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Only then did Killian turn his sharp gaze on Yvette, his anger morphing into something more volatile.

“Do ye not have something better to do with your time? Why get involved with something ye do not understand?”

Before she could defend herself, Maisie stepped in, her small arms suddenly wrapping around Yvette’s neck in a protective gesture.

“She helped me, Papa. She really did. It wasn’t her fault the horse got spooked. I had a wonderful time. Thank you, Yvette,” the little girl said.

Killian’s brow furrowed deeper, but his focus didn’t waver.

“Maisie, go to your chambers now,” he commanded, his voice booming like a storm.

Maisie’s eyes brimmed with tears at her father’s tone, but she hesitated for a moment, looking between her father and Yvette, before nodding quickly and rushing off, her governess behind her.

When Killian turned to the instructor, the tension in the air thickened.

“If ye ever let this happen again,” he warned, his voice low but deadly, “I’ll have yer position terminated.”

The instructor’s face paled, but he nodded quickly, not daring to argue. Killian, clearly unsatisfied, marched off toward the house, going up to his study, his steps long and purposeful.

He’d just returned to his study, when the door was violently pushed open and in came Yvette, anger written on every inch of her face.

“We need to talk.”

Inside, Killian stood behind his desk, hands braced against the wood, his broad shoulders taut with barely restrained frustration. His back was to her, but Yvette didn’t care. She wasn’t going to let him avoid this.

Her strides were purposeful, the sharp click of her heels cutting through the silence like a warning shot.

“You need to stop treating her like that,” Yvette said, her voice clear and unwavering. “She’s just a child. She’s scared, and?—”

Killian turned, his expression dark, his brogue thickening as his temper flared. “And ye think ye’ve the right to lecture me on how I raisemydaughter? What would ye know about it, lass? Ye’ve barely been here long enough to ken her name.”

Yvette didn’t flinch, her chin lifting in defiance. “I know enough to see the way she looks at you—as though she’s waiting for the next time you will lash out. You may think your sternness is protection, but it is fear, Your Grace. That is what you are teaching her.”

His eyes narrowed, a muscle ticking in his jaw. “Dinnae presume to tell me aboutmydaughter,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “Ye’ve no idea what it’s like to raise a child in this world, to shield her from what ye ken could destroy her.”

“No,” Yvette countered, taking a step closer, her voice sharp as a blade, “but I know what it’s like to feel unheard, dismissed, and pushed away by someone who’s supposed to care. And that’s exactly what you’re doing to her.”

Killian’s hand slammed down on the desk, the sound reverberating through the room. “Enough! I will not stand here and let ye insult me in my own home.”

“Insult you?” Yvette’s laugh was biting, her eyes flashing. “You’re too proud to see it, aren’t you? Too proud to admit that maybe—just maybe—you’re wrong.”

His mouth twisted into a humorless smirk, his brogue slipping further as his temper frayed.

“Proud, am I? Aye, and what about ye? Marching in here as if ye’ve got all the answers, as if yer high-and-mighty lectures will fix everything.”

“I wouldn’t have tolecture,” she shot back, her tone mocking, “if you weren’t so thick-headed. But no, you’d rather stomp around and bark orders like some Highland chieftain.”

His brow arched, the faintest trace of amusement flickering beneath the storm in his eyes. “Ye’ve a sharp tongue for someone who kens so little. Ye think raising a child is all soft words and coddling? Ye would crumble in my boots, lass.”

“I would manage just fine,” Yvette retorted, stepping even closer, the space between them now charged with challenge. “Because I would actually care enough to listen. Something you seem utterly incapable of doing.”

Killian’s lips curled into a slow, infuriating smirk, his voice dropping to a low rumble. “Careful, Duchess. Ye are treading on very dangerous ground.”

Yvette’s pulse quickened, but she refused to back down. She tilted her chin, her gaze locking with his. “Oh, I am not afraid of you, my lord. If anything, I pity you.”

“Pity me?” he echoed, his voice a growl, his brogue thick with disdain. “And why is that?”

“Because you are so desperate to control everything,” she said, her voice soft but cutting. “You cannot see that the one thing slipping through your fingers is the thing you love most.”