Page 59 of The Scottish Duke's Deal

“I meant the instruction where she learns to ride. As I did.”

“And look how grumpy you turned out.”

His jaw flexed. “You’re undermining the structure I meant to build.”

“You married me to run your household, did you not?” she said, voice quiet but firm. “To care for her?”

His eyes narrowed. “Aye.”

“Then let me.”

They stared at each other, the silence thickening. Eleanor could feel her heart pounding. Not from fear. From proximity. From the way he smelled and the heat that seemed to radiate off him in waves.

“Saturday,” Ramsay said abruptly.

She blinked. “What?”

“There’s an auction. We’re to attend.”

She tilted her head. “How come? I thought you hated propriety.”

“Does this count as a thing married couples do together? Wasn’t this one of your terms?” he smirked.

“Yes,” she said, a little too quickly. “It counts.”

Another pause. He didn’t move. Neither did she.

Eleanor shifted, suddenly aware of the way her skirts brushed his boots, the impossibly small space between them.

“I’ve been thinking,” she said, aiming for breezy but landing somewhere closer to breathless. “About your rule.”

His gaze slid to hers, slow and unreadable. “Which one?”

She cleared her throat, fingers tightening around the edge of her sleeve. “The… same bed rule.”

A single brow arched. “Have you?”

The way he said it—low, amused, expectant—sent heat rushing to her ears. He was too close. Not quite touching her, but hisnearness stole the air from her lungs. Her skin suddenly felt too tight for her bones.

“I think perhaps—perhaps it’s not entirely necessary,” she said quickly.

He didn’t blink. “You don’t say.”

She hated how calm he was. How unaffected, as if he didn’t loom over her now, all heat and shadow and knowing smirk.

“I mean, obviously some couples have their own rooms,” she added, words tumbling faster now. “In fact, it’s very common. Even among those with—functional marriages.”

“And do you intend for ours to be functional?” His voice had dropped a note, edged with something dangerous.

Eleanor flushed. Her pulse leapt wildly, like it wanted to crawl out of her throat. She kept her chin high, but it took effort. “I intend for it to be… respectful.”

He stepped forward. Just half a pace, but it felt like a hundred.

The hallway narrowed. The light dimmed. Her stomach dropped, and the tips of her fingers tingled.

“You take duties very seriously,” he murmured.

Her mouth was dry. “I do.”