Chapter One
Phillip Sterling, Duke of Tolland, did not believe in love at first sight, until he saw her.
Never before had he beheld a woman of such beauty and bearing.
Her dark-brown hair and watchful eyes surveyed the room, ignoring his presence completely.
He admired the determined set of her mouth as she confronted a rowdy customer who seemed to be a frequent patron of the establishment.
This woman knew her way around conflict and took absolutely no guff.
As she hauled the unruly gentleman to his feet via his ear, Phillip stared in stunned admiration as she dragged him to the door and tossed him out into the early summer evening. He knew in that moment, there would be no other woman for him. And that, he worried, would be a problem.
He had arrived in the small village of Glenbrae near his father’s hunting lodge outside Inverness, Scotland. After his father’s death and upon his inheritance of the estate and title, Phillip had taken it upon himself to visit the solitary Scottish estate that had been left in obvious neglect.
The estate manager and his wife, who also served as housekeeper, had done well in keeping the estate somewhat habitable, but it had fallen into disrepair over the years.
Phillip had taken the time to visit with them and establish some idea of what they required to maintain the dusty manor his father had once used as a hunting lodge.
Once his business had been completed, he ventured into the village in search of some distraction.
Phillip chose to keep his identity well-hidden to better gauge the residents’ reaction to the duke’s presence in Glenbrae.
The gossip would spread soon enough, but he implored the keepers of the manor to conceal his visits for the time being.
Tucked into a dark corner of the quaint tavern just on the outskirts of the village, Phillip observed the skill and charm of a woman well acquainted with the world.
She dodged flirtatious advances, enchanted regular patrons with her wit and a coy smile, but most of all, she demonstrated dedication and competence.
A skill highly undervalued and as rare as a lightning storm in winter.
Still, the questions festered in his mind. Who was this woman and why on earth did he want nothing more than to be on the receiving end of her brilliant grin?
Nursing his third ale, Phillip harbored the distinct impression that she was avoiding him.
She frequented the room, waiting on tables and helping behind the bar.
But when it came to his table—that task fell to the aging man with a mop of graying, frizzled curls who stood a head taller than everyone in the room.
Even himself, if Phillip dared to rise to his full height.
“Can I get you something more substantial than ale, lad?” the man asked, coming to a stop beside Phillip’s table.
Tugging at the hem of his simple but respectable coat, Phillip inclined his head. “Whatever you’re serving, I’ll take it.”
“All right.” The man wiped his hands on the towel slung over his shoulder. “Cora!”
The dark-haired woman he’d been admiring all evening turned her head, gaze narrowing.
“Fetch some of the pheasant for the gent, will ya?” The man sniffed and turned back to Phillip. “New to these parts, eh?”
“You could say that.” Phillip volunteered no further information, instead keeping his identity even closer to the vest. His curiosity was far greater than his vanity, and he knew all but too well how quickly people’s opinions shifted when they learned his title.
He would only remain in Glenbrae for another day or two.
There were many things for him to tend to in London.
Mother remained in mourning, cloistered within the walls of his home, buried in the books Father had kept hidden away from both of them.
She needed time to grieve, and he—well, he had responsibilities to avoid.
Phillip had given her free rein of the house and the servants.
He maintained his own bachelor lodgings, enjoying the ability to do as he pleased.
As a duke, he could very well do the same in his home, but Mother’s presence only reminded him of his failure to find a suitable bride and secure the line of inheritance—which a serving woman in a Scottish tavern most certainly was not.
Cora, the enchantress, emerged from the kitchen bearing a tray. She swerved around the tables and came to a stop before him. Her dark gaze settled into the very depths of his soul.
“Pheasant and creamed potatoes.” She placed the steaming meal on the table. Her gaze bore into him. “Another ale, stranger?”
“Not at the moment,” Phillip replied with a smile. “But I could use some company. Would you join me?”
The lass rested her hand on a proffered hip, her expression carved from stone. “Does that line work well for you?”
“‘Line’?”
“A young, strapping gent like yourself traveling alone. I’m sure you leave all manner of broken hearts in your wake.”
Phillip blinked. Was she complimenting him in the same breath as her rejection? It was hard to tell.
“I apologize. I meant no offense.” Phillip straightened his tie, noting the fabric scratching his throat as heat rose in his face.
Cora leaned closer, resting her hands on the table. Her whisky eyes dark, full lips parted. Threads of silver wove through her dark hair, catching the light as she moved. At this distance, there was no mistaking the fine lines at the corners of her eyes.
“How old are you?” she asked softly.
Phillip held her gaze steadily, unwavering in his determination to know more. To engage her attention for just a few more stolen moments.
“I fail to see how that has any bearing on my desire to converse with a lovely woman over a hearty meal.”
His reply garnered an unexpected but encouraging quirk of her lips. Not quite a smile, but he would take whatever small victories he could.
“Careful with the pheasant,” she said huskily. “I would hate to see you choke on a bone.”
“Concern for my well-being,” Phillip quickly observed. “Perhaps there is hope, after all.”
Cora rose to her full height, shook her head, and turned away without another word. But before she vanished from sight, he caught the telltale blush high on her cheeks as she glanced in his direction.
Much to his dismay, Cora never returned.
Disappointed but not disheartened, Phillip finished his meal, paid his tab, and returned to the house, where Mrs. Mackenzie had prepared his chamber and a hot bath.
Phillip could have easily demanded more information about the enigmatic Cora. Cora. Her name felt forbidden on his tongue and in his thoughts.
A thrumming excitement hummed through him at the thought of uncovering small details about her over time. Tonight, she’d proven polite but quite evasive. This did nothing to deter him, as Phillip adored a challenge.
Perhaps he would need to return to Scotland frequently to oversee any and all repairs to the hunting lodge. He had hoped to sell it, but those thoughts had fled the moment he’d walked into the Tattered Hart and beheld the most beautiful woman in all of existence.