The Capture of the Earl of Glencrae by Stephanie Laurens

she walked through, into a long room lined with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. A huge fireplace occupied the center of one long wall, while the opposite wall hosted three pairs of long windows looking out onto a square of overgrown lawn edged with tall trees. Only the nearer end of the room had been cleared of the omnipresent cobwebs and dust. A heavy, ornately carved desk faced down the room, with an admiral’s chair behind it, and two armchairs angled before it. Further down the room, holland covers still swathed all the furniture.
    Resisting an urge to go and peek under the covers—later—she walked to the desk. Rounding it, she looked at the welter of papers scattered over it.
    Dominic walked past her to the other side of the chair, reached across, and swept the papers to one side. “Estate business. I’ve been attending to what I can while I’m here.”
    Opening the central drawer, he drew out a fresh sheet of paper and laid it on the blotter.
    â€œThank you.” Sinking into the admiral’s chair, she reached for one of the pens in an onyx-and-ormolu holder. The inkstand looked like something her brother Alasdair would enthuse over. Now she thought of it, he would enthuse over most of the objects in the house.
    Smiling at the thought, she flipped up the lid of the ink pot, dipped the already nicely sharpened nib in, paused, then bent to her task.
    Rather than couch her words with any degree of formality, she wrote as if she were speaking; the missive would, she hoped, be more effective that way.
    While she scribbled, Dominic—she’d be damned if she thought of him as Glencrae—walked to the nearer window and stood looking out. Giving her privacy, although he would, no doubt, want to read what she wrote.
    When she’d written all she thought wise, she read through the whole, then signed and carefully blotted the sheet.
    Setting the pen back in the holder, she flipped the ink pot lid shut. The sound had him glancing around. Picking up the letter, she held it out. “Here.”
    He met her gaze, then walked to the desk and took the sheet.
    Leaning back in the chair, she watched him read it.
    She’d opened with an abject apology for not contacting them sooner, explained that she’d been forced to leave to help a friend in desperate need, asked that they concoct some tale to cover her absence, an absence she’d assured them would be temporary, but might perhaps stretch for several weeks, then closed with an assurance that she was absolutely and utterly safe, and in no danger of any kind.
    By the time Dominic reached the end, he was frowning. “ ‘Forced to leave’?”
    â€œI thought that skated rather nicely around the reality.” When he arched a black brow, she said, “You’ll also notice I’ve said nothing about where I’ve gone. As you’ve noted, they’ll most likely have assumed that this is something to do with the earlier kidnappings and have blocked the roads north, but the possibility that I’m still in town, and seem to have no expectation of leaving, should at least start them wondering. And the more they wonder, the more likely they’ll pull back and start searching somewhere else. Given we have to travel to the highlands, I would prefer to do so without my brothers and cousins on our heels.”
    Dominic couldn’t argue that. He read the letter again, confirming that her composition was perfectly gauged to, on the one hand, reassure her family, and on the other, to deflect them. Further proof that the woman beside him had mastered skills he hadn’t expected her to have. A dab hand at manipulating others, he recognized that talent when he met it.
    Glancing down at her, he met her wide, green-and-gold eyes. “You are twenty-one, aren’t you?”
    â€œI turn twenty-two in August.” She smiled up at him. “I’ll have to put my mind to what your present to me should