Page 22 of The Duke's Scottish Bride
How he’d been seen in a compromising position with an unknown woman, at first, but then the writer went on to add that they’d heard Anselm refer to her as ‘Lady Marion.’ The writer swiftly managed to gather that the unknown woman was none other than the Earl of Harlowe’s Scottish niece.
“And now, it is everywhere,” Emmanuel added. “I saw more sheets being handed out on my way here. The whole of London knows, old boy. Time to fess up because it seems you are in love. I, for one, think this will do you some good.”
Anselm cursed again and his hand clenched into a fist.
“I must leave. Now.” Lady Marion’s voice was resolute. She looked at Verity and her eyes filled with guilt. “I cannae risk ruining ye or yer family any further. I will just drag ye down with me.”
Suddenly, the breakfast room doors burst open once more and all heads turned to the sound.
“Lady Verity!” the Marquess of Fanthorpe roared as he stormed into the room.
Verity’s intended groom was a tall man. His broad shoulders were tense beneath a plain dark coat. His stern face was flushed with anger and confusion. Though not a figure of great note, his presence commanded uneasy silence.
“I demand you tell me to my face the reason for cancelling our wedding!” His voice trembled with indignation.
Lady Marion stepped in front of Verity.
“Me lord, I… I apologize, but…but…it is me fault ye see. I needed Lady Verity most urgently—” Lady Marion began to say, but Anselm knew better.
His gaze flicked to Fanthorpe, whose anger simmered dangerously. The tension in the room thickened; the scandal sheets, the canceled wedding, the unanswered questions…
It was all about to erupt.
Anselm’s mind raced as he weighed the fragile threads that held his family’s reputation together. Lady Marion’s hesitant attempt to soothe the situation only reminded him of the urgency. If Fanthorpe’s fury went unchecked, the fallout would be devastating.
There was only one way out of this. Only one decisive course to regain control and stop the gossip from spreading further.
He took a steadying breath and cut in firmly, commanding attention.
“ Lord Fanthorpe, my sister and I had to travel to Scotland to fetch my bride.”
Marion’s eyes widened.
“Bride?” Lord Fanthorpe repeated. His voice was laced with disbelief. “This is the first I have heard of this! You have previously made it abundantly clear that you are not searching for a wife.”
“Indeed,” Anselm continued. “I know the scandal sheets have taken liberties with my fiancée’s reputation as of late, but I assure you, great imagination was used in conjuring their story. I merely wanted her to be present for my sister’s wedding.”
Fanthorpe’s face contorted in a mix of shock and disbelief as his gaze flicked between Anselm and Lady Marion.
“This is your bride? This… this… Scot is your bride?” he demanded. His voice trembled with a mixture of incredulity and contempt.
Anselm’s reply came low and fierce. “Yes.”
Fanthorpe’s lips curled with bitter scorn. “So, this is why my wedding was delayed? Why I suffered such humiliation? Because of some savage Highland mistress?”
Anselm moved instinctively. All his muscles tightened as a predatory gleam rushed through his whole body.
“You would do well to watch your tongue, Fanthorpe,” he growled as he now stood in front of him. “And to remember your place in my house.”
“I suggest you heed the Duke’s warning, my lord,” Emmanuel added plainly.
“I do not give a whit about your bride! No, no, this is beyond insulting. I’ve had enough! I am breaking the engagement to Lady Verity this instant!” Fanthorpe shrieked, though he looked visibly pale and flailing when pitted against the Duke.
“Leave my home, Fanthorpe. Now. Or you will not have a tongue to throw insults with,” Anselm said as he took another stepforward and positioned himself so he was towering over the panicking Fanthorpe.
Despite his evident disadvantage, both physically and in about every other way, he managed to puff out his chest.
Anselm tried his best not to laugh at the gesture.
