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Yvette nodded slowly, mulling over his words. She had imagined Lady Fiona’s presence would provide some solace during what promised to be an awkward start to this marriage. Now, she found herself dreading the idea of being alone with the Duke at Braemore for an entire month.

“Very well,” she said softly, glancing out the window again.

He inclined his head in acknowledgment before returning to his papers, the rustle of the pages filling the space between them.

For a while, the only sounds were the steady clatter of the carriage wheels and the occasional neigh of the horses outside.

Yvette crossed her arms, attempting to settle herself, but her mind wandered. The man sitting opposite her, with his ruggedfeatures and unreadable expression, was now her husband. The notion felt surreal.

A sudden clearing of his throat drew her attention back to him. It seemed like a habit, she noted, that both Braemores seemed to share. She turned her gaze toward him, raising a brow in silent inquiry.

The duke set the papers aside, leaning slightly forward. “Regarding our union,” he began, his tone clipped but deliberate. “I feel the need to remind you that this marriage is one of convenience. It is only meant to salvage the reputations of both our families, and that is all.”

Yvette’s back straightened, and she tilted her head slightly, her expression guarded.

“There will be no expectation of love or intimacy beyond what society requires,” he continued. “In public, we will present a united front, as a husband and wife should. But in private, we will live as independently as we wish.”

The audacity of his words struck her like a whip, though she had expected nothing less.

“Very kind of you to clarify the terms of our arrangement,Your Grace,” she replied, her voice laced with sarcasm.

His jaw tightened. “I am merely ensuring there are no misunderstandings.”

She leaned forward slightly, her blue eyes flashing. “Let me assure you,Your Grace,that I have no delusions about this marriage. You need not worry about what I might think, or use your concern as a front to try and control me or make me your pawn.”

His brows drew together, his expression hardening. “Control ye? That was never my intent, though I appreciate yer preference for dramatics.”

“Dramatics?” she echoed, her voice rising. “If anyone here is dramatic, it is you, with your proclamations of duty and stoicism. Not to mention that you rushed to spill blood in the face of false rumors. I can only imagine the burden of being so self-righteous.”

His lips twitched, as though he were holding back a retort. His gaze remained locked on hers.

“Perhaps I underestimated yer temper,” he said after a moment, a hint of amusement creeping into his voice.

“And I,dear husband, may have overestimated your ability to hold a proper conversation,” she shot back.

Husband. Her use of the word had kindled an unwanted flame in her. She still could not believe she was married to this man.

Though her simple use of the word was meant to sound like a cuss, Killian’s lips twitched slightly.

“I am perfectly capable of holding a proper conversation.” He responded in a clipped voice, which made her believe the slight twitching of his lips she had witnessed had been a fragment of her imagination.

“I highly doubt it,” she leaned back into the cushion, folding her arms across her chest.

“You seem to enjoy provoking me,” he remarked, his voice low.

“Provokingyou? Do you think me a woman who enjoys facing the anger of men? Trust me, my lord, I have had my fill of it,” she replied.

The duke studied her, his eyes glimmering with thoughts Yvette could not decipher.

For a moment, silence fell between them, but it was no longer the stifling quiet of before. This was charged. Electric. Killian’s gaze dipped briefly to her mouth before returning to her eyes, and Yvette’s breath hitched.

“What is her name?” she asked, changing the subject, her brow slightly raised. “Your daughter, I mean,” she added.

The realization weighed heavy on her shoulders. She was expected to step into a role for which she was entirely unprepared. A wife of convenience was one thing, but a mother? That was quite another thing.

“Maisie,” he answered simply.

“Does Maisie know about… us?” she asked, breaking the silence.