Page 4 of Two Nights with the Duke (Cherish and the Duke #3)

“A h, lass. Where do I start?” Malcolm could not recall a time spent with a woman that he had enjoyed more than this day with Jocelyn. There was something comforting and enlivening about her company. Yes, she had an achingly beautiful body and a lovely face, so that he wanted to bed her.

But it was not at all the same feeling as he had with other ladies of his acquaintance. He did not want to bed Jocelyn and leave. In fact, he did not care if they ever went near a bed again. He just wanted to be with her.

Well, that bed was important. He could not deny it.

But Jocelyn was someone he would consider a forever lass, the sort one came home to night after night, never tiring of seeing the smile on her welcoming face. He’d never felt this way about anyone before, and did not understand why he considered her different from the others.

But she was. There was a compelling difference, although he did not know how he could form such an opinion upon a few hours of acquaintance.

“It isn’t so much about the women, Jocelyn. It is more about me and why I dinna want to take a wife. I am nothing like Ballantry. Yes, I have a reputation with the ladies. But it is exaggerated. I dinna chase skirts. They chase me. Sometimes, I am in the mood to be chased. Sometimes, I am not. And I am a man of my word.”

She nodded. “So when you take a vow and promise to be faithful, you intend never to break it?”

“Aye, lass. Exactly.”

“Unlike that toad, Ballantry,” she muttered. “Oh, Camborne. I can never go back to him. I have not stopped berating myself for ever considering him. I may have left him at the altar, but that does not free me of him. What if he wants me back?”

“Do ye think he will?” He cast her an affectionate smile. “Could be he decided ye are more trouble than ye’re worth. But seriously, lass, it is all about gaining access to yer wealth for a man like him. If yer wealth does not meet his expectations, he’ll drop ye faster than a hot potato. Just how much do ye have?”

She blushed. “Honestly, I don’t know the full extent of my assets. This is partly why I wanted to present myself in person at the Aberdeen bank. I should have about ten thousand pounds spread out in various accounts in my name alone, but I’ve received no information on them for several years now. My father claims all is well and those bankers keep him apprised, but I am starting to have my doubts.”

“Why, lass?”

“He refuses to show me any correspondence about them, and will not give me any information on my dowry, either. Should I not have been told more details about the fifty thousand pounds Ballantry was to receive upon our marriage? Yet my father merely tells me not to concern myself with any of it. This is a bad sign, is it not?”

Camborne nodded. “Possibly.”

“But it could be a way out of my betrothal if it turns out I am not as wealthy as my father represented to Ballantry.” She let out a long breath. “That would be a relief. Ballantry would never want me, if that were so. Of course, I would have to face impoverishment if it turns out my father mismanaged everything and lost the dowry. Truthfully, I do not care. I wouldn’t really be impoverished, since I have enough within my own control already to allow me to live out my days in modest comfort.”

She stopped and stared at him, grimacing. “Oh, but I am talking about my problems and not yours. I’m so sorry. Some friend I’ve turned out to be, thinking of myself when it is you that needs the help.”

“Dinna be sorry, lass. I think it does not matter what we talk about, but that we talk to each other.”

She regarded him with obvious surprise. “That is a very good and enlightened, husbandly thing to say. Did you know that?”

He arched an eyebrow. “No.”

“Camborne, you are a man who cares for others, keeps to your word, and does what you feel in your heart is right. Any woman would be fortunate to have such a husband. So it isn’t a matter of your not being suitable. It is something else that is holding you back.”

“Lass, ye are assuming I need to marry in order to be happy and lead a fulfilled life.”

She shook her head. “No, this is obviously something you feel you are missing. And yet you will not take that step to commit to any young lady. Oh, but I see your concern. You don’t know what qualities will make for a good wife. Having never been in a traditional household, you cannot understand what a wife needs to do to make it function properly.”

He pursed his lips. “Do ye not have a housekeeper for that?”

“Yes, a requirement in a large and active household. But I don’t mean proper attendance to chores. I am speaking of the subtler values of love and devotion. Sacrifice. Caring. Consideration. A wife who is proud of you and supports you. Who is good and caring to your children and those in your domain who depend on you.”

“Aye, these are the qualities I should be looking for. But how do I judge when someone truly holds these values or is just pretending until the knot is tied and I am stuck with her forever?”

“You strike me as a man with good instincts.”

He did take pride in his ability to discern cheats, but of the male variety. “They’ve kept me alive while fighting Napoleon. They’ve allowed me to invest wisely and increase my wealth. But…”

“You have doubts about your ability to detect fraud and malice in a woman? It is not very different from how you detect it in men. That greedy, calculating look in one’s eyes is the same. Pettiness is also easily detected. One merely has to see how the object of your desire acts or reacts when she does not think you are observing her.”

He nodded, liking the sound of Jocelyn’s voice and her obvious common sense.

“I do not think those natural instincts can be hidden, Camborne. Selfishness, jealousy, and pettiness will eventually come out. What traits do you look for in a good friend?”

“That’s an easy question, lass. Honor. Support. Honesty. Someone I can trust will always have my back.”

“It is similar to the qualities you ought to seek in a wife. Of course, there’s the bedroom aspect to a marriage. One hopes you and your wife will also be compatible in…um, the bedchamber.”

“The bedchamber isn’t the problem for me. Women leap into my bed.” He raked a hand through his hair. “Well, who knows what is real and what is feigned even with that?”

She shook her head. “There are ways to tell if a woman is being honest with you. Your problem is that you never look at them outside of the bedchamber. How are you ever to know their true character if you do not observe them in all aspects of their lives? For example, a young woman might be all smiles for you, but haughty and disdainful of your servants or others they deem beneath their station. The converse is also true—some people are naturally kind and considerate. Forgiving. Willing to make sacrifices to help another. Can you not tell when you walk into a happy household? Or one that is dour and the servants all appear stressed?”

“Go on,” he said, fascinated.

“I think these qualities of loyalty, kindness, and trust are a must for a successful marriage, unless the parties have no intention of living under the same roof. Then all of it becomes irrelevant, doesn’t it? But a marriage in name only cannot be what you wish for.”

“It isn’t,” he agreed. “What is the point of getting married if ye are gaining nothing but a stranger to add to yer obligations?”

“So, I think it must be a love match for you, Camborne. Or at least a match where there is deep caring by both of you. Both must care and be invested in the marriage. Having it all go one way is not good. The sacrifices do not have to be entirely equal, but they cannot be so one-sided as to be unfair.”

“Ye seem to know a lot about this, lass.”

She nodded. “My parents have a loving relationship, which is why I dread finding out that my father has wasted the dowry funds or misused them. I am not going to do anything about it, no matter what I discover. I would never shame him.”

Her declaration surprised him. “Even if he outright stole from you?”

“How can I ever think of it as stealing when it is he who has given me all I have? He has loved me all of my life. If he took something from me, he must have been desperate to do it. I would rather help him through his problems than condemn him.”

“Will ye allow me to pose a hypothetical question, Jocelyn?” He now understood why she stood out as different from the others. She had the ability to forgive, to not condemn or pass judgment but look at a situation with compassion.

How far did her compassion extend?

This had always been his worry, that he would make mistakes and hurt those he had pledged to love and protect. A wife. Children.

No one was perfect. Did not everyone make mistakes at some point in their lives?

Perhaps this was what he feared most, to make a misstep, even a small one, and lose everything that mattered to him because of it. This was the helpless feeling he never wanted to experience again. Even now, the recollection of losing his entire family within the span of days because of a ravaging illness tore at his soul.

He had gotten sick first and passed it on to his entire family. With their dying breaths, his parents had insisted it wasn’t his fault.

Still, their loss haunted him. Why had he survived when no one else had?

And now, all these years later…was it the pain of loss he was running from?

Aye, perhaps. Losing his loved ones had ripped his heart to shreds. That feeling of loss had never left him. But it had shaped itself into something a little different, something that left him feeling helpless and dreading being put to the test again. What if he still could not save those he had grown to love?

How better to handle this worry than never to love again?

But this was no solution for him, he was coming to realize.

He was ready to open up his heart and fall in love if the right woman came along. But it would be no easy task, for he was now above forty years old and quite cynical. He was well beyond his childhood, but still unable to reconcile losing someone he loved, of having that love destroyed and suddenly taken away. Not only because of illness or sudden death, but because of a mistake he might make.

A disappointment he might cause.

A blame that would never be forgiven.

Was this not what had prevented him from ever moving forward? Having to watch his every step. Never wanting to be trapped in a lifetime prison sentence, always wary of making an innocent error and losing his family’s love and trust forever because of it.

Jocelyn might consider it illogical, perhaps irrational, on his part. But there it was…the giant stumbling block he faced.

“Ah, we are to speak in hypothetical terms?” she asked with a delicate arch of one eyebrow. “All right, ask your question and I will answer it as best as I can.”

“Assume you and I are married…”

Her eyes, those pretty eyes of hers that were always so expressive, widened. “Married to a Silver Duke?”

“Aye, lass.”

“Oh, I am all giddy and elated,” she teased, not realizing how serious he was about getting to the heart of his troubles.

Or was she aware and purposely attempting to keep their discussion light?

“Very well.” She cast him a soft look. “We are husband and wife. What is it you wish to know?”

“In your opinion, what might I do that ye would deem unforgivable?”

“Unforgivable,” she repeated softly, and studied his stoic expression. There was a long pause before she spoke again. “I think a lot would depend on the circumstances. It is not an easy question to answer.”

“Give it yer best, lass.”

She nodded. “Much would have to do with honesty and expectations, I think. Honesty because even if we did not agree on a matter, we would know where each of us truly stood. Being truthful about our opinions and feelings then allows the other person to make a choice. For example… May I speak about myself again?”

“Aye. Go on.”

She shifted in her seat, obviously feeling uncomfortable as their discussion turned more personal. “I knew Ballantry was never going to be faithful to me, but I did not realize just how indiscreet he would be or how disrespectful of my feelings. I assumed a certain level of honor and decorum between us. Well, he promised this to me, and it was written into our betrothal contract because I had insisted on it. Within the hour, he was chasing skirts and hadn’t a single care whether my feelings would be hurt. I ought to have begged off my betrothal then and there.”

“Why did ye hold on, lass?”

“After the years of fuss and daily hounding about my never marrying, I thought finally becoming a bride might solve the problem. I realized quickly that it wouldn’t, but still stubbornly held on.” She swallowed hard. “So I lowered my expectations and convinced myself I could endure and lead my own life with as little contact with Ballantry as possible. But as I neared the altar, I knew I was about to throw my life away.”

“Ye could not do it, and so ye ran.”

“Straight into your bed, fortunately. Well, you could not have been too happy about it. I shudder to think what might have happened to me had the room belonged to someone else. What does this say about me? I was too stupid to plan for the eventuality of becoming a runaway bride even though I knew I could not go through with the wedding. As for Ballantry, there is not enough treasure in the world that would sway me to ever being his wife.”

He reached for her hand, and she willingly entwined her slender fingers with his. “I’m glad ye ran from him, Jocelyn.”

She nodded again. “I’ve given thought whether the outcome would have been different had he just been honest with me from the start and simply told me he was going to be a skirt-chasing arse and not give a care about my feelings.”

“And?”

“I would not have agreed to a betrothal or a marriage, but I would not have hated him as I do now. He is a liar and a miserable toad. One cannot build a marriage on lies and mistrust.”

“So, it is the lies that are unforgivable?”

“Yes, mostly. But so many emotions go into every situation, so it is not easy to say an absolute yes or no. It depends on the willingness of the offending party to show remorse and a determination to change. It also depends on the willingness of a wronged party to show compassion, to try to understand and forgive. I think how deeply hurt one is by the incident also matters. Ballantry’s lies could never destroy me because I care nothing for him. Had we married and I found him in bed with another woman, I would have felt relief that it was not me having to endure his touch. But, to get back to your hypothetical about our being married, had it been you in bed with another woman, you taking those marriage vows of faithfulness and honor, and then breaking them? Camborne, that would have destroyed me.”

He leaned forward and gave her hand a light squeeze. “But that is no’ me, lass. Once I pledge myself to be faithful, then I shall be faithful to my dying day.”

“This is why knowing you were with another woman would break my heart, because the complete trust I had in you would be broken. But I would also ask myself what I did to chase you away to the point you felt willing to break those vows you took so seriously.”

“Ye would blame yerself?”

“Not blame, exactly. But I would try to look at the entire situation and determine whether it was something I did that contributed to the unhappy outcome. Perhaps this is also important, not merely to cast blame and ignore all that led up to the situation, or simply condemn the other spouse. Yes, one party may be mostly at fault, and I am not suggesting the wounded party ignore their hurt feelings or that they are not justified. But how does tossing hurtful insults at each other help anything? And where is one left if the only thing one has to hold on to is bitterness and anger?”

“I would not cheat,” he insisted, trying to take in what Jocelyn said. In truth, he could not imagine himself ever wanting to cheat on someone like her. She was known as a harpy, but he had never met a more compassionate, sensible lady in all his days. Few people, whether men or women, were as fine or could ever measure up to her. He had known her for less than a day and already felt a strong attachment to her.

Why did he feel so roiled when this was not even a real situation and they were merely discussing possibilities?

But truly, the thought of ever betraying someone as kind as Jocelyn sat like a festering lump in his craw.

She sighed. “I am not suggesting you would cheat. All I am saying is that if you did—that if someone I considered to be as honorable and trustworthy as you are ever did something like that—it would be devastating to me because of my expectations and the fact that I would probably be in love with you. Because of that strong love, the hurt and betrayal would run very deep.”

“So, ye are saying that the deeper one loves, the deeper the hurt, and the less chance of a mistake ever being forgiven?”

“I don’t know. That is the truth. I honestly do not know what I would do because my response has to be so sensitive to the facts of the situation. I might forgive, but perhaps never forget that a wrong was done. I might forgive because there was so much good to otherwise counterbalance that mistake, and it would be worth it for me to fight to regain what was lost. Or that wound might be so cutting and painful that I could never forgive.”

He raked a hand through his hair. “Lass, ye are only adding to my confusion.”

“Because you think there has to be a factual right or wrong answer, but who is to say something is wrong for one married couple and yet right for another? Or that a serious transgression can never be forgiven?”

He groaned. “This is why I will no’ marry. Taking on a wife would only addle my brain.”

“Not so, Camborne. There is nothing wrong with having one’s brain addled from time to time.” She cast him a smile, one that made him forget what he was about to tell her. Well, he was going to disagree with her, but it suddenly did not seem important.

If Jocelyn thought it was a good idea to lose one’s wits on occasion, then so be it. After all, she had done several rash things and he still liked her very much. Was he not glad she had run away from Ballantry? And wound up in his guest chamber at the Arbroth Inn because she hadn’t thought ahead to do something as simple as tuck a coin purse in her gown? It could not cost very much to take a mail coach from Granby to Aberdeen.

He never would have met her except for her mistakes.

He considered her lack of planning as something in her favor, since it showed she did not have a manipulative, scheming nature.

The proprietress interrupted their conversation by bustling over to them and asking if they required anything else.

“Och, no,” Malcolm said, patting his stomach. “It was all delicious.”

He settled his account and then led Jocelyn back to the inn. The time had flown by, and it was nearing the three o’clock hour. He had no doubt Miss Farrell would be punctual and make it her mission to have all of Jocelyn’s gowns ready by teatime in order to collect double her already-extravagant fee.

“Jocelyn! Jocelyn MacRaine, is that you?” a big man with a loud mouth who appeared mildly tipsy called out to her as they passed by the registration desk and were about to head upstairs.

Malcolm recognized the lout as an old schoolboy nemesis of his, one who obviously knew Jocelyn, too. “Bloody hell, what’s that boil on the arse of humanity doing here?”

“You know Lord Burling?” she asked with a nervous edge to her voice, tensing noticeably as the gentleman approached. “Oh dear. What am I to say to him? He knows I was to marry Ballantry.”

Malcolm took Jocelyn’s hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “Let me handle it.”

She groaned. “Should I be afraid of that?”

“No, lass. Never be afraid when ye’re with me.”

“Lord Burling,” she said with forced merriment as the man slobbered over her hand while attempting to kiss it politely. “What a surprise to encounter you here.”

Malcolm knew the pompous lord was not so drunk as to ever mistake him for Jocelyn’s intended bridegroom. Nor was he surprised when the lout’s blurry gaze fixed on him. “Camborne?” he queried with a hiccup. “Is that you? Ye’re not Ballantry. Where’s Ballantry?”

When neither of them responded, Burling released an ale-soaked breath and began to leer at Jocelyn. “Has he abandoned the fair maiden already? And Camborne has swooped in to comfort the unhappy bride? I can offer ye comfort, too.”

Malcolm drew Jocelyn closer to him. “I see that ye haven’t changed, Burling. Ye’re still a crass sot.”

“And ye’re still a womanizing prick,” Burling drunkenly shot back. “What are ye doing with Ballantry’s wife?”

Jocelyn’s eyes were so wide, they looked about ready to tumble from their sockets. She was obviously in panic, and no doubt disgusted by the baseness of the insults exchanged.

Malcolm, however, remained ridiculously calm, as he was about to take a leap across an abyss he had avoided for all of his adult years. “Ye’re mistaken, Burling. Jocelyn is my wife.”

She erupted in a fit of coughing.

“There, there, love,” he said, gently patting her back. “I feared ye were coming down with a chill. Yer frock’s too light for the Scottish weather. Did I not warn ye it was so?”

She cast him a desperate look. “Camborne…”

“Aye, love? Ye had better run upstairs and tuck yerself into bed. I’ll have one of the maids bring up a pot of tea to warm ye, and honey to soothe yer irritated throat.”

She did not need more prompting to dart upstairs.

He was now left alone with Burling. “Insult her again and I’ll knock out all yer teeth.”

“Ye don’t scare me, Camborne,” Burling retorted. “What happened? Did ye steal her out from under Ballantry’s nose? Before or after the wedding? I believe I shall make a detour and pay Ballantry a call. Come on, Camborne. I’m no fool. Ye never married the girl. Ye’re a Silver Duke and everyone knows they dinna marry. So, ye just took her, and Ballantry’s probably hunting for ye both right now. Hot on yer trail, I expect. Was she worth it? Are ye tired of her yet? Let me know and I’ll gladly take her off yer hands. She has an angel’s body, but I’ll wager she’s a hellion in bed. Clawing and scratching yer back, writhing—”

Malcolm punched Burling in the jaw.

Aye, he ought to have restrained himself. But how could he allow the cur to speak of Jocelyn in that disrespectful manner?

“She’s my wife,” he said with a barely leashed anger. “ My wife . Till death us do part and all those vows that go along with it.”

He glared down at Burling as the arse fell to his knees, wanting to punch him again but knowing it would only draw more notice. He should not have punched him this first time, either. Now the common room was clearing out and its occupants were elbowing each other in order to draw closer and witness their fight.

This was the last thing he and Jocelyn needed, for his constant declaration that they were husband and wife would only draw them deeper into a quagmire.

“Ye’ll pay for this, Camborne. Ye think being a duke will protect ye from retribution? Well, it won’t.” Burling wobbled as he attempted to get back up. “I’ll get ye! I swear, I’ll get ye.”

“Show yer face here again and ye will no’ walk out of this inn alive. Get out,” Malcolm said, wanting to wring the man’s neck. But he held himself back because the oaf was not worth this much trouble.

Malcolm was already nursing bruised knuckles on a hand that had been broken during the war. In truth, his hand was throbbing painfully and a weakened bone could very well have been broken again when he hit Burling, even though he had not struck him all that hard.

Indeed, he had used disciplined restraint. Burling would have been lying unconscious at his feet if he’d unleashed the full impact of the blow.

Well, Malcolm probably would have broken his hand for sure if he had gone at him with full strength. Not that it mattered when Jocelyn’s honor was in question.

There was pure venom in Burling’s expression as he staggered upright, the two of them now drawing an even larger crowd as they faced off like two raging bulls.

Oh, hell. Jocelyn was not going to like this.

Despite declaring her to be his wife—and oddly, he still felt not a qualm about the consequences of shouting it aloud so everyone would hear—Burling still did not believe him.

This was his blasted Silver Duke reputation to blame.

The Arbroth locals were not aware that Jocelyn was to marry Ballantry or that their wedding should have taken place a few days ago. But the gossip was going to spread like wildfire now. Burling had just referred to him as Camborne and mentioned his title, so all of Arbroth would soon realize he was a duke and not merely a well-to-do but inconsequential merchant by the name of Mr. MacRae. Most had likely put it together already.

Och, the speculation about him and Jocelyn would be rampant. Questions would abound. Why hide his identity unless he wished to hide his affair with Jocelyn? Were they married? Or had she married Ballantry and then abandoned him within hours of the wedding?

What an unholy mess.

“Ballantry will pay good money for this information,” Burling muttered, nursing his jaw. “He canno’ be pleased that ye’ve already turned his wife into a—”

He never got out the words, for this time Malcolm knocked the oaf unconscious.

And possibly broke his hand this time.

He felt a searing jolt of pain shoot from his hand straight into his brain. But as the momentary jolt subsided, he carefully felt along his flesh from fingers to wrist and found no bones awry. Thank goodness. It was just a bruise and the pain would soon pass.

He turned to the innkeeper, who stood amid the crowd gawking at him. “Is Burling staying here?” Malcolm asked.

“No, Mr. Mac—er, Yer Grace. Um, he’s just passing through and stopped in for a meal and a pint of ale.”

“Seems he drank the entire barrel,” Malcolm muttered. “Get him to his coach and have his driver keep him out of my sight before I have a change of heart and kill him.”

Several in the crowd gasped.

Malcolm merely glowered back, for he owed no one any explanations.

But it galled him that Burling would believe Malcolm had despoiled the virgin daughter of the Earl of Granby, stolen her away from her betrothed on a lark, and intended to dump her like rotting rubbish before the week was out.

Who else in the crowd believed it?

Bollocks.

Because of his blasted reputation, they would all think like Burling and wager he had not married Jocelyn.

Well, he wasn’t married to her…not officially.

Whose business was it other than his and Jocelyn’s?

Granted, Ballantry, as well as her parents, might have something to say about it. But Burling had no business in meddling at all, other than to purposely cause trouble.

And could not Malcolm and Jocelyn rightly be considered married, since they had both publicly declared they were husband and wife? These declarations alone should be sufficient even if it fell short of a formal ceremony. What did it matter if their hands were not bound in ribbons as they declared themselves husband and wife? Having made the declarations, would this not mean they would be deemed married under Scottish civil law?

Having punched Burling not once but twice, he knew firmer action had to be taken to protect Jocelyn’s reputation. He was a duke of significant stature, and nothing short of a church wedding would quell all rumors and secure Jocelyn’s status as his duchess.

Oh, Lord.

His duchess? Was he ready to take on a wife?

Burling regained consciousness as he was being led out by the innkeeper’s boys. “What will ye pay me to keep quiet about yer whereabouts, Camborne?” he shouted as Malcolm was about to climb the stairs to return to his guest chamber. Burling was a pig and had always been one even as a boy.

“Tell Ballantry whatever ye wish, but let him know I’ll shoot him dead if he dares touch my wife.”

Och, he was sinking himself deeper into the quagmire.

My wife. My duchess.

Gad, he’d thought it again.

He had taken this giant leap and would probably die an inglorious death falling into this abyss of his own making. What chance did he have of successfully maintaining a marriage to Jocelyn?

He did rather like the idea of having her permanently in his life…assuming she did not kill him first.

He had assured her that he would take care of matters. Deepening the lie about their marriage was not what she’d had in mind. Nor was punching Burling and causing a scene. And now their true identities were revealed to one and all.

His gut began to churn.

Was his entire mishandling of the Burling situation a mistake she would never forgive?

A Scottish annulment could be obtained quietly upon agreement of the parties, especially since the marriage had not been consummated. They could take care of the matter once he got her safely to Aberdeen. But he was no churl and knew he also had to offer her a true marriage, if this was what she preferred.

He would honor her wishes, even if it meant being shackled to her for life, for a marriage validly performed under the eyes of the church could not be so easily broken.

“Farewell, Burling. Here’s hoping our paths never cross again,” Malcolm said, detesting the beady, calculating look in Burling’s eyes as well as the man himself.

“Here’s hoping ye choke on yer own bile, Camborne!”

“Arse,” Malcolm muttered.

The innkeeper hurried to catch up to Malcolm as soon as Burling was hauled away. “Yer Grace,” he said in an urgent whisper, “I run a respectable establishment. I… That is… Oh, dear heaven. The lady…”

“Is my wife ,” Malcolm insisted. “I’ll flatten the first person who dares repeat that bastard’s lie. Duchess Jocelyn is my wife, and that’s an end to it.”

He stormed upstairs, knowing he had to make things right before the seamstresses came for Jocelyn’s final fitting.

He opened the door without bothering to knock, for he was incensed by what had just transpired and wanted to punch his fist through a wall. Of course, that blow would certainly break a bone in his hand that was already sore and throbbing.

Jocelyn was standing in the center of the room, but looked up suddenly as he strode in. She had been crying.

“Blast,” he muttered, shutting the door and coming to her side because she appeared so vulnerable and undone. He had to tell her the truth, which would now make matters worse. “Jocelyn, ye know how I told ye that I would take care of Burling?”

She nodded, and then surprised him by wrapping her arms around his waist and hugging him fiercely. “Thank you, Camborne. I knew you were the most wonderful man I had ever met in all my life.”

Bollocks. That was a mighty high pedestal from which he was about to topple.

“Och, lass.” He wrapped his arms around her, loving the soft give of her body as he held her in his embrace. “Ye may not wish to thank me just yet.”

“Oh?” She sniffled and looked up at him. “I shouldn’t? Dear heaven. The look on your face. What did you say to him?”

“First, let me assure ye that I did the only thing an honorable man could do to protect ye under the given circumstances.” He did not know whether he ought to ease her out of his embrace now or hold on to her for fear she might storm out after he revealed what he had done.

He did not want to let her go because she had a truly exquisite body, and he liked the feel of her against him. Her skin was warm and her scent was that of the sweet apples he adored as a lad, those he would pick at their perfect ripeness and revel in the taste of as he took a bite.

But he chose to ease her out of his arms because they needed to discuss this matter seriously, and he wanted to look at her to judge her reaction.

He was not afraid of what she might do, but how hurt she might feel. Jocelyn was all about feelings, those dreaded little gremlins he always tried his best to avoid.

She was no harpy, either. Despite her reputation, there was little risk she would grab a fire implement and hit him with it. The gossip about her being an evil-tempered hag was cruel and untrue.

“Ye see, Jocelyn…” he said to the beautiful lass who had a kind and loving heart—or so he hoped, because this discussion would not go well otherwise.

“Yes?” She held her breath and continued to gaze at him with her dazzling blue orbs.

“That cur was threatening ye, trying to bribe me to pay him off or he would report yer whereabouts to Ballantry.”

She let out the breath she had been holding. “Did you curse at him? Did you buckle under to his threat?”

“Me? Buckle under?”

“No, you would never give in to blackmail,” she said with a nod. “I’m proud of you. He’s another horrid toad, just like Ballantry.”

“Och, lass.” He raked a hand through his hair. “Ye will no’ be proud of me when I tell ye what I did.”

She groaned lightly and stared up at him. “What did you do?”

“Something I’m not sure ye’re going to like.”

“Camborne, out with it,” she said. “What did you do?”

Malcolm released a heavy breath. “I hit him…and then I hit him again.”

She gasped. “Did you kill him?”

“No, but only because I held back.”

“Thank goodness,” she muttered.

“He was conscious and swearing at me as he left.”

The obvious tension in her body eased. “Oh, but that’s all right, then. Isn’t it? No maiming and no murder?”

“Aye, lass. He’ll live into his dotage, no doubt. Scum like that often do. I’m not sorry I hit him.” But he winced as he curled his hand into a fist.

Jocelyn had been looking at him and noticed that wince. “Did you break your hand?”

She reached out to take it, but he drew it away. “No, it’s merely bruised. It’ll heal fast. I’d do it again, if I had to. The cur deserved a beating to shut his foul mouth. But…”

“But?” Her frowning gaze fixed on him once more. “Oh, Camborne. What else did you do that you are reluctant to tell me?”

He raked a hand through his hair again. “I told him we were married. I shouted it loud enough for everyone to hear because we had drawn quite a crowd after I punched him. We exchanged curses and insults. But the point I am trying to make is that everyone now knows I am the Duke of Camborne because Burling yelled it out in response to my bellowing he was a piece of offal.”

She slapped her forehead, then dropped her hand to her side with a lengthy sigh. “Go on. Tell me the rest of it.”

“So, this is no longer a mere incident where a wealthy commoner had an altercation with a lord of little consequence. Now everyone knows who I am and…”

“Oh, no. And what?”

“What choice did I have once my identity was no longer a secret shared with just the local innkeeper? Burling was about to make offensive comments about ye, elevating the scandalous consequences because of who I was. I had to declare ye were my wife. I shouted it for everyone in the common room to hear. What else could I do? I was no’ going to let him shame ye, Jocelyn.”

She looked like a pretty fish, for her lips were pursed and her mouth was opening and closing, but nothing was coming out.

“This leaves us with little choice,” he continued. “If I dinna marry ye, then ye will indeed be shamed forever, because word has now gotten out and will soon spread throughout Scotland. This is no longer some little incident to titillate Arbroth residents. This is a scandal of monumental proportions that will likely reach as far as London.”

She said nothing, just continued to stare at him.

Was she in shock?

“Och, will you no’ say something? After my roaring at Burling—and I will accept full blame for that—we’ve lost all chance of keeping this deception strictly to ourselves. Well, the innkeeper was told we were married and now suspects I lied to him. But I assured him it was no lie. So, there ye have it. I’m thinking we’ll need a quick marriage, a real ceremony, to protect ye. No harm done.”

“No harm done?” she repeated with a dismayed laugh.

“Och, lass. I know I disappointed ye.” But how was this any worse than the lies they both were already telling? Had she not herself declared they were married when she took over his room? Nor had either of them corrected the innkeeper or his staff when they had the chance. Then they’d both lied about being husband and wife to the seamstress and her ladies.

“Oh, Camborne. Only a handful of people in Arbroth had any interest in us, and most of them had no idea who you really were. And now we’ve leaped to every man, woman, and sheep in Scotland and possibly England knowing you are the Duke of Camborne? Every gossip rag will sell out within minutes when they carry the headline story of the Earl of Granby’s daughter—the very harpy who ran off on her wedding day, no less—found cavorting with a Silver Duke.”

“Aye, lass. That’s it in a nutshell.” He caught himself as he was about to rake a hand through his hair again. He would go bald if he did not stop doing this. “I have no doubt Burling will go out of his way to report this scandal to Ballantry.”

“Or the gossip rags if Ballantry refuses to pay up. What do you really suggest as a solution?”

He released a breath, not quite daring to feel relief yet, but hopeful she would remain calm and not come at him like a shrieking banshee. “I’m really suggesting that I need to marry ye properly. I believe I have already suggested it as a means to avoid any scandal and protect yer honor. But now I must insist on it.”

Jocelyn regarded him in disbelief. “Are you seriously willing to leap into the fire and marry me?”

“Aye, without question. There is no other choice. It needs to be done.”

Lord, she was a pretty thing. Had he already ruined any chance he might have had with her?

“You? Are seriously offering to marry me?”

“Aye. Do ye think ye can look a little more pleased by the suggestion?”

Why was she making this so difficult? He was proposing to her, wasn’t he? A Silver Duke proposing to her. All she had to do was accept and the scandal would go away.

Not only would it go away, but she would be married to a duke, the Holy Grail of every marriage-minded mama and daughter of marriageable age. Problem solved.

“Why should I feel pleased that our lies have trapped us in this situation?” she asked. “Or that your proposal is an offer made out of necessity due to reasons of shame and obligation? I know you feel obligated to protect my reputation.”

“Aye, I do. Only a cur would leave ye dishonored. It is generous of ye to call it our lies when I was the one who lost my temper at Burling and turned this into a greater fiasco than necessary. Having done so, I dinna see any way out of this for ye but to become my duchess. It is very possible we are already considered to be married because of our declarations.”

“Like a handfasting of a sort? It is not valid in England.”

“But we are in Scotland, Jocelyn. Whether people accept that we are handfasted or have legally declared ourselves married, or whether they think I’ve seduced ye into running off with me and have now ruined ye…it makes no difference. The damage has been done. With the intensity of the scandal that is about to break, we cannot rely on half measures. Ye need to marry me under the eyes of the church. It is the only way I know how to properly protect ye.”

“Do you not see the problem, Camborne? You keep saying you feel a need to marry me. But do you want to marry me?”

“Do not give me a hard time about this. I refuse to turn this into a discussion about feelings, because ye know mine are jumbled and I’m going to say the wrong thing. I want to marry ye, lass. It would be my greatest shame to see ye hurt because of me.”

She stared at him for another long moment. These long pauses and contemplative looks of hers were putting him further on edge.

“Do you think you could be happy with me?” she finally asked, her voice so gentle and sweet in its hopefulness that it pained him.

He raked a hand through his hair yet again. Aye, he was certain he would go bald if he kept doing this. But she was asking him about feelings, and he was obviously the wrong man to ask about those perplexing emotions because he had spent a lifetime avoiding and suppressing them. “I dinna know. That’s the honest answer. But I do know that I have never felt this protective of anyone before. Nor have I ever enjoyed a lady’s company as much as I have enjoyed yours.”

She was staring at him again. Was she going to hit him?

But she threw her arms around his waist and leaned her head against his chest. “Thank you.”

“What?”

“I said thank you.” She looked up at him and smiled.

“Then ye’re not angry with me?” Oh, Lord. He had not a clue what was going on, but she had a beautiful smile for him, and that was good enough.

She nodded. “I am not angry, only sorry that I have caught you up in a mess of my own making. However, I would never recommend you for the diplomatic corps.”

He laughed and hugged her. “Lass, dare I ask? What did I do right?”

“Is it not obvious? Well, I suppose it isn’t if you are asking me this question. You were honest with me. You were honest about all of it, the blowing up at Burling and your determination to make it right. Most of all, knowing how averse you are to marriage, you stepped up to do whatever you felt was needed to protect me.”

He smiled back at her. “Aye, I did do that. I will always do whatever is needed to protect ye, lass.”

“Another brilliant answer. Thank you. But do you understand why I needed to ask you these questions?”

“No, lass. Care to explain?”

“The only reason I questioned your proposal of marriage was out of concern for you .”

“For me?” When had anyone given a fig about his feelings? Certainly not his uncles when he was a child. They were not cruel, just inept. Anyway, they had long since passed on. Nor had the ladies he escorted around London ever cared beyond the trinkets he could give them.

But Jocelyn was expressing concern for him ?

He shook his head, not quite believing what he was hearing.

“Camborne, it was never my intention to burden you with an unwanted wife. No one is going to marry me anyway, so I am not worried about the damage to my reputation. It isn’t going to chase away any gentlemen callers that I never had in the first place. This is why I asked about how you felt. You’ve given me shelter, food, and clothes that include silk unmentionables,” she said with a light laugh. “I was not going to force you to give your life over to me as well.”

He placed his hands gently upon her shoulders and stared at her for a long moment. “Jocelyn, am I permitted to change my answer?”

“Are you rescinding your offer of marriage?”

“No, lass. If anything, I want to marry ye more than ever.”

“You do? Oh, then thank you again.” She let out a soft breath and cast him another radiant smile. “What answer are you seeking to change? And to what question?”

“Ye asked whether I wanted to marry ye or needed to marry ye,” he said with a soft growl.

“And?”

“Lass, I do want to marry ye. I want to marry ye something fierce, because I dinna think I could ever be as happy being without ye as I am being with ye. Therefore, it is not only a need for my sense of honor to protect ye, but a want from the very depths of my heart because this past day with ye has been the most enjoyable one I have ever spent. Will ye have me?”

Her response was interrupted by a knock at their door.

“That will be Miss Farrell and her seamstresses,” Jocelyn said, easing out of his arms and laughing softly as he released a string of invective.

“Lass, will ye?” He held her back when she started for the door. “Dinna torture me by making me wait until yer fittings are over.”

She stood on tiptoes and kissed him along the scar on his cheek. “Yes, Camborne. My heart is soaring because I have never met a finer man than you. Three days ago, I felt doomed and miserable. Today, I feel relieved and happy. I will gladly marry you.”

She squealed as he picked her up and twirled her around. “This very afternoon, lass?”

“No, you big ape. I doubt any minister will conduct a ceremony at this late hour.”

“Have ye learned nothing yet about the power of wealth? Everyone has their price.” He set her down, since she was trying to wriggle out of his arms to respond to the knock at their door, and he did not want her tumbling to the floor.

“I don’t have a price,” she insisted, standing before him with her hands on her hips and a frown on her lovely face.

“Lass, ye do.” He gave her cheek a light caress. “Yer price is love and respect. It just isn’t anything with an easily determined monetary value.”

The knock came a little harder.

Malcolm strode to the door and allowed Miss Farrell and her ladies in. They scampered in like a herd of squirrels. He knew it was best to remain out of the way. Besides, he had a marriage license to obtain.

“I have a few errands to run that shouldn’t take long. I’ll be having an ale in the common room upon my return. There’s where I’ll be if ye have need of me.”

Miss Farrell gave him a curt nod. “I’m sure we shall have no need to disturb ye. We have it all in hand, Yer Grace.”

He paused as he was about to stride out the door. “Ye know I am Camborne?”

She winced as she nodded again. “There was a horrible man shouting it through the streets as his carriage drove out of town, and…” She turned in dismay toward Jocelyn. “Casting vile aspersions about yer lovely wife. I’m so sorry,” she said. “We know not a word of it is true.”

“Thank you, Miss Farrell,” Jocelyn said, obviously relieved and quite appreciative.

Malcolm was not quite as overjoyed. He understood the power of money. Miss Farrell was never going to say anything to put her fat fee at risk. But did anyone in Arbroth truly believe he and Jocelyn were married?

And what was it about Jocelyn that made him care so much about protecting her reputation?

But he did care, and this was another concern for him.

Why did everything about her feel so right ?