Page 34 of The Duke's Scottish Bride
“I am accustomed to modesty,” she retorted, clutching her nightgown tighter, as if the thin fabric could shield her from his burning gaze. “Havin’ lived with a clergyman, as ye well know! Aye, Reverend McCrae and his wife were most strict.”
His emerald eyes were sharp and knowing.
“You do not strike me as modest at all, Duchess,” he said, his gaze deliberately sweeping over her. “Not with the way your gowns cling so deliciously to your figure. Quite daring, really—especially when it isn’t even the current fashion.”
His voice dropped, losing its teasing edge, and becoming gravely serious as he licked his lips.
“Are you going to tell me the truth now? Or shall I detail precisely where you and Verity snuck off to tonight?”
Marion’s eyes widened again.
“Oh, I have had staff watching Verity since our arrival in London. Not to imprison her, Marion, but toprotecther. And by extension, to protect you, now that you are involved in her games. I was merely waiting for your return before addressing this matter.”
A hot wave of fury surged through Marion, pushing aside her embarrassment and her attraction to the infuriating man in front of her.
“Ye had us watched? How dare ye! That is a breach of privacy! Verity is nae a child, nor am I.”
“And sneaking out in the dead of night, lying to me, and putting yourselves at risk is superior, then? Listen to yourself speak,” he countered, his voice rising and the anger he was wielding matching her own. “This is London, not some quiet Scottish village where you can wander about unprotected! You could have been robbed, abducted, or even worse… I dare not think of it. You put both yourself and my sister at risk.”
Marion’s cheeks burned, but she refused to back down. “We were careful! We went nowhere dangerous, and we harmed no one. Ye speak of risk, but what life is worth livin’ if we’re stifled? Ye daenae trust us to know our own minds! Ye’d rather have us caged like birds. Kept safe, aye, but miserable.”
His gaze burned into her, his breath hard and fast. “Better caged than dead,” he ground out, his voice low and sharp.
She lifted her chin, refusing to yield. “I would rather risk freedom than live half a life at the mercy of yer control.”
His eyes darkened, something far more dangerous than anger flickering there. He leaned in, his voice a low rasp, rich with meaning.
“You know nothing about being at my mercy, Duchess.”
“Then enlighten me, Yer Grace,” she shot back.
A muscle twitched in his jaw. His gaze locked on hers, molten and unreadable.
He didn’t speak at once—he moved.
Slowly, deliberately, he closed the space between them, step by step, until her back met the carved wooden post of the bed. The cool wood pressed between her shoulder blades. He caged her there with one arm braced above her against the bedpost and his body crowding hers.
His breath was warm against her cheek as he leaned forward.
“It means,” he said, his voice like velvet dragged over steel, “knowing you’d surrender every inch of yourself… not because I demand it, but because you wouldn’t be able to help yourself.”
Her pulse thundered in her ears. Her breath became shallow as his words slid over her skin.
“It means knowing exactly how to unravel you,” he went on as his lips just barely grazed the shell of her ear, “slowly. Thoroughly. Until there’s nothing left of your defiance but a plea.”
She shuddered—whether from fury or longing, she no longer knew.
“That’s what you want, isn’t it, Marion?” he murmured. His lips now brushed hers, faint as a ghost’s touch. “To find out what my mercy really feels like?”
The air crackled, thick with their heated argument, but beneath it, a different heat burned. His bare chest was so close she could feel the soap, peat and pine radiating from him and mixing with her own scent. She inhaled the smell of his skin that she craved with every fiber of her being. The musky aroma sent a shiver through her.
Their eyes locked and blazed with defiance and passion. They would never see eye to eye and yet something joined them so close together. The connection was undeniable. They were magnetic and frenetic all at once.
Anselm lowered his head. His eyes dropped to her lips, then back to her eyes. She knew he was seeking unspoken permission and challenging her. He would not take her unwillingly.
Heavens.
She wished she could control his effect on her. If only the crushing attraction could subside, just a bit, then she could get her bearings. She was practically humming with need as she longed to be filled by him in ways she couldn’t understand but only feel.
