Page 33 of The Duke's Scottish Bride
“I promise ye,” Marion assured her, already hating the words as she spoke them. “But Verity, ye must be more careful than that. This is a dangerous city and we cannae have thepoukhatakin’ ye.”
“I will, I will! Thank you, Marion. Thank you for everything. You understand me completely and your support means so very much.” Verity squeezed her hand as a dazzling smile lit up her face before she danced into the dark hallway and back to her own room.
Later that night, as Marion unlaced the back of her gown, a soft knock came from the adjoining door.
Anselm’s door.
Her heart leaped into her throat. She froze and a nervous flutter in her stomach unsettled her. He had not knocked on that door since their first night as man and wife.
What could he want at this hour?
The door creaked open, and Anselm stepped silently into the room.
“Duchess,” he greeted as he entered.
Marion’s eyes widened.
He stood shirtless. The faint flicker of candlelight cast shadows across the hard planes of his chest. His skin was bronzed and smooth over muscle and his broad shoulders tapered to a lean, defined waist. Her gaze drifted lower, lingering on the line of his trousers, which were slung low on his hips, revealing the sculpted lines of his abdomen.
Marion’s breath caught as heat coiled low in her belly. She knew she should look away, but the sight of him, bare and unguarded, unsettled her in ways she hadn’t expected. There was nothing soft about him. Only power and restraint, carved into every muscle, every angle.
And all of it belonged to her husband.
Then, her clock began to tick, bringing her back into the present moment. She was mortified at her gawking, and she whirled around, clutching the fabric of her nightgown to her chest to cover herself up.
“Yer G-Grace!” she stammered. Her voice was a humiliated squeak as her cheeks flushed hot. “Ye… ye ought to put somethin’ on! It is… it is improper to just stumble into someone’s room like this!”
“Blushing, Duchess?” he asked as a taunting chuckle rumbled from his chest. “I did not take you for such a modest creature. Especially not after your late-night excursions.”
She risked a glance over her shoulder as her pulse quickened, the heat of guilt prickling at her skin. He was still there, standing silent as a statue near the doorway, arms crossed, his posture deceptively relaxed.
But it was his eyes that set her nerves alight.
They weren’t amused. They weren’t furious either. They were cool, steady, watching her with unsettling precision, as if he were cataloguing every detail: the faint flush on her cheeks, the hurried breath.
Marion swallowed hard.
His gaze roved over her slowly, thoroughly, but not in a manner meant to fluster her—not this time. No, this was somethingsharper. She felt stripped bare under the weight of it, as though he were quietly measuring how much of the truth he already possessed… and how much more he intended to drag from her lips.
The sheer restraint of him unsettled her more than any burst of anger would have.
“What are ye doin’ here really?” she demanded. Her voice regained some of its fire as she ignored his implication. “Ye havenae’ bothered to come by since our weddin’ night. In fact, ye hardly bother with me at all unless it is some required event.”
“I heard movement,” he replied, taking a slow step closer to her. The air in the room seemed to thicken with his presence and the fire in the hearth danced as wildly as her heartbeat. “Thought I would check on my wife.”
His eyes swept over her. A possessive glint in their depths made her skin prickle. She knew that look,cravedthat look.
“Well, wh-why—” She stammered.
“Why are you dressed? Or rather, why are you just undressing now? Having just returned from some assignation? While I know I said our marriage was in name only, I did not take you for suchactivities.”
Marion fumbled for an explanation that would make sense. Her mind raced as she desperately searched for a plausible lie.
“I… I was quite thirsty, ye see. I wanted some water and dinnae wish to bother the staff at such a late hour. The kitchen is… quite far… so I put on me clothes and I?—”
Anselm’s smirk widened, a truly infuriating sight as she was trying her best. She knew he would be angrier if he truly expected she was out with another man, yet he was enjoying the tease.
“You went to rather great lengths for a glass of water, didn’t you? Sneaking about in the dead of night, … And through a house full of sleeping servants and guards? Most resourceful, Duchess.”
