Page 19 of The Duke's Scottish Bride
Anselm said nothing at first. He only watched her. Every instinct urged him to lash back. But he wouldn’t lose his temper here. He refused.
She thought it was that simple. A cold transaction. A careless hand pushing her toward duty.
He studied her. The anger in her eyes, the flush on her cheeks, the way she stood so straight now, all pooled together as if she were daring him to deny it.
It would be so easy to remind her of everything he’d carried, everything he’d kept hidden. All of it, for her.
But she was innocent. And all their family’s darkness was his to carry alone.
And so, when he finally spoke, his voice was calm. Distant.
“I made the only choice left to me,” he said keeping each word deliberately even. “You may not approve of it, Verity. But you’ll see, in time, it was the right one.”
She gave a short, bitter laugh. “You always do think you know best,” she murmured. Her gaze dropped to the floor while her hands curled at her sides. “Marion and Elspeth are the only people who truly understand me. They are the only ones who listen—who see me for who I am and not what I’m meant to be.”
Anselm said nothing.
He simply watched her, and, just for a moment, felt far older than his thirty-three years.
At last, he straightened. His voice was cool and final as he turned from her.
“We will discuss this again,” he said while adjusting his cuffs with a slow, deliberate precision, “when you have had time to consider your actions properly.” He let the words hang there for a beat before adding in a quieter but no less firm tone. “I want you to think more on what you have done.”
He turned away, dismissing her. Even with his eyes averted, he could feel Verity staring at his rigid back. He could hear the unmistakable sound of her chest heaving with frustration.
Without another word, she spun on her heel and stormed out.
Anselm stood for a moment leaning his arm against the mantle and watching the twisted flames. He listened to the pitter patter of her retreating footsteps.
Then, he moved to the bell pull and yanked it sharply.
Best to deal with all this trouble at once, he thought as he walked over and drained the last of his brandy.Let us be done with this messy business.
Mr. Lewis appeared almost instantly.
“Fetch Lady Marion,” Anselm told him. “Now.”
“Of course, Your Grace,” he replied and turned to do so. “At once.”
A few minutes later, Lady Marion stood hesitantly in the doorway. She clutched her hands before her. Her blue eyes looked uncertain as they darted around the room.
“Close the door behind you,” Anselm simply said.
She complied. The click of the latch was loud in the quiet room and she jumped in response like a mouse.
“Give me that note,” Anselm said, extending his hand. “I will have it investigated. This person might seek you out. I will leave no stone unturned.”
She hesitated, clearly startled by his insistence. And then—foolishly—she shook her head and took a step back.
“Yer Grace, ye have done more than enough already,” she said. “I couldnae possibly repay ye. I cannae let ye go through any more trouble for me.”
Anselm remained quiet at first. His gaze swept over her. The sapphire gown Verity had lent her was far too snug for propriety; it clung to her figure, drawing attention to every curve it should have concealed. He took in the way the bodice shaped her waist, the soft lines of her shoulders, and the quiet defiance in her stance.
Heat stirred low in his chest—sharp, unwanted.
He narrowed his eyes slightly and forced the thought aside, shutting it down with cold precision.
Foolishness.
