Page 23 of The Scottish Duke's Deal

Ramsay took his seat beside Kitty. Eleanor was directly across from him, and his features lit in shifting gold by the flickering candlelight. She had chosen the seat on purpose—curious, intent on learning more—but the moment their eyes met, she almostwished she hadn’t. The closeness, the quiet scrutiny, the sheer presence of him… it was too much. Too immediate. Too real.

She kept her eyes down, pretending not to notice the strong way he looked at her. She folded her hands in her lap and did not touch her wine.

Formal introductions were exchanged again, the barbs dulled but not gone. The first course arrived. Silver clinked faintly against porcelain.

Norman lifted his glass. “We’ve not heard much of your family, Your Grace. You have a brother, yes?”

“I had,” Ramsay said. “He passed last winter.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Kitty said softly. Her voice had lost its usual lightness.

Ramsay inclined his head. “Thank you. He wasn’t much for titles, but he was a good man. Better than I ever was.”

“And that made you Duke,” Norman said.

“Aye. Not something I asked for, but I don’t ignore duty.”

A pause.

Eleanor’s fingers tightened slightly around the stem of her glass. There was something in his tone—flat, heavy—that lodged itself in her chest. She hadn’t expected him to speak of duty with such weight or such finality. He was a brute, yes, but there was something under it. Something proud. Wounded, perhaps.

Eleanor raised her glass, and across its rim, she looked at him. “Forgive the question, but… how were you brothers with the late Duke of Stormglen? I thought you were Scottish.”

His knife paused mid-slice. His eyes locked onto hers, and instantly, she regretted asking.

Still, he answered.

“Our mother was Scottish,” he said, his voice lowered. “After she passed, my father sent me away to the Highlands to be raised by my grandmother… He decided keeping my brother—the heir—here was enough.”

She felt the words strike deep. Even Norman had no reply.

Softly, she asked, “You stayed?”

“I’ve business here first. Private matters. Then we’ll see.”

Her eyes dropped. She didn’t know why she felt… something. Sympathy? No. Not for a man like him. And yet, the image of him on the ship—trying to calm down a trembling little girl,voice low and firm as he faced down chaos—rose unbidden in her mind.

He hadn’t coddled Penelope, but he hadn’t looked away either. There had been a strange sort of steadiness in him. Not fatherly, not warm. But present. Solid.

She cleared her throat softly. “How’s Penelope? Did she find her doll?”

Ramsay’s expression soured, the line of his mouth tightening. “No. Not yet. She’s… her usual self.”

Kitty turned her head toward him. “Penelope. She’s your ward?”

Ramsay shifted. “Not legally. But she’s under my protection. I don’t plan to abandon her.”

Eleanor looked up again. Something about the way he said it made her throat tighten.

“That’s admirable,” Norman said. “A child needs stability.”

“I’ve seen what happens to girls without it,” Ramsay said. “And I’ve seen the sort of men who benefit from their ruin.”

The words landed like a stone on the table. No one spoke.

Then Norman cleared his throat. “About Lord Gifford?—”

Eleanor’s back stiffened. Her napkin crumpled between her fingers.