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Yvette’s gaze was directed firmly at the governess as she crossed the threshold. “That will do, Miss Pemberton,” she said, her voice sharp with authority.

“You will not speak to Maisie in such a manner.”

The governess blinked, clearly taken aback by the sudden intrusion, but Yvette continued without hesitation. She turned to Maisie with a smile, softening her tone.

“You speak however you wish, Maisie. There’s no need to change your words for anyone.”

Maisie beamed up at her, her cheeks flushed with pride. The governess, however, tried to interject.

“But, Your Grace, the child must learn?—”

Yvette raised her hand, silencing the governess mid-sentence.

“Do you not realize what you are doing? You’re discouraging her from embracing her heritage. She is of Scottish lineage, and ifshe wishes to speak with a brogue, then so be it. It harms no one.”

The governess opened her mouth to argue but Yvette’s stern gaze kept her silent.

“Is that what you tell her?” Yvette asked, her voice growing colder with each word, “that her heritage will bring ruin to her?”

The governess’s face paled, and she stammered, struggling to find the right words, but none came. Yvette wasn’t finished.

“I would have you know that the only reason I haven’t rid you of your position already is because I wasn’t the one who employed you,” Yvette continued, her voice firm and unwavering. Maisie seems to have some fondness for you, but if you ever speak to her like that again—if you ever try to make her feel ashamed of who she is—I will take this matter to my husband, and I will make sure you are dismissed.”

Killian stood frozen in the doorway, his eyes lingering on Yvette as she glared at the governess.

My husband.That was what she had called him.

A strange warmth, something he hadn’t expected, unfurled within him, making his chest tighten. He had never imagined Yvette would come to Maisie’s defense in such a way.

For a moment, he wondered if he should march in, sweep her into his arms, and kiss her as though nothing else mattered.

Or perhaps he should rid them of the governess on the spot.

The words that had come from Yvette’s lips had struck him deeply, especially considering her own childhood. A girl who had been deprived of her mother and had grown up in the cold, unfeeling walls of a nunnery.

He had long since doubted her ability to care for Maisie properly, but now, he was sure that she was fit to do so.

He had seen how Maisie flourished when given attention he hadn’t always been able to give her.

But Yvette, despite her own tragic past, had somehow defended her with an unshakable confidence. His heart swelled with an emotion he couldn’t quite name—something that made him feel both pleased and conflicted.

She was his wife of convenience, the sister of his friend, tied to him by duty and necessity. There was no place for any emotion beyond the practical, and yet here he was, caught between duty and an undeniable pull toward her.

Sighing, he turned away, his heart still thrumming with unfamiliar thoughts, and made his way to his study.

He needed to clear his head, sort through these tangled feelings before they overtook him.

But just as he settled into his chair, trying to focus on the reports before him, there was a knock at the door.

“Enter,” he called, his voice still heavy with thought.

The butler appeared, his face impassive as usual. “Mr. Sharp to see you, my lord.”

Killian grunted, relieved for the distraction. Lachlan Sharp was always good for a laugh, even if the man’s antics sometimes grated on his nerves.

With a brief nod, Killian waved him in.

Lachlan sauntered into the room, his usual carefree swagger evident as he dropped into the chair opposite Killian’s desk.