Page 37 of The Duke's Scottish Bride
Marion could sense he resented that. She’d known Verity for far less time than him. And yet, Verity seemed to turn to her, and not her brother. She could understand how that would cost her husband, but a big part of her understood Verity too, as he offered his sister such little freedom.
“That puts you in a unique position. The position to be useful,” he clarified.
“Daenae tell me ye want me tospyon her.” Marion’s jaw tightened as she considered just what he was asking of her.
“I want you to keep an eye on her, that is all. To ensure her safety and to guide her when needed. Not to spy. She is young, naive, and fiercely independent to a fault. It is a volatile combination, and London is not a forgiving city for young women with such tendencies, especially those of her station.”
“Oh, so now I am not a bad influence on her?” She crossed her arms over her chest.
His face fell and he bit his lip while eyeing her carefully.
“This is an opportunity for you to prove me wrong, then,” he retorted.
She narrowed her eyes at him.
Heavens, the nerve of this man.
“I daenae have to prove anything to anyone, Yer Grace. Nae even you,” she said, mustering all her courage to lift her chin.
He was attractive, yes, and he’d turned her legs into honey the night before, but she would not give him the satisfaction of backing down.
Anselm studied her for another moment. The morning light danced in his eyes which were now illuminated by… amusement?
This scoundrel. He finds me amusing, does he?
A moment later, he took a step closer and his voice dropped to a whisper. “Fine. Then take this as a request, Marion. If Verity were to be compromised… or worse, if this publishing scheme were to lead her into some unsavory circle of characters, the consequences would be catastrophic. For her, for this family, for everything I have worked to protect. Even you.”
The sound of her name on his tongue caressed the back of her head, sending warm tingles down her spine.
She couldn’t comprehend this man. One moment, he was infuriating, and the next he made her feel this way.
“And ye truly thinkIam yer solution to all that?” Marion challenged. “Tis a tall order, Yer Grace.”
“I will have her watched either way, Marion,” he stated plainly, using her name once again as though he’d done so for years. “Surely, it is better if her friend, the woman she confides in, is the one to keep her safe. I think it is a fair trade, for what has been done to help you.”
Marion found herself sighing. No matter how much she wished to challenge him back, she was indebted to him. Indebted to Verity. And the rational part of her knew he was right. She cared for Verity very much, but she could get carried away with excitement. Yes, last night they’d been lucky, but if this publishing business went on, their luck would eventually run out.
“We both want what’s best for Verity, do we not? To see her happy, fulfilled, and safe,” Anselm offered after a long silence.
Marion stared at him and nodded in agreement. “Aye. Very well,” she conceded. “I will see that no harm comes to Verity.”
He gave a curt nod. He turned and walked out, closing the door softly behind him.
“Anselm,” Emmanuel called as he looked up from his paper and waved.
Anselm walked over. His tall body was rigid as he sat straight as an arrow in the leather armchair beside Emmanuel. Cigar smoke and hushed conversations filled the room of the private club where they most often met. The place was lit by green lamps and meager sunlight that escaped from the drawn curtains.
“You look as if you have run around London twice, and it is not even lunch,” Emmanuel said as he eyed him. “What has you so unsettled, my friend? Haven’t things been smoothed over with your sister?”
Anselm stroked his beard and sighed in relief as a waiter brought him a steaming hot cup of coffee, which he slurped.
“It is still Verity, of course. She found herself a publisher through a connection she made with that local bookseller she frequents so much. Slipped out in the middle of the damn night like some banshee… and with the Duchess’s assistance.”
Emmanuel eye’s darkened with concern. “In the middle of the night? Why would they ever do that? Much as propriety is not my cup of tea, that is outright dangerous.”
“To deliver a manuscript, apparently.”
Emmanuel whistled as he set down his newspaper on the side table and gave Anselm his full attention.
