Page 11 of The Duke's Scottish Bride
Her blue eyes glittered at him and he couldn’t miss the light sarcasm in her tone.
He nodded and then quickly left to acquire new transportation while the ladies sat down to enjoy needed refreshment. Once the transaction had been completed, Anselm looked over at the ladies’ table and his gaze once more landed on Lady Marion’s outfit.
“Could a room also be provided for my wife to change into her traveling clothes before we leave again?”
“Aye, we have one available, Yer Grace,” the innkeeper replied. He accepted the lie easily enough and made it clear he did not care one way or the other about their tricky situation.
Anselm paid the required fee and nodded curtly as the innkeeper handed him the key. Leading the ladies upstairs, he placed a hand lightly on Lady Marion’s back before guiding her with practiced ease.
But as they ascended, his fingers slid lower, and rested just above her waist. The touch lingered. It was a deliberate, controlled caress that spoke of restraint, though every inch of him longed to explore further.
He caught her glance over her shoulder. She arched her brow and the teasing spark in her eyes dared him. He returned her look with a hard, unreadable expression. It was stern but charged beneath the surface.
Play along now. No need for Lady Marion to know how much I am enjoying this.
They reached the room. He stopped outside the door and turned to Verity. “Give her a dress for the night.”
Verity rummaged in her travel bag and pulled out a plain, serviceable gown that Anselm prayed would be acceptable.
Anselm waited outside with Verity. The silence stretched between them.
This was a welcome buffer. His mind was a battlefield of anger, relief, and raw desire. It was a volatile mix that unsettled him. He preferred logic and reason, business and pragmatism, but thoughts of Lady Marion’s small frame slipping out of that tight gown clawed at his focus.
He pictured her fingers fumbling with the buttons, the soft curve of her neck exposed as she worked, and the swell of her breasts beneath the silk loosening with every undone stitch. The thought was electric, almost unbearable, and his body reacted even as his mind tried to stay anchored.
Verity’s quiet voice pulled him back. “What you did back there… it was very noble, Anselm.”
Anselm’s jaw tightened at the compliment. It was not what he wanted to hear from his sister. He was still irritated with her and wrestling with the implications of her flight and the damage control that awaited them in London.
“Once we are home, we’ll talk properly, Verity. At the moment, things are already complicated enough.”
Verity frowned and her usual spark was dimmed by his words. She stammered for a moment, before settling on three simple words. “I am sorry.”
“We’ll talk when we are back home,” he repeated, his voice flat and final. “But that is a start for the hell you put me through, little sister.”
They stood there for a few more moments in uncomfortable silence. Then the door opened and Lady Marion stepping out of the room while looking at the floor.
Anselm cursed inwardly.
Verity’s dress hugged Lady Marion’s small frame, tracing every delicate curve of her petite figure. It emphasized the fullness of her chest and the gentle roundness of her hips with undeniable allure. Anselm’s mouth tightened as a sharp edge of desire flickered through him at the sight.
Despite reason, Anselm’s eyes continued to rove over her. A primal awareness struck him deep as he really took her in. Yet as soon as the feeling came over him, he shoved the unwelcome attraction away.
I must get hold of myself.
“Let us be off then,” he barked. His expression hardened as they made their way back down the staircase and out of the inn.
Chapter Five
“Clearly, we can go no further tonight. We need a place that will not draw undue attention,” the Duke stated. “Driver, please stop at the small inn over there on the left. It will have to do,” he ordered through the partition.
The carriage had jostled on for what seemed like forever, eating up the kilometers between Strathcairn as they made their long way toward London. Their silence was broken only by the rhythmic thud of hooves on the road. Night had fully descended by the time they reached Edinburgh, only making the hours more indecipherable.
What day is it? What time is it?Marion wondered, rubbing her eyes as she willed herself to stay awake.
She was so tired, not just from the journey but the exertion of all she had faced. She was in desperate need of rest and small comforts, a warm bed and a hot cup of tea.
They made their way inside this new inn, and the Duke went to the counter. He booked three rooms: one for their driver, one for himself, and one for the ladies.
