Page 20

“Well, whatever you decide to do, I’m certain you’ll be wonderful at it.”

Maisie had already returned her attention to her blocks, not bothering to respond.

With a quiet sigh, Yvette turned and left the room. She wasn’t one to give up easily, but it was becoming painfully clear that Maisie wasn’t ready to accept her.

The echo of her footsteps on the grand corridor seemed to mock her as she walked.

As she approached the staircase, Yvette noticed a small cluster of three maids gathered in hushed conversation a few paces ahead. They hadn’t yet seen her, and though she might have ignored them, something in their tone caught her attention. They spoke in low murmurs, unaware that Yvette was so near.

“All the duchess’s attempts to bring them together feels desperate if you ask me,” one whispered.

“Poor woman, trying so hard to fit into a place where she’ll never belong. Did you know she was in a nunnery before she came here?” another replied.

Yvette gasped. She had heard enough, but the words stung like a thousand barbs, each one twisting deeper with every syllable.

The third maid, younger than the others, let out a laugh.

“Apparently, she was ruined and sent off to the convent by her father. Can you believe that this is our new duchess?”

Yvette’s stomach churned, and she felt the heat of their words burning her skin.

Her fingers clenched at her sides, and she took a step forward, determined to speak, to defend herself—but before she could, a voice stopped her in her tracks.

“It seems ye three have nothing better to do than gossip,” a deep, angry voice rumbled from behind her.

Yvette whipped around in surprise, her pulse quickening as she found the duke standing there, his gaze hard and dark.

The maids jumped in alarm, their faces pale with the realization that they had been caught.

“Do ye not realize the position my wife holds in this household? She is the duchess and ye all must treat her as such!” he barked.

Then, as though he was not satisfied with berating them, he added, “as of today, ye are all relieved of yer posts.”

The maids sputtered in shock, their faces blushing with humiliation. One of them stammered an apology, while another looked on in disbelief, but Killian stood firm, his eyes narrowing.

“Ye will leave the castle now,” he ordered.

The maids, caught in their shame, quickly turned and fled, their hurried footsteps echoing down the hall. Yvette stood still with shock, not sure whether to feel relief or further discomfort.

As the last maid disappeared into the hallway, Killian turned to her. His gaze softened, just slightly, as if some part of him regretted what had just transpired. But it was gone in an instant, replaced by his usual cool demeanor.

“Are ye all right?” Killian asked, his voice quieter now, though there was still an edge to it.

Yvette lifted her chin, he eyes narrowing as she met his gaze.

“Thank you, Your Grace, but I could’ve handled that on my own. I am perfectly capable of defending myself.”

Killian’s frown deepened, the lines between his brows etched with disapproval.

“No one said ye couldn’t.”

“Then why did you step in?” She challenged, folding her arms tightly across her chest. “Why do you care?”

Killian’s gaze darkened, and for a moment, she thought he might not answer. Then he took a deliberate step closer, his presence filling her senses.

“Because I am responsible for this household and everyone in it, and that includes ye. Ye are my duchess, and no one insults what’s mine.”

Her breath caught in her throat, her pulse hammering at the intensity in his tone.