Page 34 of The Duke’s Scottish Bride (Scottish Duchesses #3)

Chapter Twenty-Nine

F inally, the day is done, and I can settle by the fire and enjoy a small brandy, Anselm thought to himself as he left the drawing room where his sister was reading.

The day after Lady Featherstone’s dinner party had passed without consequence many of his stray thoughts drifted back to the event. He thought of the unexpected laughter and the reactions of the other guests.

Am I so unabashedly serious that it is a shock for me to laugh in public? Worthy even of the gossip sheets?

Yet, he kept coming back to how good the feeling settled in his chest. He felt lighter and almost jovial. He had forgotten how healthy a good laugh could make one feel.

He was wandering the halls, intending to retire to his chambers, when a soft glow came from the door to Marion’s studio.

It caught his attention, and he was drawn to it like a moth to a flame.

The gas lamps cast long, dancing shadows which were offset by her work.

He paused for a moment to watch and noticed how her brush moved with practiced ease across the canvas like a waltz in the light.

He stepped closer and the scent of paint welcomed him, reminding him of her. He reached the door to peek in and saw that she was engrossed in a landscape. She was painting the rugged beauty of Strathcairn again, each hill taking shape under her hand.

Anselm entered with a soft knock and as soon as his eyes landed on her, he was full of gratitude at the sight.

They had missed their afternoon walk due to a meeting.

Until this moment, he had not realized how much he had longed to see her because he had missed the now familiar ritual.

He walked to stand beside her and quietly observed her work for a moment before speaking.

“Things have been looking up for Verity, you know,” he said, a hint of relief in his tone as he loosened his collar.

“I have received word that her newest novella is receiving excellent notices, even amongst those who usually disdain such work. And I am not sure if it is just me, but she seems… happier.” He paused, then continued with his gaze still resting on her painting. “Would you agree?”

“I think ye are right,” Marion said as she continued her strokes. “She seems comfortable here and I too have noticed a change in her for the better.”

“You have done well, Marion. Which is why I have come here. You do not have to report to me anymore. I do not need you to tell me of her comings and goings. I need to trust that if she needs my intervention…that she will come to me directly.”

Marion lowered her brush and set it on a nearby palette before turning to face him fully.

“Thank ye, Anselm,” she said as she threw her arms around him unexpectedly. “That truly means a great deal. But… I think ye should tell her yerself. She would be so relieved. So proud that ye feel she is wise enough to be her own lass.”

He sighed as he pulled back from her hold and walked to the window so he might open it to let in the evening air.

“It is more complicated than that, Marion. I have been responsible for her care for so long. Since she was a small child. It is difficult to… to simply stifle that instinct even though she is a grown woman now. In fact, to see her as an adult now, capable of navigating her own life and her own choices… is a lot to grapple with.”

“What do ye mean?” Marion asked.

Anselm hesitated, his jaw tightening at the thought of opening up. Yet, once the first words came the rest flowed like a waterfall.

“After our mother’s death…” he began, his voice low as he paced the room. “You see, our father was not fit to manage the duchy. Not truly. If I am being honest, even before that.

“What do you mean, Anselm?” she asked as she walked across the room to join him by the window.

“The responsibility fell to me, even before he was gone. Verity was so young. So vulnerable. I could not let her see…”

He did not elaborate more because he couldn’t.

He could not put words to the depths of his despair when they realized his father was slowly losing his cognition.

He did not know how to explain how his mother had truly died, yet he knew the implication was clear that there was more to the story than most knew.

“But Verity is not that lassie anymore, Anselm,” she said softly. “Obviously yer family has been through more than I ken… but I also ken that she is a woman who is finding her voice. She needs to see that ye trust her too, to feel it.”

“I suppose,” he said. “I will think about it.”

“Perhaps… perhaps if ye simply reached out to her. Spoke to her and told her that ye truly see her as she is now. Ye might be surprised at her reaction.”

“I will… I will try, Marion.”

A comfortable silence fell between them, broken only by the soft brush of wind against the open window.

“Do you miss him?” she whispered.

Anselm’s breath hitched as a faint sigh escaped him. He looked away again, towards the shadowed corners of the room. He nodded slowly.

“I have been missing him for a long time now. Even when he was still here.”

“I miss me parents too,” she said softly. “Every day. It never truly leaves ye, does it?”

Anselm watched her walk over and stand in front of the Strathcairn landscape on her easel. She looked at it and then toward him.

“I remember when me maither used to paint with me in the fields behind Strathcairn Hall. And me faither… he always had a story for everything. Even the rocks in the stream had a purpose, things they had seen in the centuries they had sat there. And then one day… they were just… gone.”

Anselm’s heart ached for her as her voice trembled. He recognized the effort it took for her to recall what had happened so many years ago.

“I felt utterly alone,” she continued. “I had no siblin’s to look to, only meself. It was like I was adrift in an endless sea, with nothing to hold on to. I was passed from the McCrae’s to the Harlowe’s…then the Viscount…”

Anselm listened. His expression grew darker with each word and his hands clenched into fists by his sides.

“And the notes before the weddin day… they just confirmed everythin’ I feared about me future. That I was somehow tainted, ruined, and undeservin’ of happiness… without me real family on this earth.”

When she finished, her voice was low but strong and unwavering.

Just like her , Anselm thought.

“You will want for nothing ever again, Marion. Do you understand? Nothing. And you are safe. Here. With me. I promise you that if nothing else. I will give you the world,” he said as he closed the distance between them and grasped her hands.

Marion looked deep into his eyes, seeing the raw protectiveness that flowed inside of him for her.

She had seen his concern and care for her, with the gestures and their growing time together.

But this was a flicker of something else, something she had dismissed before.

She took a breath and her heart pounded with sudden, reckless courage.

“And what do ye want, Anselm?” she asked.

“Do not ask me that, Marion,” he rasped.

He swallowed hard. She watched his eyes widen as he recoiled slightly before moving a few paces away from her. Marion thought he looked as if he had been struck by lightning the way he shook his hands.

“And why nae? Ye are nae as formidable as ye think and ye cannae ask all the questions. Ye ken what I want. As hard as I try to be composed, it is as plain as day. I cannae masquerade as you can. Ye ken what I desire, husband. Do ye?”

“I have wanted you most desperately… Since the moment you sat in front of me in that blasted carriage in Strathcairn as another man’s bride,” he said as he took a step toward her.

“And since the second I heard your sweet voice. The way you sound when you speak Gaelic…” He took another step toward returning to her. “Since the moment I tasted you…” He closed the remaining distance between them.

“I…I…I daenae ken what to say?—”

He did not wait for her to say anymore. He could not wait.

His lips descended, hot and demanding on hers. It was a searing kiss that swept away all logical thought, along with any residual hesitation. She was his to be had.

Marion’s arms wrapped around his neck as she pulled him closer to her. She clung to him as if they were tethered together, intensified by the relief of his touch. The passion that had simmered between them for so long finally erupted, hot and needy.

They moved about the room as they kissed passionately. The easel tilted until it fell, and brushes clattered as they hit the floor. Neither of them noticed or perhaps they did not have the capacity to care as they reached for each other feverishly and kissed wildly.

All she could feel was the fire between them as she savored the taste of his tongue in her mouth.

It was salt and wine and she devoured it.

He lifted her effortlessly into his arms and carried her to the plush sofa nearby.

He took off her gown with efficient speed before placing it on a nearby chair and leaving her in her undergarments.

“You are a sight to behold, wife,” he said as he licked his full lips. “In fact, you are every fantasy I did not know I had. You are everything. I cannot ignore the pull between us any longer. Can you?”

“No,” she said breathlessly. “I think I may die if we daenae act on this now. I have never wanted or needed somethin’ so badly.”

He took his shirt off then and lowered his trousers to the floor. Marion looked at him with eager eyes as a sense of fear percolated in her chest at the sight of him naked in front of her.

How will that fit inside of me? She wondered nervously as she wrapped her arms instinctively around her body. How will I ken what to do? I ken this is primal, but I feel so unprepared…