Page 5 of The Duke’s Scottish Bride (Scottish Duchesses #3)

Chapter Four

“ Y er Grace… Thank ye. For what ye did back there. At the church… I daenae ken what to say,” Marion whispered. She broke the silence between them as they sat in the carriage.

“You should have told me about those notes immediately,” the Duke corrected as his gaze fixed on the passing scenery.

“I… I dinnae ken if ye would believe me,” Marion answered as she shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “I thought ye might dismiss me as hysterical, like me uncle.”

“You had a good reason to flee that wedding. All I gathered about you was that you were another na?ve woman trying to avoid the inevitable,” he countered as he kept his gaze averted out the window.

“Well, ye are rather good at ruinin’ weddin’s. I was very impressed by yer skill. Was it yer first time?” she retorted.

“If I am good at ruining them, you are rather adept at fleeing them,” the Duke snapped back dryly.

“Well, when the prospect was so enchantin’, how can ye blame me? Likely demise or dishonorable flight?”

The Duke’s gaze snapped back to her. “And yet you didn’t tell me about the death threats. Not once.”

She met his eyes defiantly. “And what have I seen of ye but cold commands and brusque orders? Ye practically dragged Verity from Lady Inverhall’s house like a man haulin’ a reluctant servant. Why should I trust someone who treats others like property?”

His jaw tightened. “You know nothing of me or my family.”

“I saw how ye treated Verity. Ye ’dinnae even sit to speak with her or ask why she left. Ye cut her off before she could explain.”

The Duke didn’t hesitate to close the distance between their opposing seats in the carriage. “Verity did plenty of damage by disappearing without a word. Sometimes actions speak louder than explanations.”

She held his gaze steadily and her chest rose and fell as she took quiet breaths. “Maybe if ’ye’d listened, things would be different. But ye chose to judge before ye understood.”

“I have carried enough responsibility to be capable of judging, my lady.”

“Carrying a lot of responsibility doesn’t give you the right to dismiss those who need to speak,” she shot back. “No one’s right all the time.”

The Duke’s mouth twitched. “I am right often enough.”

“Maybe that’s the problem,” she countered sharply. “Ye think bein’ right is a license to silence others.”

He met her gaze steadily. When he spoke, his voice was low, steady, and tinged with steel. “Sometimes silence is the only thing keeping a man from losing control.”

“Control isnae the same as strength.”

He let his voice drop low until it was little more than a growl.

“True control is knowing exactly when to take what you want—and how hard to hold on when you do.”

Marion’s breath hitched. The Duke sat so close to her that his bold words sent a thrill through her despite herself.

She felt the heat radiating off him as the space between them shrank until it felt impossible to breathe.

Her heart hammered loud and fast as she became acutely aware of his nearness; the faint brush of his skin, the sharp scent of him, the electric tension pulling tight between them.

For a moment, the world narrowed to just the two of them as they were caught in a fragile, charged silence that seemed to hold infinite possibilities.

Then, with a sudden, controlled motion, the Duke pulled back just enough to break the spell. His eyes were dark and unreadable.

“We have a few hours ahead of us,” he said quietly. “No need to waste time on distractions.”

They didn’t speak for a long time, but Marion felt a phantom current linger in the air around them.

It’ would be a long journey, indeed.

Four long hours later, the carriage rattled to a halt outside a coaching inn in Dunkeld. The morning sun, which had witnessed their dramatic departure from Strathcairn, was now well into its afternoon descent as the sky turned amber.

They stepped down and stretched their cramped limbs as they took in the fresh air. They went inside the inn and found Verity waiting at the entrance. Her face registered a mixture of relief and shock at the sight of Lady Marion with him.

“Marion!” she cried, rushing forward to embrace her friend. “What happened?” Before Lady Marion could respond, Verity turned to him. “Thank you, brother,” she said, smiling.

Anselm paid the driver, included a generous tip for his haste, and sent the rented carriage back to Strathcairn. He walked over to the ladies then and nodded at Verity before turning to Lady Marion. His gaze swept over her conspicuous wedding dress.

“Do you have another gown, or at least a cloak to cover that up a bit?” he asked Verity as he noticed curious glances already being cast their way.

He loathed attention. The memory of the scuffle in the Strathcairn inn sat fresh in his mind. He did not want any trouble or questions. The Scottish folk did not take kindly to wandering English Dukes.

“Yes, I’ have several dresses in my trunks.”

“Good. It seems we have attracted some attention,” he said, realizing he should have planned first and entered the inn second.

“So, we will stop here for rest and a late lunch, then continue our trek in about two hours. Lastly… due to this attention we’re receiving, we must pretend that Lady Marion is my bride. ”

Verity and Lady Marion looked at each other in shock.

“Clearly, he is right to say so, Verity… We daenae want to attract any attention. I will go along with yer story, Yer Grace. I am grateful for your intervention and quick thinkin’, husband .” Lady Marion looked up at Anselm beneath full eyelashes.

Her blue eyes glittered at him and he couldn’t miss the light sarcasm in her tone.

He nodded and then quickly left to acquire new transportation while the ladies sat down to enjoy needed refreshment. Once the transaction had been completed, Anselm looked over at the ladies’ table and his gaze once more landed on Lady Marion’s outfit.

“Could a room also be provided for my wife to change into her traveling clothes before we leave again?”

“Aye, we have one available, Yer Grace,” the innkeeper replied. He accepted the lie easily enough and made it clear he did not care one way or the other about their tricky situation.

Anselm paid the required fee and nodded curtly as the innkeeper handed him the key. Leading the ladies upstairs, he placed a hand lightly on Lady Marion’s back before guiding her with practiced ease.

But as they ascended, his fingers slid lower, and rested just above her waist. The touch lingered. It was a deliberate, controlled caress that spoke of restraint, though every inch of him longed to explore further.

He caught her glance over her shoulder. She arched her brow and the teasing spark in her eyes dared him. He returned her look with a hard, unreadable expression. It was stern but charged beneath the surface.

Play along now. No need for Lady Marion to know how much I am enjoying this.

They reached the room. He stopped outside the door and turned to Verity. “Give her a dress for the night.”

Verity rummaged in her travel bag and pulled out a plain, serviceable gown that Anselm prayed would be acceptable.

Anselm waited outside with Verity. The silence stretched between them.

This was a welcome buffer. His mind was a battlefield of anger, relief, and raw desire. It was a volatile mix that unsettled him. He preferred logic and reason, business and pragmatism, but thoughts of Lady Marion’s small frame slipping out of that tight gown clawed at his focus.

He pictured her fingers fumbling with the buttons, the soft curve of her neck exposed as she worked, and the swell of her breasts beneath the silk loosening with every undone stitch. The thought was electric, almost unbearable, and his body reacted even as his mind tried to stay anchored.

Verity’s quiet voice pulled him back. “What you did back there… it was very noble, Anselm.”

Anselm’s jaw tightened at the compliment. It was not what he wanted to hear from his sister. He was still irritated with her and wrestling with the implications of her flight and the damage control that awaited them in London.

“Once we are home, we’ll talk properly, Verity. At the moment, things are already complicated enough.”

Verity frowned and her usual spark was dimmed by his words. She stammered for a moment, before settling on three simple words. “I am sorry.”

“We’ll talk when we are back home,” he repeated, his voice flat and final. “But that is a start for the hell you put me through, little sister.”

They stood there for a few more moments in uncomfortable silence. Then the door opened and Lady Marion stepping out of the room while looking at the floor.

Anselm cursed inwardly.

Verity’s dress hugged Lady Marion’s small frame, tracing every delicate curve of her petite figure. It emphasized the fullness of her chest and the gentle roundness of her hips with undeniable allure. Anselm’s mouth tightened as a sharp edge of desire flickered through him at the sight.

Despite reason, Anselm’s eyes continued to rove over her. A primal awareness struck him deep as he really took her in. Yet as soon as the feeling came over him, he shoved the unwelcome attraction away.

I must get hold of myself.

“Let us be off then,” he barked. His expression hardened as they made their way back down the staircase and out of the inn.