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“M ust you leave so soon?” Lily Lockhart, Duchess of Granton, asked Shay as he secured his bags to his saddle. Shay had enjoyed his visit with Finn, Lily, and their son William, but it was time for him to move along and leave the family to their privacy.

It had nothing to do with the fact Willie had taken to climbing all over Shay anytime he sat down. The lad was small and it was fun to make him laugh until he was out of breath. He especially liked when Shay pretended he hadn’t noticed the boy was hanging on his back.

“It has been two weeks, a fine length of time for a visit, I’d say. Nay too short, nor long enough that you are counting down the seconds until I depart.”

Finn shook his head. “That would not happen. You know you are welcome here always.”

“Aye. And I know that’s because I don’t overstay.” He winked at his dear friend. “Not all of us hate being alone, Finn.”

Shay knew how much Finn despised solitude. He’d come from a loud, happy family and lost them all one by one. Until he’d married Lily it had seemed the duke hadn’t fit in anywhere. London was too busy, while Scotland had been too lonely. Until his wife and son came along.

“Enjoy your peace and quiet,” Finn said with a nod.

Shay would surely do that. Unlike Finn, Shay preferred being at home alone. The only place where he could be himself. Where he didn’t have to worry that he might make a mistake and his secrets would all come tumbling out.

Even after all these years, being with people presented a risk that he might share the truth, or worse that he might want to. But that couldn’t happen, for if it did, the life he’d made would be over and he would lose everything.

Shay made good time getting to Cawdor by the late afternoon. He turned over his horse to a groom and went inside to see Mrs. Murray hustling everyone about for his arrival.

“No need stirring everyone up, Mrs. Murray. I will not waste away if I have to wait for a meal.” That was not something he’d had to worry over since he’d moved to Cawdor as a small boy. He never needed to go hungry as he had when he’d been a lad living on the streets of Inverness.

Some nights he would still dream of that pain in his belly, but he never needed to worry about where his next meal came from, it was always presented to him in a timely manner.

“’Tis no bother to see to ye, my lord. We are happy to have ye home.” Mrs. Murray gave him a fond smile. She hadn’t seemed to age since the day he’d met her. Back then she’d loved fussing over him and plying him with treats. It seemed she still enjoyed taking care of him. It was just in her nature.

“It’s good to be home. I’ll be in the library until dinner is ready.”

She nodded and left him in the foyer as her husband took Shay’s bags and passed them over to Cragen to take them upstairs. Shay would send for his valet to return home from London, but the footman would do until then. It wasn’t as if Shay needed to be dressed in his finest for sitting about the house with a book.

When he’d first been brought to Cawdor, he’d been asked to wait in the library. He’d stood in awe of the tall shelves filled with books. His mother had read to him when he’d been very little and while he’d not learned to read he wanted to know every story in that room.

He’d been given a tutor and became an eager student. Then he’d gone off to school and filled his mind with as much as it would hold. All these years later, Shay couldn’t say he’d read every book in the room. Some were dreadfully boring and others were in languages he didn’t know. But he had read most of them.

And now he had a new novel to add to the shelves. One he’d brought with him from London and couldn’t wait to start reading. He’d already shrugged off his coat and waistcoat. His cravat had been gone before morning was over. All the formal clothing was one thing about being a lord he didn’t particularly care for. He much preferred the easy dress of the lower classes. He didn’t enjoy all the attention put into his wardrobe. He just wanted to be comfortable and clean.

He poured a glass of whisky and stood at the window looking out over the grounds. It still amazed him that he was responsible for all of this. However, his gaze fell on something that shouldn’t be there.

“John?” he called for the butler who came in immediately.

“Aye, m’lord?”

“Why is there smoke coming out of the chimney of the dower house?”

“Ah. I imagine Frannie is cooking dinner for your guest,” the man answered as if that were a perfectly reasonable explanation.

Shay’s eyes went wide. “I have a guest?”

John smiled softly. “Aye. Did ye not get her letter? She said she was to write ye to let you know she’d arrived, but I’m guessing you were already out of London before her missive arrived.”

“She?” He had a female guest. Women sometimes became quite brazen in their search for a husband, but he never expected to have one show up unannounced and take over his dower house.

“Miss Thea.” John’s smile returned as if he were talking about his own daughter. “Ye know Frannie has not been well since last year, but the lady has sure been kind to her. And she’s paying Frannie more than she earns here.”

“My guest has stolen my employee?” Shay was growing more irritated, and he’d not even met this Miss Thea yet. He’d wanted to be home where he could relax, not have to entertain some woman who had apparently wooed his staff.

“Anna said it would do the girl good to have a fresh start somewhere else. Miss Thea doesn’t want to move so far from here so Frannie will be close to her ma and brother, but will still be able to make her own way if Miss Thea keeps her on.”

“Mayhap I should go speak to my guest to see what her plans are.” Whatever plans she had, he wanted to ensure leaving his property was at the top of the list.

Shay set off for the dower house which was set some distance from the castle that was not quite far enough away to need a horse. When he arrived he was breathing heavily from both the length of the walk and the quickness with which he had completed it.

He rapped on the door, although he really shouldn’t have had to. It was his house after all. This stranger didn’t belong here. But he waited until Frannie opened the door.

She’d always been shy, but after what happened last year, she’d become downright skittish. Especially around men.

“My lord,” she said without meeting his eyes as she ducked a curtsy.

“I’d like to meet my guest,” he said, adding what he hoped was an encouraging smile when Frannie’s eyes went wide and anxious.

“Oh. She is writing in the drawing room and doesn’t like being disturbed.”

Shay laughed at that. “I’m sure she won’t mind if I interrupt.”

Frannie moved to the side so he could enter. He went straight to the drawing room door and opened it.

The woman inside was not at all what he’d expected. He’d imagined a debutante, a young girl dressed in a pale dress, waiting for the opportunity to trap him into some kind of arrangement. But Miss Thea was too old to be a debutante. Not that she was old. She was surely younger than him, but not by much.

Dressed in a blue gown, her blonde hair was pulled up on her head in a hasty bun she’d likely done herself. Tendrils had escaped and were teasing her face. Not the artfully done curls the women thought made them look coy in the ballroom, but actual messy locks that had escaped of their own accord.

She paid them no mind as the quill in her hand scratched swiftly across the page. She barely looked over when she dipped the quill in the well to gather more ink on the tip. The inkwell showed the many droplets from her constant returns. Her fingertips were stained and there was a smudge on the side of her nose that should have looked ridiculous but somehow didn’t.

He thought her eyes were brown, but wasn’t sure because while he’d made it a good three steps into the room, she’d yet to look at him. He had all the time needed to take in the room. Pages and pages of ink-filled paper draped over every surface.

It was clear enough by the sheer amount of them she was writing a book—no a novel—he corrected as he noticed the larger pile of pages already stacked on the table by the window. Two quires of blank paper sat at the ready on the corner of the desk. It was either a novel or the woman was mad.

He cleared his throat and did so a second time when the first attempt did nothing.

As if waking from some dream-like state, she finally glanced up at him.

He’d been correct. Her eyes were brown. But that word was not adequate to describe all the different colors of gold, amber, chocolate, and dark earth that swirled about her irises. And since when had he cared to notice the multitude of shades brown could be?

She blinked then sucked in a quick breath as if shocked to learn she wasn’t alone despite the fact he hadn’t been quiet as he’d entered.

“Who are you?” she asked.

He was surprised by the smile that came to his lips at her question. She hadn’t sounded rude as much as inquisitive. But it was the question for him to ask the person who’d invaded his home, not the other way around.

“I’m Lord Flemming. Who the hell are you?”