Page 32 of Surrender Your Grace (Impromptu Brides #1)

The following morning, with a warm glow lingering from the night before, Cici's appetite returned in full force. She filled her plate with poached eggs, spiced ham on toast, and a scone slathered with Arendale blackberry jam.

Sliding into the chair beside Andrew, she was rewarded with an approving glance at her plate and a kiss on the cheek before he returned to his newspaper.

Maggie entered shortly after and eased into her seat with a visible wince.

Alarmed, Cici’s eyes darted to Andrew. “You didn’t—”

He lowered the paper with a pointed look. “Correct. I didn’t. But like you, what she got, she earned.”

Before she could respond, Lord Rothbury breezed in, far too much cheer for the hour. He joined Maggie, arranged his napkin with exaggerated flourish, and accepted coffee from the footman.

“You’re out early, my lord,” Cici observed.

“With the snow and the late hour, your husband offered me a guest chamber,” he replied with an easy, charming smile. “I’ll need a word with you after breakfast regarding your sister’s betrothal, Andrew. Then I’ll take her for an early ride in the park.”

Unfazed, her husband nodded, set aside his paper, and turned his attention to breakfast.

Cici froze, scone halfway to her lips. “Betrothal to who?”

“Since I’m the supposed bride, I’d like to know that too,” Maggie said, bristling.

“To me,” the big Scot replied, grinning broadly.

She shot to her feet. “I’ve agreed to no such thing! I’d sooner wed a Dutch Pug than you.”

“You’ll be respectful, and do as you’re told,” Andrew said coolly. “What happened after we left the study last evening leaves us no other choice.”

Maggie twisted to confront the earl, furious. “You told him? How dare you!”

“I dare,” he said evenly, “just as I dared skelp your misbehaving behind after your conduct last night.”

“Skelp?” Cici echoed, brow furrowed, having difficulty keeping up.

“Scottish for consequences,” Andrew replied between bites.

Maggie whirled to leave so abruptly her chair toppled backward. “I will not marry him!”

“Yes, sister, you will,” Andrew countered, calmly setting his plate aside.

This time, he spoke not only as her guardian—but as her brother.

“You’ve known Duncan nearly as long as I have.

He cares about you and this family. Anyone who’s been in the same room with you two these past few years can feel the sparks.

I don’t know why you were both dragging your feet, but it’s time, Maggie. ”

“But, Andrew—"

He raised a hand to silence her. “I didn’t ask for details, but you won’t convince me he punished you over your skirts.” He wiped his mouth with a linen napkin and stood. “I’ll draw up the marriage contract while you finish breakfast,” he told his friend.

“I’m already done,” Rothbury said, popping the last bite of sausage into his mouth and washing it down with coffee. He stood, grabbed Maggie’s hand, and towed her toward the door.

“You’re both mad if you think I’ll sign anything that binds me to him forever—”

“Your signature’s a courtesy, lass. Not a requirement,” Duncan advised without slowing.

Andrew paused beside Cici and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “We won’t be long. I’ll escort you on your errands after.”

“They’re fighting like feral cats,” she whispered. “Is this wise?”

“They’ll work it out. Like we did,” he murmured, kissing her once more. “Mother and I always knew it would happen. We’re just surprised it took Duncan this long to claim her.”

He followed his friend and sister out the door. Minutes later, Cici heard Maggie’s voice raised in shrill protest. She blushed, remembering her own time in that room—spanked and thoroughly loved—under the false assumption she could say anything and not be overheard.

Cici was still sipping her tea when Maggie stormed back in and dropped into her chair with a scowl.

“My entire life, the men in this family have controlled me,” she snapped, twisting her napkin into a strangled knot. “Now I’ll have another laying down rules left and right, ready to scold me for every breath I take.”

“You’re engaged, then?” Cici asked, gently.

“Yes,” Maggie grumbled. “To that Scottish cur, of all people.”

Andrew appeared in the doorway. “Tut-tut, sister. Our mother is Scottish. Those same bloodlines flow through your veins.”

“I’m not speaking to you. Or to you,” she added when Duncan entered behind him.

“I fear I wasn’t as efficient last night as you, my friend,” Duncan said to Andrew, settling into his chair. “Your bride is the picture of compliant grace this morning. Mine seems hell-bent on earning another skelping before noon.”

Andrew’s lips twitched. “Father kept a birch rod for unruly behavior. I can personally attest to its effectiveness. It’s still in the study closet, if memory serves.”

“Shall I fetch it?” Duncan asked Maggie, voice mild but moss-green eyes gleaming.

“If you do, I’ll never forgive you,” she snapped.

He shrugged. “So you’ll forgive me if I don’t?”

Maggie groaned and dropped her head into her hands. “This is a nightmare. Please, someone shake me and wake me up.”

“You’re already wide awake,” Duncan replied. “Now, be a good lass and finish breakfast so we can begin our day.”

She started to rise, but Duncan caught her wrist and firmly settled her back in her seat. “No more storming off in a temper.”

“What is that, rule #157?” she muttered.

“If you say so. I haven’t been keeping count,” he said, signaling the footman for more coffee.

“Andrew, you cannot possibly be serious about this. You’re handing me over to a—” Maggie paused, struggling for a suitably vile insult.

“Fine figure of a man?” Duncan supplied helpfully.

“I was thinking more like Sir Reverence,” she bit out.

Startled, Duncan blinked while Andrew cleared his throat pointedly. “That will do, Maggie.”

The earl stood too, all composure. “Consider that another round earned.” With that promise issued, he took Maggie’s arm and half led/half dragged her from the dining room.

As faint protests drifted through the walls and down the hall, Cici looked up at Andrew. “Shouldn’t you intervene?”

“Her tongue is completely out of control,” Andrew replied, guiding her to the foyer. “You heard what she called him.”

“‘Sir Reverence’? Is that a peer? I’ve never heard of him.”

“It’s cant—a slang term—for human excrement,” he explained stiltedly.

Cici gaped. “She called him… a turd?”

Andrew winced but gave a reluctant nod.

She sputtered at first then dissolved into laughter, leaning against his shoulder.

“Careful my sister’s cheek doesn’t rub off on you, sweeting,” he warned, sliding an arm around her waist. “You won’t like the consequences.”

“I wouldn’t dare,” she said between giggles. “But you must admit it’s funny.”

As they ascended the stairs, Maggie’s voice rang out—a shouted insult that called Duncan’s legitimacy into question.

Cici sobered instantly. “I have a feeling she’s going to spend a good deal of her marriage over her husband’s knee.”

“Most likely,” Andrew said with quiet conviction, “but I trust Duncan. I wouldn’t have signed the papers if I didn’t.”

“Does he love her?” she asked, concerned her friend would endure the difficulties she had.

“I know he does,” Andrew replied. “And he’ll make sure she knows it—eventually.”

She exhaled, visibly reassured. “I have a question.”

“Ask me anything.”

“What’s a birch rod?” she asked, half curious, half wary.

Andrew gave her a slow, meaningful look. “Let’s just hope Maggie has the sense to hold her tongue—so she never has to find out.”

Behind them, the muffled storm in the study escalated—punctuated by a bang that made the door rattle on its hinges.