Page 14 of The Scottish Duke's Deal

And now, he would face consequences.

Norman turned on his heel and barked at the crew to start unloading the carriages. Passengers began disembarking in small clusters, the commotion now dissipating into murmurs and glances cast sideways.

Gifford slinked off the deck, muttering about the unfairness of it all. And Ramsay stood beside her, silent and still, as if waiting for her to speak.

He was giving her the chance to say something, she realized. To acknowledge what he’d done.

At last, he spoke, voice low and maddeningly casual. “That’s twice now.”

She blinked. “Twice?”

“You fell into me with a vase,” he said, still not looking at her. “And then nearly into the sea.”

“I didn’tfall,” she snapped.

He turned to her now, slow and deliberate, grey eyes glinting. “Aye, that’s right. Youlaunched.”

“I would have managed.”

“You’d have drowned.”

The words hit harder than she expected, and she hated that he wasn’t wrong.

She lifted her chin. “Well. It’s done now.”

“It is,” he agreed. “And you owe me.”

Her brows drew together. “I beg your pardon?”

“I saved your life, lass. And I fully intend to collect.”

“Collectwhat, exactly?”

He didn’t answer. Just gave her a lazy, unreadable, amused look and walked away, the crowd parting for him like water around a stone.

She hated how right he’d been. And most of all, she hated that some traitorous part of her couldn’t stop watching him go.

The thought of owinghim—this towering, arrogant brute—set her teeth on edge. It was bad enough he’d seen her like that, clinging to him like some fainting debutante. Worse that he had the gall to enjoy it. And worse, she had enjoyed it too, far more than she’d like to admit, even to herself.

Eleanor stood there longer than she ought to have. The bustle of passengers disembarking washed around her like a tide, but she did not move. The weight of Ramsay’s parting words still hung in the air, and her limbs felt strangely unmoored. Her breath caught on something she couldn’t name.

“Eleanor!” Norman’s voice jolted her back. She turned sharply, startled to find him halfway down the gangway, already watching her with a mixture of concern and impatience. She quickened her pace to follow.

By the time they reached the carriage, Eleanor had lost count of how many times she’d smoothed her skirts. Her expression. Her thoughts, however, refused to be soothed. They roamed restlessly, like gulls in a storm, circling back always to one thing: the weight of Ramsay’s hand, the heat of his gaze, the impossible calm in the eye of her shame.

Kitty entered first and slid across the seat with theatrical elegance, her silk skirts rustling like dry leaves. “I am devastated,” she said, clasping her hands with mock sorrow. “To have missed all the action. A brawl. A scandal. A duke. Eleanor, truly, you are living the dream.”

Eleanor gave her a flat look. “If this is a dream, I should very much like to wake up. Preferably in a convent.”

Norman entered last. He did not speak until the door was shut, the driver summoned, and the wheels had lurched into motion. Then he spoke, and his voice was tight enough to cut glass.

“This is not amusing,” he said. “Eleanor was seen. She was in a compromising position.”

“I wasn’t?—”

“You were,” Norman said, not unkindly but with the tone of a man already cataloguing consequences. “The entire upper deck witnessed it. You were sprawled in the arms of a stranger.”

“He’s not a stranger,” Eleanor muttered though the words rang hollow even to her. She hesitated, then cleared her throat. “I mean—not entirely. He’s a duke, isn’t he? That must count for something.” Her tone wavered between defense and doubt, as though she wasn’t entirely convinced herself.