Page 20 of The Duke’s Scottish Bride (Scottish Duchesses #3)

“Perhaps you should take a stroll during intermission,” Emmanuel added, winking toward them with blatant mischief.

Marion barely kept her composure as she turned her attention back to the stage.

Beside her, Anselm sat as though nothing at all had happened.

“I am relieved it is intermission,” Emmanuel said as they rose from their seats. His tone was light but it carried an undercurrent of impatience. “I need to stretch my legs. Will you all join me for a turn about the lobby?”

At first, Marion noticed how he nudged Anselm discreetly, and moved his eyebrows up conspiratorially.

Marion blushed again as her skin tingled at the memory of her husband’s touch.

Anselm only glared at the marquess, who took a step back as a show of playful defeat. Then, Marion caught the way his gaze lingered, just for a beat, on Verity.

Hm , she thought to herself.

They filed out of the box and descended to the grand foyer. The air was thick with perfume, candle smoke, and the hum of voices. Elegant couples strolled beneath glittering chandeliers and gathered near refreshment tables along the marble staircases.

Anselm did not utter a word to her. Nor did he spare her a glance. He acted as though nothing had happened.

Marion clenched her fists.

What an infuriating lump of granite , she thought to herself.

It wasn’t long before a cluster of young men took swift notice of Verity. They began circling, drawn by her beauty and status, leaving their intentions barely concealed.

Marion noticed Emmanuel stiffen slightly beside her.

The movement was so slight that others wouldn’t have caught it, but she did.

His easy demeanor remained in place, but his shoulders set just enough to betray that flicker of irritation.

He watched the scene unfold with narrowed eyes, though he said nothing.

Anselm, standing nearby, observed the gathering suitors with his usual composed detachment. He didn’t look pleased, but there was a certain resignation about him, as though he’d accepted this as the inevitable cost of presenting his sister to society.

One particularly eager young lord stepped forward, practically falling over himself in haste.

“Lady Verity,” he gushed, eyes wide with admiration. “Your gown is… quite exquisite tonight. It perfectly matches the… the, ah… the sparkle in your enchanting eyes!”

Marion fought back a smile as she watched from just a step away while Verity’s expression remained poised and utterly unbothered.

Verity tilted her head slightly. “Thank you, Lord Millis. It is simply a violet dress. As for my eyes…” Her gaze flicked to the nearest candelabrum, then back to him with a faint, amused curve of her lips. “I assure you, it is only the candlelight playing tricks.”

Millis flushed but went on. “Ah, well, candlelight or no, you seem to outshine every other lady here tonight,” he blurted, trying to recover his footing.

Verity’s eyes gleamed with amusement. “How curious,” she murmured, her tone sweet but merciless, “that I’ve somehow never noticed your dazzling brilliance until tonight, Lord Millis. Perhaps the candlelight is playing tricks on us both.”

Millis opened and shut his mouth, utterly disarmed.

Before he could find words again, Verity dipped into a graceful curtsy. “If you would excuse me.”

She turned away and glided back toward Marion without so much as a backward glance, leaving Millis blinking in her wake.

Marion stifled a laugh, but her amusement faded when she noticed Emmanuel watching the scene, clearly pleased. He wore the faintest smile and a glimmer of admiration flickered in his eyes. The stiffness in his shoulders had eased, though he said nothing.

He caught Marion’s gaze then, and though he masked it quickly with his usual charm, the look he’d given Verity lingered in her mind.

Anselm, meanwhile, only gave a small shake of his head, clearly exasperated with his sister.

Then, through the throng of audience members, Marion watched Lord and Lady Harlowe approach her. She noted how their faces stretched into sickly-sweet smiles at the sight of her.

How had I nae noticed how fake they were before? And now that I am married to a duke, they care for me?

“My dearest niece!” Lady Harlowe trilled while extending a hand to Marion as if she had all the love in the world for her.

“How absolutely delightful to see you! I was just saying to your uncle… well it is just wonderful how you have settled into London society. Your parents would be pleased. We always knew you had such… potential . Such grace, given your background.”

Lord Harlowe beamed as Anselm approached them.

“Indeed, Your Grace! We were quite heartbroken when the unfortunate misunderstanding with Lord Gilton occurred. But now, seeing you here, one realizes that some things are simply meant to be! We always held such high hopes for you, dear Marion.”

Dear Marion , she scoffed. This is the same man who would have sent me to certain death all to be married off if it were nae for…

Anselm.

Marion’s polite smile lingered as she glanced up at her husband who stood at her side with the practiced ease of a man born to command a room.

Despite their strained bond, there was no denying the striking cut of him, the crisp lines of his dark coat, the gleam of his cufflinks catching the candlelight, and the sharp sweep of his hair slicked back with impeccable care.

But it was his eyes that caught her most. They were green and clear and their usual coolness was softened by the golden glow around them.

Her pulse betrayed her then, quickening as she took him in. There was something unnerving about how easily he unsettled her, how a man so composed could stir something so unsteady in her without even trying.

How irritating, that her body hadn’t yet learned to be as guarded as her heart.

“Yer words are very kind,” she said as she wrapped her arm around his. “I am most happy with His Grace.”

Anselm wrapped his other arm around her, a clear signal of possession that sent a thrill through Marion. She felt her cheeks flush at his proximity.

“Lord Harlowe, Lady Harlowe. A pleasure, as always,” he said politely. “Marion, I believe Lady Danvers wished to speak with you about the charity bazaar. Come, we mustn’t keep her waiting.”

His voice, though polite, was sharp and for that, Marion set her cheek on his broad shoulder in silent thanks.

“Of course, Your Grace,” Lady Harlowe simpered, her eyes flicking towards Marion. “Until next time, then, dear niece. Perhaps you will invite us to your ducal home soon.”

“Indeed,” Anselm said as he guided Marion away.

“They would sell their own maithers for a higher rung on the social ladder, ye ken,” Marion whispered in his ear.

“I assure you that I have no intention of affording them such opportunities for advancement,” he told her. “They have not earned it.”

Then, he offered a rare, fleeting smile as she looked up at him.

“Good,” she replied, and a warmth spread over her chest as she drank him in.

“Now, let us find my sister and Emmanuel and head back to our seats,” he said as they looked around for them.