Page 42 of The Duke’s Scottish Bride (Scottish Duchesses #3)

Chapter Thirty-Three

I cannae believe it has been four days…

The days that followed bled into one another, marked only by the relentless rain and equally persistent silence from Verity’s room.

No matter how Marion tried, it was of no use.

Her gentle knocks, whispered apologies through the keyhole, and even leaving a tray of Verity’s favorite pastries outside her door, were to no avail.

The lock remained resolute, and Marion’s guilt gnawed at her like a woodpecker working on a tree.

The feeling became a constant, dull ache beneath her ribs.

Early one morning, before the city had fully roused itself, Marion slipped out of the house unnoticed before breakfast. She needed air, space and solitude. She craved a moment away from the suffocating tension of Greystead.

She walked briskly towards Hyde Park. The damp air was cool on her face as she pulled her cloak tighter around her body. While late spring was upon them, the frigid rain made it feel more like late fall.

At first, the solitude of the park soothed her. She inhaled deeply, savoring the fresh air. The trees dripped softly in the breeze. The only sounds were the distant chirping of birds and the crunch of gravel beneath her leather boots.

Aye this is a peace me soul needed, she thought. Never have I been so happy to be in the pleasure of me own company.

“Your Grace,” a familiar voice called from behind her as she froze in her tracks. “I must say, it is a pleasure to find you enjoying such solitary amusement.”

Marion’s blood ran cold. She turned slowly and her heart leapt into her throat, making it feel thick and lumpy. She swallowed air in hopes of moving it back down.

Standing a few paces behind her, impeccably dressed, was Lord Gilton. His smile was polite, almost mocking, but his eyes held a serpentine flash. Instinctively, Marion wrapped her cloak around her and took a step back.

“Lord Gilton,” Marion replied, her voice steady despite the sudden tremor in her hands, which she concealed inside her cloak. “I wasnae aware ye frequented the park at such an hour. From what I recall, it was quite a challenge for ye to rise at an early hour.”

“I have realized that one finds inspiration in the quiet,” he purred, taking a step closer to her. His gaze swept around the park, and Marion knew he was confirming their isolation.

Marion watched as the mask that covered his face dropped, revealing his true self. His gaze hardened and twisted into a sneer of fury.

“But let us dispense with pleasantries, Your Grace. We have unfinished business, and I think now is the time we address it. What do you say?”

Marion stood in silence as she felt the tone of his voice rush over her. He was no longer polite. He was sinister and startling.

“I was promised a handsome sum, Your Grace. A dowry, in exchange for taking a problematic bride off her family’s hands.

If you recall, there was to be a wedding, which, thanks to your rather dramatic disappearance, was cancelled with no notice.

And no money was received.” He took another step and his presence loomed over her like a shadow.

“I believe I am owed compensation. Substantial compensation for my hardship.”

“Ye will get nothing from me, Gilton.”

His eyes narrowed. There was a dangerous glint in their depths. They stood in charged silence for a few moments as Marion’s eyes darted around the park. She was desperate for another person to be present.

“Indeed?” Gilton pressed. “Perhaps I shall be forced to reveal certain… shall we call them inconvenient truths? Such as the fact that the Duchess of Greystead is, in fact, a runaway bride. A woman who abandoned her vows and her family. Imagine the scandal that would follow. Your reputation, and that of your esteemed husband, would be utterly and irrevocably ruined.”

Marion felt a wave of icy panic creep down her spine, yet she willed it not to show as she summoned the power of her ancestors to grace her with the bravery of a fiery mare.

“Me reputation is beyond yer reach, Gilton. And I fear ye overestimate yer influence.”

Her response clearly enraged him as she watched him snap like a twig, as his composure shattered.

With a swift, terrifying movement, he pulled a small, gleaming knife from within his coat pocket.

He lunged toward her, pressing her back roughly against the rough bark of a large oak tree off the path.

She felt the cold steel of the blade pressing against her throat, just beneath her jaw.

“You will claim it was a common robber,” he snarled, his breath hot and foul against her face, as if he had been drinking. “And you will pay. Or I will ensure you regret the day you ever thought to defy me.”

His grip tightened on her arm as the knife pressed harder on her skin. She closed her eyes and willed the moment to pass. She breathed deeply and prayed that someone would appear.

“It was I who sent those notes, Marion,” he whispered in her ear, his lips tickling her lobe. “The ones that made you so… hysterical and paranoid. They were meant to break you, and I will say, it was an excellent idea.”

“But why?—”

“Oh, of course it was to ensure you were deemed mad, so that after our marriage, you could be promptly dealt with.”

Marion shivered as a silent tear went down her cheek.

“Oh, nothing as bad as that. Here you are again with the hysterics. I would have made sure you were just sent away… perhaps, to a quiet asylum. Just somewhere you would never trouble me again,” he said as a cruel laugh came from deep in his chest. “And your dear uncle and aunt were quite amenable to the plan, I assure you. After their more recent financial troubles, they expected a generous cut of your dowry for their cooperation in this matter.”

Marion’s mind reeled at his admission. The betrayal, the sheer depravity of his plan, and the involvement of her own family… She knew that the Harlowes were struggling a bit this part year, yes. Indeed, this year, they’d been more persistent in marrying her off.

It was a sickening revelation that made her stomach turn. Yet, she looked up to stare into his furious eyes. She knew him well enough to know that her defiance would only fuel his rage further.

He pressed the blade deeper into the thin skin at her throat.

“Still defiant, are we, Your Grace? Very well. If you will not pay, then perhaps your beloved sister-in-law will. Imagine what the scandal sheets of London would pay for the truth of her story. That the esteemed Lady Verity Greystead, the Duke’s only sister, is the one writing those filthy novels under the thin veil of a pseudonym.

The Highland Holiday , indeed! I saw her with my own eyes, leaving the printer’s, clutching her ill-gotten gains across her chest like the trollop she is. ”

“You wouldnae?—”

“Oh, I assure you that the ton would be most interested to learn of her literary pursuits .”