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His hazel–green eyes met hers. For a moment, he didn’t respond, his lips pressing into a firm line.

Finally, he said, “No. There was no chance to tell her, seeing as she’d left for Braemore before I met you.”

Yvette inhaled deeply, her gaze falling to the folds of her dress. The idea of being thrust into the role of a mother to a little girl she had never met was daunting. Her mind raced with possibilities, each one more unsettling than the last.

“This… union, it might be good for her,” Killian added, his voice a little softer now. “She’s had no woman in her life besides her governess. Her mother died in labor.”

Yvette’s throat tightened. She wasn’t sure if that was meant to reassure her or heap further pressure onto her already burdened thoughts.

“How old is she?” Yvette managed to ask, her voice steady despite the turmoil within.

Killian seemed to consider the question for a moment before replying, “Six.”

A wave of doubt washed over Yvette. She had envisioned many possible futures for herself, but none involved navigating the unpredictable waters of motherhood, as she had also lost her mother at a young age.

Would Maisie accept her? Or would she see her as an unwelcome intruder?

Yvette exhaled softly and lifted her chin.

“And what about an heir?” she asked, her cheeks flushing as the words left her mouth.

The duke’s brows furrowed, and for the first time, he looked uncomfortable. He shifted in his seat, his broad shoulders straightening.

“I wondered when ye’d bring that up,” he said, his tone half-amused, half-resigned. He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees as he regarded her. “Aye, we’ll need to produce an heir.”

Yvette’s heart skipped a beat. Or it might’ve stopped entirely, she wasn’t quite sure.

“A child,” he continued, his voice steady, “would solidify this marriage in the eyes of society. It would help to fully bury the scandal.”

Yvette nodded slowly, her mind latching onto his every word.

“And as a duke,” he added, watching her face intently as he said the next words, “I do need an heir. Eventually.”

“Eventually?” she echoed, tilting her head.

Killian’s lips quirked into the faintest hint of a smile.

“Aye. It’s not a priority right now. We’ve enough to deal with as it is.”

Yvette bit her bottom lip, uncertain of how to respond. The implications of his words lingered in the air, heavy and undeniable.

Her thoughts drifted to the practicalities of producing an heir. If she bore him a daughter, would they be expected to try again and again until a son was born?

The color in her cheeks deepened. Though she had spent her early womanhood in a convent, she was far from ignorant about the realities of marriage, for many oblates at the convent had been in a man’s bed, and they had told her about the expectations of the wedding night. Yvette understood precisely what was required to conceive a child.

The duke seemed to notice the change in her expression. His sharp gaze narrowed, a touch of curiosity lighting his features.

“Why do ye have that look on yer face?” he asked, his deep voice laced with intrigue.

Yvette’s breath hitched. How was she supposed to answer that? Should she confess that, despite her best efforts, she had allowed her mind to wander into dangerous territory? That she had imagined what it might feel like to be in his arms, his body pressed against hers as they fulfilled their marital duties?

No, she couldn’t.

She tore her gaze away, her heart pounding against her ribs. What was happening to her? This man, this frustratingly aloof duke, was not supposed to elicit such a reaction from her.

The duke leaned back, his expression once again unreadable.

“Ye should rest,” he said finally, not pressing again for an answer. “We have a long journey ahead.”