Page 42 of The Duke's Scottish Bride
“Indeed, Your Grace! We were quite heartbroken when the unfortunate misunderstanding with Lord Gilton occurred. But now, seeing you here, one realizes that some things are simply meant to be! We always held such high hopes for you, dear Marion.”
Dear Marion, she scoffed.This is the same man who would have sent me to certain death all to be married off if it were nae for…
Anselm.
Marion’s polite smile lingered as she glanced up at her husband who stood at her side with the practiced ease of a man born to command a room.
Despite their strained bond, there was no denying the striking cut of him, the crisp lines of his dark coat, the gleam of his cufflinks catching the candlelight, and the sharp sweep of his hair slicked back with impeccable care. But it was his eyes that caught her most. They were green and clear and their usual coolness was softened by the golden glow around them.
Her pulse betrayed her then, quickening as she took him in. There was something unnerving about how easily he unsettled her, how a man so composed could stir something so unsteady in her without even trying.
How irritating, that her body hadn’t yet learned to be as guarded as her heart.
“Yer words are very kind,” she said as she wrapped her arm around his. “I am most happy with His Grace.”
Anselm wrapped his other arm around her, a clear signal of possession that sent a thrill through Marion. She felt her cheeks flush at his proximity.
“Lord Harlowe, Lady Harlowe. A pleasure, as always,” he said politely. “Marion, I believe Lady Danvers wished to speak with you about the charity bazaar. Come, we mustn’t keep her waiting.”
His voice, though polite, was sharp and for that, Marion set her cheek on his broad shoulder in silent thanks.
“Of course, Your Grace,” Lady Harlowe simpered, her eyes flicking towards Marion. “Until next time, then, dear niece. Perhaps you will invite us to your ducal home soon.”
“Indeed,” Anselm said as he guided Marion away.
“They would sell their own maithers for a higher rung on the social ladder, ye ken,” Marion whispered in his ear.
“I assure you that I have no intention of affording them such opportunities for advancement,” he told her. “They have not earned it.”
Then, he offered a rare, fleeting smile as she looked up at him.
“Good,” she replied, and a warmth spread over her chest as she drank him in.
“Now, let us find my sister and Emmanuel and head back to our seats,” he said as they looked around for them.
Chapter Seventeen
“Have you read it yet?” A young lady asked her friend as Marion perused the offerings at a new clothing boutique in the heart of London.
“Not yet!” her friend whispered back, though not nearly quiet enough to escape Marion’s notice. “But Imustget my hands on it. I hardly slept last night thinking about it.”
“I finished it just this morning,” the first girl declared, practically glowing. “It’s utterly scandalous—but in thebestway. I brought it in my carriage; I couldn’t bear to leave it behind.”
Marion couldn’t help but tilt her head subtly. Her curiosity was piqued despite herself.
“I heard the author is anonymous,” the second girl said in a conspiratorial hush. “Well, she uses a pseudonym, but no one knows who she really is.”
“Eliza Jane Bennet,” the first one sighed, savoring the name like forbidden fruit. “Isn’t that delicious? AndThe Highland Holiday, oh, you’ve never read anything so thrilling. Highlanders and romance and danger…”
Marion’s breath caught as the name of the title hit her like a gust of icy wind.
She barely registered the shopkeeper chiming in from behind the counter, gushing about howeveryonewas talking about it, or the sudden hush that fell when they realized she was standing nearby.
Marion had already turned away because her pulse thundered in her ears. Without a word, she strode from the shop and lifted her skirts as she hurried toward her waiting carriage.
Eliza Jane Bennet.
She could scarcely breathe the name.
