Page 5 of The Duke's Scottish Bride
“What did you say?” he demanded in a low and desperate tone.
“W-What? Nothin’, sir. I was merely talkin’ to meself.”
“Repeat your words. Now.”
She looked startled and stared at him, then repeated, “I should have gone to Verity.”
“Who is Verity to you? How do you know her?” he asked, leaning forward and only inches away from her.
“I… I…daenae… I daenae even know who ye are, sir. How can I answer that question if I daenae ken who ye are?”
“I am Anselm Drummond, Duke of Greystead. You will do well to speak plainly..”
She swallowed hard and her eyes locked onto his for a brief moment before darting away. Her breath caught, and he saw the faintest tremor in her hands as she seemed to weigh whether she dared speak or stay silent.
“She is a friend of mine,” she answered tentatively. “A lady. She fled London to live her life here in Scotland.”
She clearly knew nothing of the deeper truth and for that, Anselm was grateful.
Finally, he had a lead. Something to go on.
“Tell me where she is now.” His voice was sharp as steel as he pressed her for more information. “Immediately. Or I deliver you straight back to whatever disaster you are fleeing. Those are your options. Take it or leave it.”
Her shoulders slumped and she looked at him curiously. She crossed her arms under her chest in frustration, only accentuating the perfect bosom that drew Anselm’s gaze like a moth to a flame.
“She is staying with Lady Inverhall,” she confessed with a sigh.
“Where is Lady Inverhall’s house exactly?” Anselm nodded as he acknowledged that the name was a welcome lead in his search. “Give me the address. Now.”
Again, she hesitated, but he pressed.
“You must tell me where this house is,” he said. His patience grew thin as a crepe when pitted against the prospect of finally finding his sister. “I must find her.”
Reluctantly, she gave him directions to the home. Anselm, in turn, relayed them to the driver who took off in the new direction with a jolt.
“You are coming with me,” he informed her. His emerald eyes held hers. “And if you are lying, Lady Marion, you will regret it. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, Yer Grace,” she said quietly.
Chapter Three
“Verity!” Anselm called out. He would not wait for the butler to announce him or observe any other propriety for that matter.
He simply pushed past the bewildered man and strode into Inverhall like he owned it.
Lady Marion, surprisingly still agile in her cumbersome gown, was right on his heels, following him.
He found Verity in the drawing room, seated leisurely on a settee with a book resting in her lap. Beside her sat a young woman he didn’t recognize. Dark brown hair framed a face that could barely be more than twenty. Anselm immediately assumed this was Lady Inverhall as she remained completely absorbed in her own book and unaware of his presence.
“Verity!” He called again as he entered the room.
Verity’s face went utterly flat at the sound of her brother’s voice. The book slipped from her fingers and thudded to the carpet as their eyes met.
“Anselm—” she began to say, but he stopped her.
“You are coming with me,” Anselm barked. His tone allowed no space for argument. “Now.”
Lady Inverhall rose. A delicate frown creased her brow as she approached him with a warm smile.
