Page 71 of The Scottish Duke's Deal

She stared at him, lips parted, clearly trying to form a protest elegant enough to hurl across the leather seat. He beat her to it.

“I’ll speak with her tutors this week. Begin sitting in on lessons.”

“That is unfair.”

He tilted his head. “Unfair?”

“You can’t just—change the rules midway through.”

Ramsay blinked. “Why ever not?”

“Because—” She floundered, visibly irritated, visibly flushed. “Because it’s destabilizing.”

He turned in his seat to face her fully, thigh brushing hers. “And what exactly is wrong with destabilizing you?”

Her eyes flashed. She shifted but not away. “I find predictability comforting.”

He leaned forward, voice lower now, rough around the edges. “Liar.”

“I beg your pardon?—”

“Comforting?” he scoffed. “You, who married a Scotsman, crossed a continent, and punched a man in the face before tea?”

Her shoulders went stiff, the faintest tremble at her collarbone. He saw it—felt it—and it made something coil low in his gut.

“That does not sound like a woman who values comfort.”

Eleanor’s lips parted. Her breath hitched just enough to make his pulse jump.

He leaned closer, close enough to feel the heat radiating off her skin. “What happened to her?”

“She’s still here,” she said, but it came out faint. Almost ashamed.

He studied her for a long moment. Her lashes trembled. Her jaw clenched like she was trying to hold something in.

“Then why are you hiding?”

“I’m not hiding.”

“Coward.”

Her mouth dropped open. “You absolute?—!”

“You heard me,” he said and couldn’t contain a smirk.

“That,” she said tightly, “was me trying to keep things from spiraling out of ordinary.”

“Would me kissing you be out of the ordinary?”

She froze. Entirely. Her back pressed lightly to the seat, lips still parted in the shape of a protest—but no sound followed. Her gaze dropped, first to his mouth then lower, like she couldn’t stop herself. When she looked back up, her pupils had darkened.

Her breathing had changed. Shallower. Faster. Her robe shifted just slightly at the chest.

“This is a carriage,” she said, but her voice was soft now. Almost helpless.

“Yes,” he murmured.

“We are en route to apublicevent.”