Page 12 of The Duke’s Scottish Bride (Scottish Duchesses #3)
Chapter Ten
W ith the glittering moonlight coming in through the window, Marion stood in her new bedchamber.
She was restless and rudderless. Indeed, the vastness of the Greystead London townhouse felt heavy and foreign. Every creak of the floorboards, every distant murmur from the street below, made her jump.
She knew what was expected of her tonight.
The consummation.
Her breath hitched when a soft, yet decisive knock sounded at the adjoining door which led to the Duke’s own chambers.
She hesitated, before finally, softly, calling out, “Come in.”
The Duke entered and immediately his gaze swept over her. She watched him look at her from top to bottom, then up and down again and again. His eyes darkened as they absorbed every inch of her.
Marion felt a blush creep up her neck, likely matching her sheer crimson gown, which left little to the imagination.
“No need to blush, Duchess. I am not here for that.” The Duke finally broke the silence.
A wave of relief, sharp and unexpected, washed over her… which was quickly followed by a prickle of disappointment.
Was it something about her manner of dress? Had she done something wrong?
“Oh. Right, of course,” she mumbled and opened the door wider for him to enter.
“I came to speak about Verity,” he said as he stepped into the room, halting just a few feet from her.
. “Now that you’re here, Duchess, I won’t tolerate you leading her astray or pushing her toward choices that could ruin her standing.
Under my roof, there’s no room for recklessness. You will keep in line.”
Marion stiffened as her short-lived relief evaporated and was replaced by anger and hurt feelings.
“So, this is again about me bein’ a bad influence,” she said as her voice grew tight with resentment. “I have heard it is droch fhortan to speak ill of yer wife on yer weddin’ night.”
“I am stating a fact,” he retorted, ignoring her Gaelic, as his eyes hardened. “Verity must be protected from scandal, and frankly, from herself. She is na?ve and easily swayed. She is my responsibility and?—”
“Naive? Or simply yearnin’ for a life that isn’t dictated by yer rigid expectations?
” Marion challenged as her Highland temper continuing to flare.
“She deserves autonomy over her own future, Yer Grace. She shouldnae be punished for wantin’ more than some title and idle duty.
It isnae her fault she was born a woman and not a man. ”
“This is none of your business, wife. You are overstepping,” he replied, taking a step closer to her.
“And ye, the illustrious Duke of Greystead, are controllin’ everyone around ye!” She shot back, refusing to yield an inch. “Or at least constantly tryin’ to! But ye end up suffocatin’ those ye claim to protect; ye need to allow room for?—”
He stepped closer. “You speak of suffocation and punishment.” His tone was steady, and his eyes never left hers. “But the truth is that ensuring the safety of others requires control. And sometimes, Duchess, what feels like chains is protection from falling apart.”
Marion’s jaw tightened. “Protection? Or possession? Because I have seen yer sister since we returned here. She ’isnae alive here. She ’isnae happy.”
A flicker of something like pain or frustration crossed his face before he masked it with cold resolve.
“Alive doesn’t mean safe. I keep her safe. Even when it costs me.”
Her voice softened to barely a whisper. “Safe ’isnae enough. Nae for yer sister. Nae for me either.”
He closed the distance between them. They were not yet touching, but she could feel the heat of his body warming her own.
“If you do not wish for safety, then, tell me, Duchess. What is it you want?” he asked.
Marion gulped. His scent filled her nostrils, peat and smoke, pine and soap. It was intoxicating, the smell of him so close and so near, coupled with the heat radiating from his body.
“Nae yer cold protection. Nae yer rules,” she uttered.
A flicker of something dark passed through his gaze. “Then what?”
Marion’s mind raced. The question stirred something deeper than she expected. She wanted a life shaped by her own choices, a life not weighed down by duty or obligation. A quiet existence filled with colors and canvases, where she could paint freely and breathe.
She never imagined wanting more than that simple freedom.
Yet here, in the charged space between them, something complicated and fierce pulled at her: a desire that unsettled every certainty she held. She couldn’t deny the magnetic pull that drew her closer and threatened to unravel everything she thought she wanted.
Her gaze rose to his lips. So close, so tempting…
She muttered, but words failed her, for she was far too intoxicated by this proximity.
She waited for his touch. Every nerve ending prickled to life as she felt the familiar pulse between her legs that crept up whenever they were close. How she longed for his touch there, much as she did not know what to expect.
Yet the Duke’s eyes widened, as though a horrid realization had taken over him, and he suddenly pushed himself toward the adjoining door in a rush.
“I will sleep in my quarters,” he said. “You are released from your marital duties.”
“But…”
He walked out and shut the door between them before she could finish her sentence.
Marion stood there for a few moments.
What did I do wrong? She wondered as she walked over to the bed and tossed the covers over her aching head.
And how did I get here?