Page 40 of The Duke’s Scottish Bride (Scottish Duchesses #3)

Chapter Thirty-Two

“ A re ye quite certain this is wise, Verity?” Marion whispered as she glanced over her shoulder up and down the dimly lit alleyway. “It is rather late and somethin’ about this air is givin’ me the willies.”

“Oh nonsense, Marion!” Verity retorted, though Marion noticed her voice was higher than usual. “It is just your Scottish superstitions. Everyone knows this is when real work happens! You know this business is terribly fast paced!”

“Very well,” Marion conceded as she looked around. “I ken how much this means to ye, but I still daenae ken why we have to be out at such an hour!”

The rhythmic thud and clang of the printing press echoed through the narrow, cobbled street as they continued to wait. Gas lamps cast pools of sickly yellow light, illuminating the damp cobblestones and the occasional scurrying rat in search of sustenance.

Marion pulled her dark cloak tight against her chest, bracing herself from the chill of the night air. In contrast, Verity practically vibrated with excitement. Her cheeks were rosy and a smile crossed her delicate face.

A stout man that Marion did not recognize from their usual dealings emerged from the printing house. He had a small canvas bag clutched in his hand.

“Good evening, my lady,” he puffed, his breath steaming in the cool air. “Your latest publication was a tremendous success, if I may say so. The demand is quite unprecedented and especially for such work. You have quite a talent.”

He handed her the bag with a smile, which she returned as she took the bag.

Verity’s fingers closed around it. There was a look of pure, unadulterated triumph on her face. Despite her unease, Marion found herself smiling as well at the exchange.

“Thank you, Mr. Murray. Truly,” Verity said, her voice but a whisper.

“Just keep working,” he said as he took the manuscript Verity handed to him. “I know you will have a very successful career, especially for one so young. I will be in touch.”

“Understood, sir! You have no idea how many stories ruminate in my mind and are ready to be put to pen and paper. I will surely reach out as soon as my newest story is complete and I can assure you that it will be my best yet.”

“I have no doubt,” he said as he bowed to them. “If you will excuse me.”

“I ken I gave you a hard time, but I can see why ye are so excited and I have to say… I am very proud of you, lass,” Marion said as soon as they were alone.

“I cannot tell you how much it pleases me to hear that. It is so wonderful to share this with someone. You are truly the dearest friend I have ever known. I do not know what I would do without you.”

“And ye will never have to ken,” Marion said. “Let us be off though. I daenae wanna be out any longer than is required. We best make haste.”

As they turned to leave, the clinking of coins matched the lightness in Verity’s steps, which was almost a dance.

Yet, Marion could not shake the prickle of unease that sat in her chest. The street, usually occupied by passersby even at this hour, was disconcertingly quiet.

She glanced over her shoulder time and again, sure that there was someone following them.

Then she quickly remembered that Anselm always kept an eye on them whenever his sister was out of the house at night, so she imagined this was someone in his employ.

She saw a cloaked figure. It was indistinct in the shadows but seemed to be following them. Marion realized that the shadow’s pace quickened as they did, keeping time with them at a distance.

Still, even if they were Anselm’s employee, something about the way they approached them didn’t feel right to her.

“Verity,” Marion whispered, breath hitching. “We must quicken our steps. Now.”

Verity, still giddy from their little adventure, gave a dramatic twirl, the coins in her canvas bag clinking together. “Oh, do stop worrying! We’ve done this walk countless times, Marion. You mustn’t let shadows frighten you.”

“I am serious, Verity,” Marion urged, her voice sharp with fear.

Verity gave a breathless laugh. “You sound like my brother.”

“Just walk, Verity! For the love of—” Marion’s hand shot out, gripping her arm tightly and dragging her forward.

They quickened their pace at once, their boots slipping slightly on the damp cobblestones. Marion’s heart thudded wildly as she cast a glance behind them—and saw the cloaked figure keeping pace, far too close.

Her breath came faster. The next alley. Just reach it. Then the main street—then people.

“Marion, honestly—” Verity began again, but her words cut off in a gasp as the cloaked man suddenly lunged ahead, blocking their path and cornering them.

He was tall, looming in the narrow alley, his face hidden by the deep hood of his cloak. In his gloved hand, something glinted—a blade.

“The bag,” he growled, voice low and rough. “And any other valuables. Quickly now, before someone gets hurt.”

Verity clutched the canvas bag tighter against her chest, frozen in shock.

But Marion, though trembling, stepped carefully—not between them, but alongside Verity, half-shielding her, half holding her arm.

Her mind raced. They had no escape, no time.

“Verity,” she said in a calm, steady tone that barely masked her fear, “give him the bag.”

“What?” Verity choked out, her voice high with panic.

“Do it,” Marion whispered firmly, locking eyes with her. She squeezed Verity’s wrist as a signal to trust her. “Slowly now.”

Verity, shaking, fumbled to loosen her grip.

Marion’s gaze didn’t leave the man’s hidden face. She kept her voice even as she slowly lifted her reticule as well, drawing his attention.

“There. You have what you came for,” she said, holding both items just slightly out from her body, just enough to distract him.

The man’s focus locked on the bags. He reached toward them.

And then—from the shadows behind him—another figure appeared.

Before Marion could blink, a hand gripped the thief’s shoulder and yanked him back violently before he could close in on them.

The man let out a grunt of pain as he was slammed into the brick wall, the sound of impact echoing through the alley.

Marion’s breath froze in her chest.

“Run!” came Anselm’s voice, cutting through the chaos like a blade.

Relief, fierce and overwhelming, surged through her.

Anselm.

The cloaked figure recovered and scrambled to his feet in an efficient shuffle. And as quickly as he had appeared, the man vanished into another offset alley Marion had not even known was there.

His footsteps faded into the distance as Marion sought to catch her breath. She placed her hands on her knees and inhaled deeply.

Anselm stood there, his chest heaving from exertion and his hand resting on the hilt of a concealed walking stick. He looked at Marion and Verity and scanned them for injury.

“Are you both unharmed?” he demanded, his voice still tight with concern. “Please tell me you are all right. Did he…”

Verity only nodded in response. She continued to clutch the bag to her chest as if it was a prized trophy. Marion felt a surge of relief so profound that it almost buckled her knees.

“Oh, Anselm! Ye… ye arrived just in time!” Marion said in relief. “We are quite all right now, thanks to ye.”

He merely gave a curt nod because his gaze was still fixed on the alley where the would-be thief had disappeared. He shook his head and ran a hand through his disheveled hair.

“Let us return home. Immediately,” he ordered.

The roaring fire was a welcome balm for Marion’s weary bones. The warmth of the drawing room was a stark contrast to the cool alley. A pot of steaming tea sat on the low table as a maid served them silently. Marion and Verity were seated on the sofa with a blanket across their laps.

“I simply cannot believe it,” Verity breathed, her voice still a little shaky as she took the cup from Beth and raised it to her lips. “He simply… appeared. Like a guardian angel!”

Verity looked at Marion with a bewildered expression on her face.

“Do you think he was just passing by?” Verity asked. “What an odd chance that he was there just at that time.”

Marion glanced at Anselm who stood by the fireplace.

His back was to them and he was seemingly staring into the flames as he stoked the hearth with the poker.

Marion knew the truth, that his appearance was no mere chance, but the words felt heavy on her tongue.

Instead, she brought the tea to her lips and gave a nod to Beth, who wordlessly excused herself.

Anselm turned then. His expression was unreadable as Marion worried what he meant to say next. She wanted to walk to his side and throw her arms around him, when he spoke.

“No, Verity,” he said, shaking his head in anger. “I was not merely passing by.”

Verity’s eyes widened as she clearly considered his words before rising to her feet to meet him at the fireplace.

“Then… then you followed us…You followed us? Like a… a spy?”

Anselm’s jaw tightened and he set the poker down next to the fire. He turned to meet his sister, and they looked at each other eye-to-eye.

“I was ensuring your safety because it is my duty. This city is not safe for two ladies unescorted at night—especially when one is carrying a substantial sum of money. How could you be so reckless as to think I would allow you to wander off like that?”

“Ensuring my safety?” Verity’s eyes flashed. “Or ensuring I remain tucked under your thumb?”

She let out a sharp breath, struggling to rein in her temper. “I know it was foolish—of course I do. I know the risks here better than you think. But for once, I wasn’t thinking about danger. I was thinking about freedom. About what it felt like to earn something entirely by my own hand.”

Anselm’s mouth tightened, but before he could speak, Verity turned to Marion, her voice still heated but less accusatory.

“And you. You knew, didn’t you? You knew he was watching us, and you said nothing.” Her tone held more hurt than anger now. “You could have warned me.”