Page 49 of The Scottish Duke's Deal

He opened the door and stepped aside. She moved past him into the chamber. The fire had been lit. Someone had turned down the sheets. There was a vase of flowers on the windowsill—something pink and hopeful that he was fairly certain had not been his idea.

He shut the door behind them, and that was it. They were alone. Finally.

She turned to him, hands folding in front of her gown. Her expression was calm. Polite. Much too composed for someone who’d just married a man like him. He took a step closer. His fingers twitched. The line of her neck was exposed just enough to make him forget his name.

She spoke before he could reach her. “When will I see Penelope?”

The words landed like cold water.

Ramsay blinked. “What?”

“Your niece,” she said gently. “You said she was here.”

He cleared his throat, the heat in his blood turning to stone. “The governess put her to bed at her usual time. You’ll meet her tomorrow.”

She nodded once. “Of course.”

Silence followed.

Ramsay gestured toward the chamber. “You can have your things brought here. You’ll want to settle in.”

She tilted her head. “Settle in?”

“In here,” he clarified. “This is our room.”

She blinked. “You mean… tonight?”

He stared at her. “Aye. We’re married.”

There was a pause. She looked at the bed then back at him, something tightening behind her eyes.

“I assumed,” she said carefully, “that I would be given my own chambers.”

Ramsay felt a spark ignite somewhere in his gut. “Why would you assume that?”

“Because,” she said, her voice crisp now, “that is what’sdone. A duke and duchess have their own rooms. Whether or not they… share a bed at night, separate chambers are customary.”

Ramsay frowned. “That’s idiotic.”

“Excuse me?”

He stepped forward. “We’re married. We share a life. We share a house. What possible reason would there be for separate rooms?”

She folded her arms. “Privacy.”

He gave a bitter laugh. “We’ve had precious little of that since we met.”

She bristled. “That doesn’t mean I don’t value it.”

He stared at her. The tension in his body, coiled all afternoon, surged to the surface. Not anger exactly. Just a gnawing pressure that wanted release.

“You remember the rule,” he said quietly.

Her jaw tightened. “Yes.”

“Then you’ll stay here.”

“And if I refuse?”