Page 32 of A Highland Duke to Claim Her Heart

As they moved around the square, Cassandra noticed that all the villagers seemed to be honored and touched by the duke’s presence. They gave him free samples of their wares, and many of them thanked him for help that he had given to relatives of theirs who operated farms in the area. It seemed that everyone knew everyone, or was related somehow, and that everyone, at some point, had benefited from the patronage of the duke.

“They love you,” she murmured, after they moved away from the final stall, a cobbler who was fixing shoes.

“I would not say that,” the duke said gruffly, but he did not fully make eye contact with her either. “I am simply their duke.”

“They would not be so effusive in their praise if you were simply their duke,” she said. “They speak of you with great respect and admiration. Not all lords are loved. But you are.”

The duke frowned slightly, but he said nothing, and by the time they arrived back at the center of the square, his expression was thoughtful.

“They speak highly of you, as well,” he said, “and the improvements that you have made at the castle.” He released her arm and turned to her, so that the two of them were facing each other directly. “I have noticed as well. I do apologize, I should have said something sooner. But I appreciate the changes you are making, even if some of them are a little… messy.”

He emphasized the last word just enough to tell her that she knew about the painting.

“So someone told you I let your daughter cover her hands in paint?” she asked, unable to hide her smile.

“They did not have to tell me,” he said, the smallest shadow of a smile tugging at the side of his lips. “I saw.”

She stared at him. “Yousaw?”

“The door was ajar,” he said, and she could see the twinkle in his eyes now.

“And you were not horrified?”

“Perhaps a little. But she seemed so…” he hesitated, looking away. “So happy.”

Cassandra nodded. “Yes, I think she was.”

She waited, wondering if he would say more, and at last, her patience was rewarded.

“I love her very much,” he said, still not looking at her, his gaze focused instead on where several children were playing tug-of-war. “But sometimes I do not know how to connect with her. How to play with her. Her mother…” he cleared his throat. “She was always so concerned about her being raised correctly. That she would be a proper young lady, she used to say.”

“She knew she would be a girl?” Cassandra asked.

“She was convinced. Some midwife had told her that the food she was eating signaled that it would be a girl.” He shook hishead. “And when her pregnancy started to become difficult, and she feared she might die, she worried that her daughter would have no one to raise her properly. I think she thought I was too wild, too unmannered, that I had spent too long away from society, to raise a daughter well.”

“You are raising her well,” Cassandra said at once, taking a step closer to him, and at last, he looked back at her. His face was somewhat troubled, and she had to resist the urge to reach up and place a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “She has a father who loves her,” she said instead. “I am certain that she will turn out very well indeed. But she is only a child, and for now, the best way to connect with her is to have fun with her. To play…”

“Play.” The duke huffed a laugh. “I know how to build Roman-style aqueducts and drainage systems, but I do not know how to play with a child.”

“I can show you,” she said softly. “Any time you like, I can show you.”

This time, he actually smiled, and as he did, his whole face seemed to soften. For a few moments, he did not look like the large, hulking, intimidating Duke of Calder. He simply looked like a father and a husband.

My husband.

Would those words ever not be surprising?

He swallowed and nodded. “Thank you. Cassandra.”

It was the first time he had used her given name, and her breath caught.

“You are welcome,” she murmured. “Ewan.”

Another flutter of a smile came and went on his lips, and she took this as permission. She was allowed to call him Ewan. The thought moved through her, warm and exciting, and she had to look away.

Across the square, Lillian was standing with Alaric Greybourne, who was helping her to shoot one of the bows and arrows. Ewan must have seen where she was looking because he nodded at them.

“Would you like to try?” he asked.