken how they even started. From what I understand, ye had only crossed paths at Lady Marchand’s party without a single word! ”

“I cannot force the gossips to hold their tongues. This rumor is not of my making,” he said, his voice now devoid of its earlier taunting lilt. “And I do not believe in running from a problem. I prefer to face it head-on. That is what a true man does.”

“And what about honor then, Yer Grace?” she shot back, her temper finally getting the better of her.

“What honor does Lord Dalrigh have sending his sister to do his dirty work?”

“He doesnae ken that I am here, nor does that matter. Do ye want the ton to think ye took advantage of a young lass?”

“My honor is my own to deal with. And none of your concern. I did not compromise your sister. In fact, this truly has nothing to do with me. I care not for what others think.”

“The gossips believe what they want,” Isla retorted, her voice still rising. “And they want to believe ye disgraced a young woman. They want to believe me sister is a ruined lass. All because of a malicious lie!”

Before he could respond, a figure rounded the corner, panting and out of breath.

“Isla! What in Auld Nick are ye doin’ here?”

Isla watched the man bound down the alley, nearly soaring with hurry.

Callum.

He looked at her, then at the Duke, his hands balled into fists at his sides as he shook his head furiously.

“I told ye to stay at Aunt Honoria’s! Bloody hell, Isla!”

“Callum, mind yer tongue in front of His Grace! And please, ye daenae have to do this,” she said, stepping toward him, her hands outstretched in a plea.

“Wait a minute, is that me coat?”

“Ye daenae have to paint your hands with blood,” Isla pressed. “I came here to put an end to this madness.”

“Did ye come pretendin’ to be me?”

“I had to do somethin’ to keep the bloody peace! Ye think I enjoy this?”

“His Grace has insulted Eilidh’s honor!” he yelled, his voice echoing in the narrow space as the sun began to rise slowly in the distance. “Highland pride demands satisfaction. I will nae be swayed by yer pleas, Isla!”

“Pride is a useless, stubborn thing if ye are not around to yield it!” she countered, her voice laced with desperation. “Think, Callum, think! Eilidh would rather have ye alive than her honor satisfied with a bullet!”

“Your sister is right, Lord Dalrigh,” the Duke interjected finally, his tone steady. “There is no need for violence. I only came here to discuss the matter and to find a way to avoid it. I had no intention of going through with this mindless duel.”

“Ye think ye can shoot me down, is that it?” Callum said as his jaw tightened into a thin line. “Ye think you can play the civilized Duke and then kill me in cold blood as I walk away? I ken yer type! Ye think yer money and yer fancy title put ye above others—”

“That is not what I am saying at all, Lord Dalrigh,” the Duke interjected. “If you would kindly allow me to speak—”

“I willnae have it!” Callum bellowed, his face red and eyes burning. “Ye will either marry me sister or face me, Yer Grace. Take yer pick.”

Isla’s stomach dropped as she wrung her hands together nervously.

“Nae!” she cried. “Callum, ye cannae make such a demand from His Grace!”

“I will not be bullied into marriage by baseless gossip,” the Duke stated plainly.

“Then you shall answer to me weapon,” Callum spat.

Without another word, Callum pulled a pistol from his coat pocket and pointed it at the Duke.

Bile rose in Isla’s throat as she watched the cold metal glinting in the faint light. The Duke, with a sigh that seemed to hold all the weariness of the world, pulled out his own and pointed it at Callum. Before her brain could register what her body was doing, Isla threw herself between them.

“Ye will have to shoot me first,” she cried, her voice shaking but her stance firm.

She held her arms outstretched in between them, the scars that etched her arms now exposed to the cold.

“Get out of the way, Isla!” Callum yelled. “This doesnae concern ye! Ye have done enough!”

“It concerned me the moment ye held a pistol in yer hand, brother,” she retorted, her emerald eyes blazing with defiance as her dark blonde locks whipped around her in the howling wind. “I willnae let ye become a killer.”

“Move out of the way, my lady,” the Duke said, his voice sharp. “You will get hurt if you do not mind your place.”

“Me family is me place!” she snapped, surprised at her tenacity.

“Ye say ye came to discuss, Yer Grace,” Callum said, his eyes narrowed on the Duke as he waved the gun in the air. “If that is so… then why did ye bring a weapon at all?”

“I have a son,” the Duke replied, his eyes briefly flicking to Isla with an expression she could not read, yet it burned deep in her belly. “I have a family. I will not stand here undefended. I seek a peaceful resolution, but I am not daft.”

“Please,” Isla begged as she turned to the Duke. “Lower yer weapon.”

“What are ye doin’?” Callum snarled at her. “This man must either marry Eilidh or die! Ye shouldnae protect him, Isla!”

“He has a family, Callum! And so do ye! Can ye nae see the risk in this foolishness, for all of us? All because some gossipmonger decided to target our sister and His Grace?”

“I can shoot him without harming ye,” Callum said, taking a step forward. “I am the best shot this side of Loch Ness. Now, get out of the way!”

“No,” Isla cried, and with a brave, determined tilt of her chin, she stepped closer to her brother with a finger pointed at him. “If ye are going to fire, it must be through me.”

A long moment of silence stretched between them as no one dared to move.

Then, the Duke’s voice cut through the stillness, cool as ice.

“There will be no duel. There is another solution.”

Callum and Isla turned to him, their eyes wide.

“I will marry you, Lady Isla,” he said, his gaze fixed on her.