Page 15 of The Duke's Scottish Bride
“She’s lucky I don’t wring her neck,” he said dryly, though the edge in his voice had softened.
“I think ye’d like her less if she weren’t a bit of trouble.”
Anselm gave a low grunt. His eyes fixed ahead, but the corner of his mouth twitched. “Stubborn women seem to be a particular affliction I can’t shake. I do what I can to survive.”
“Aye,” Marion said. She kept her voice light but her chest tightened. “And yet somehow, we keep survivin’ ye too.”
His gaze snapped to hers, sharp and unreadable.
The air changed—thickened—like a storm gathering low in the clouds. The alley suddenly felt far too quiet, close, and private. Marion could feel the wall at her back and the solid presence of him in front of her. Heat radiated from him like a furnace.
“Do you always talk back like this?” he asked, his tone low, almost amused.
Marion tilted her head and lifted her brows with mock innocence. “Only when I think someone can handle it.”
He gave a quiet huff through his nose, not quite a laugh, but close. “And you’ve decided I can?”
“Well,” she said, glancing away toward the shop door, “ye’ve survived Verity this long. That counts for somethin’.”
His gaze lingered on her. It was sharper now, like he was seeing something he hadn’t before. “You’re not nearly as mild as you pretend to be, Lady Marion.”
“Aye, well, neither are you,” she returned as her eyes flicked back to him.
The space between them stretched taut as their unspoken words thickened the air. The sounds of the town seemed to fade behind them. She was suddenly far too aware of the way the light filtered into the alley and caused his shadow to fall just beside hers.
“Doesn’t mean I’m not trying,” he said in a quiet, more serious voice.
Marion blinked. She was caught off guard by the sincerity buried in the words. “Tryin’ what?”
But he didn’t answer.
He simply looked at her—really looked—and something shifted. The teasing slipped away and was replaced by a silence that was anything but empty.
The heat of him, the strength in the way he held still… it was overwhelming. She could feel her heart rate pick up. It thudded deep in her chest causing a low ache to build somewhere she didn’t dare name.
They didn’t move or speak. Their eyes locked.
And then, slowly—inevitably—he leaned in.
She looked deep into his green eyes, which were dark and compelling in the measly light of the dank alley. Marion’s breath hitched in her throat and her heart thundered an unrelentingrhythm against her ribs as she felt weak in her knees. She was powerless against him.
She leaned in too, unable to fathom her daring, as her lips parted slightly. She had longed to feel his full lips on hers since she first set eyes on him. She wanted the hairs of his beard to scratch her chin.
Their breaths mingled and just as their lips were about to touch, a loud noise rippled down the alleyway.
The moment was shattered at the sounds of a scuffle.
“What was that?” she whispered, and they both pulled back. Her eyes scanned the empty alley looking for the source.
Nothing was there. No one was to be found. Just the distant sounds of the town remained, as if the sound were a specter.
Marion watched Anselm’s jaw clench tight as he marched back to the main street. She struggled to keep pace with the wide strides of his long legs.
They waited outside the door for a moment before Verity emerged from the print shop with a triumphant grin on her face. She clutched the rare poetry collection against her chest in a hug. She took one look at their flushed faces and tense shoulders.
“Everything all right?” she asked as her gaze darted between them. “What did I miss?”
Chapter Six
