Page 54 of The Duke’s Scottish Bride (Scottish Duchesses #3)

SIX MONTHS LATER

“ C an you believe all these exquisite paintings?” Lady Featherstone remarked as she entered the room. “I had no idea Her Grace had such remarkable talent!”

“Oh, and this is but a taste of what my dear sister-in-law is capable of!” Verity gushed as Marion and Anselm joined her. “I am so glad that my brother put this event together to let the world see just how talented she is.”

Nowadays, the townhouse felt like a true home once more. Laughter filled the halls, company clamored to spend time with the esteemed couple, and tonight was no exception.

The ballroom was filled with pleasant conversation and the gentle clinking of glasses as guests savored champagne and looked at the magnificent artwork adorning the room.

Anselm had spared no expense, organizing a gathering with rich, decadent offerings to showcase Marion’s paintings that would rival the Louvre.

The saucier pieces Marion was most fond of, of course, remained tucked away in her studio. Her private commissions were reserved for her husband’s eyes alone.

Anselm moved through the throng with his arm possessively draped around Marion’s waist. His chest swelled with pride.

He looked up at the landscapes of Strathcairn and the remarkable still life paintings.

He appreciated the more abstract pieces as well, which he knew helped her move past more tumultuous times in their relationship.

“My wife, the artist,” he declared as he ushered her through the room, to anyone who paused to admire a canvas.

He would hold her out with one arm to twirl her around. His gaze was warm and adoring as it settled on Marion’s beautiful curves.

Tonight, she was wearing his favorite emerald gown, and she was resplendent in the light of the chandeliers above.

He watched how she glowed under his attention.

There was a certain way her cheeks flushed with pleasure and her eyes shimmered brightly.

She held a newfound confidence that suited her exquisitely.

He could not stop smiling, so much that his cheeks hurt.

Across the room, Anselm and Marion spotted a knot of ladies they had not greeted. They nodded in silent agreement and sought them out. They watched from a careful distance as they fanned themselves, their voices animated as they sipped champagne.

“Have you read it? Miss Eliza Jane Bennett’s new book! It is simply scandalous, yet utterly captivating!” One woman said to the group.

“Oh, indeed,” another chimed in. “I devoured it in a single night like a rich dessert. The wit, the intrigue, oh and the gothic elements in this one. I must say, she has truly outdone herself with this latest novel.”

Emmanuel, ever the charming rogue, joined their circle as Marion and Anselm looked on.

“Ah, The Highland Haunting,” he mused and there was a twinkle in his eye that was not just from the champagne. “I particularly enjoyed the scene where the heroine disguises herself as a stable boy to spy on the villain before throwing a dead mouse onto him from a nearby stall.”

Verity, who had just approached, nearly choked on her champagne. Her eyes, wide with surprise, met Emmanuel’s. A blush crept up her neck, and a smile played on her lips.

“You… you read that part?” she stammered. “If you read that…than that means…”

“I read the whole thing, cover to cover.”

“I am impressed,” Verity said with a mocking bow as they excused themselves from the group and walked toward the bar.

Anselm, witnessing the exchange, stiffened. He felt a familiar protectiveness rising within him, one he tried his best to keep at bay despite his natural inclinations.

Just as he went to open his mouth, Marion gently pressed her fingers against his arm.

“Leave yer sister be, me love,” she whispered as she looked up at him. “She is a grown woman, which ye ken.”

Anselm grumbled as he relented and a soft sigh escaped him.

“Ye would do well to remember yer promise to me,” she said with a teasing tsk tsk in her tone.

“Very well,” he said as he began to usher them away to another group.

A moment later, a joyous cry erupted from Verity from across the room.

“Oh, Elspeth!” Verity cried as she ran towards one of her dearest friends.

Elspeth, Lady Inverhall, had made the journey from Scotland. Her face was illuminated by the warmth of the room’s soft light. She embraced Verity fiercely, then turned to Marion as she approached.

“Marion, me dear! Yer paintin’s are magnificent!” Elspeth cried. “I cannae believe we are reunited and ye have His Grace to thank. I was most happy to receive his letter and make the arrangements to journey here. I barely made it in time, so ye will have to excuse my appearance.”

“Oh nonsense,” Verity cried. “You are a vision; you should let Marion paint you!”

The three women fell into an easy conversation. Their laughter mingled with the hum of the party as Anselm approached with three champagne flutes. They smiled at him as they took glasses from the esteemed Duke and clinked them together as they looked at him.

“You must stay longer than a week, Elspeth,” Verity pleaded as she looked up at the late hour and clutched her friend’s hand. “There is so much to catch up on and surely Anselm and Marion will not mind if you do.”

“Oh, we would be most delighted to have ye stay on as a guest as long as ye would like!” Marion said as she hugged them tighter.

“Perhaps.” Elspeth smiled at her friends. “Perhaps I just might.”

Later that night, when the last guest had finally departed and the echoes of the party faded into the quiet elegance of the townhouse, Anselm and Marion stood on the balcony overlooking the gardens from his quarters.

The cool autumn night air was a welcome balm after the warmth of the crowded rooms. The city lights twinkled below and created a distant, glittering tapestry on the dulling green of the lawn.

Anselm wrapped his arms around Marion from behind. He pulled her close and rested his chin on her shoulder.

“Tired, my love?” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her temple. “You must be exhausted. I dare say you spoke to each guest that came, and you will undoubtedly be the talk of the ton for weeks to come.”

She leaned back into his embrace and allowed contented sigh to escape her. “Content is a better way to put it. It was a wonderful evening, one of the best. Everyone liked your wife’s work,” she teased as she tilted her head back to look up at him.

“My wife’s work is exceptional,” he corrected, his voice husky. “My wife is exceptional.”

His hands slid from her waist. They traced the curve of her full hips as he pulled her even tighter against him. His lips found the sensitive skin beneath her ear, sending shivers down her spine.

“And you, my love, are the greatest work of art.”

Her breath hitched as his fingers deftly unfastened the buttons of her gown. The emerald silk slid to the floor in a soft whisper. He turned her in his arms, and she saw that his green eyes were dark with desire as he devoured her with his gaze. She craved the way he looked at her.

She stood in front of him, her corset accentuating each curve of her body. He turned her around again and unfastened it with expert fingers.

“Each time I think ye cannae get any faster, ye somehow shave off more time.”

“Is that a challenge?” he asked playfully as their bodies met creating a perfect fit.

He picked her up and pulled her naked body tight against his chest, the world beyond the balcony fading, leaving only the two of them. He carried her to his bed and laid her down with deliberate care, as though she were something precious, fragile, his eyes never leaving her.

He shed his clothes swiftly, without finesse—casting aside the ornate pieces of his suit in a way that would no doubt horrify his valet come morning—but he didn’t seem to care.

His gaze swept over her, dark and burning, full of heat and something almost reverent.

“Turn for me, love,” he said, his voice low, rough, but no less gentle for it. “Let me see you.”

She hesitated, breath catching. “But daenae ye want me to?—”

“I want everything,” he murmured, his tone sending a shiver through her. “But right now, I want you like this.”

He moved to her, hands firm but not unkind as he drew her to the edge of the bed, guiding her where he wanted her—but with a lingering touch that worshipped even as it possessed.

“Oh my,” she gasped as he slid into her from behind, her body arching at the sudden, exquisite fullness.

“Oh, Anselm,” she cried, breathless.

His reply was a low, ragged groan as he began to move, each deep thrust both deliberate and consuming—as though this wasn’t just about lust, but about claiming what had always been his.

“Oh…oh Anselm,” she cried as she grabbed a pillow to place under her stomach, giving her a better tilt to receive him.

He pushed hard but slow at first, building up pace as if they were a fine piece of music. As they reached the crescendo, he brought a hand down to her needy clit and massaged so he might bring her over the edge with him.

“Oh, Anselm,” she cried as he thrust his hot release deep inside of her. .

I feel so complete, she thought as she listened to his ragged breathing, all from his response to her.

Afterward, as they lay tangled in the silken sheets, the city lights still twinkling outside at a distance, Marion stirred. She traced the hard line of Anselm’s bearded jaw, and a soft smile graced her lips.

“Anselm?” she whispered, her voice a little shaky.

“Hmm?” he murmured, already half-asleep, his arm a heavy, comforting weight across her.

“I have somethin’ I need to tell ye,” she started.

“Can it wait until morning? I am so tired from?—”

“I am with child.”

His eyes snapped open like a shot in the dark as he propped himself up on an elbow. He fetched a candle from the bedside table. His gaze searched hers in the dim light.

“Truly? Are you sure?”

She nodded As tears of joy welled in her eyes.

“Truly.”

A slow smile spread across his face, then a booming laugh filled the room as he set down the candle. He pulled her into a fierce embrace before burying his face in her hair.

“A baby,” he whispered. “Our baby. You are so remarkable. I will forever be in awe of you, my love.”

“I think ye had somethin’ to do with it too,” Marion said with a soft giggle.

“Well, I hope I see him in my dreams tonight,” Anselm said as he closed his eyes once more.

“How are ye so sure it will be a lad? It could very well be a lass ye ken.”

“I would be just as happy with a girl,” he said as he planted a kiss on her cheek. “But something tells me this is a boy. I can feel it.”

They held each other close. The promise of a future filled with laughter, love, and the pitter-patter of tiny feet, unfolded before them.

The End?