Page 59 of The Duke's Scottish Bride
Her voice was a low whisper, filled with mortification, when she finally spoke. “What was that? Now everyone is starin’! Ye practically shoved him off!”
He spun her then drew her closer than was proper for a public dance but he did not care. He needed everyone to know exactly whose wife she was.
His eyes burned into hers. “Let them stare,” he rasped, his voice rough. “You are my wife. And no man,no man, will make you feel an ounce of discomfort as long as there’s air in my lungs.”
“I daenae need ye to rescue me, Anselm,” Marion snapped. “I was perfectly capable of handlin’ him meself.”
“Perhaps you were,” he conceded. “But I prefer to remove the necessity of such handling. You are mine, Marion. And no one touches what is mine.”
His grip on her waist tightened, pulling her flush against him. He dipped his lips to her neck and inhaled her sweet jasmine scent, savoring the feeling of her breath so close to him.
Try as he may to ignore it, she intoxicated him.
Their dance was no longer just steps and turns. It was a silent conversation, where they were able to share all the things they could not articulate. Each movement was an undeniable acknowledgment of the simmering desire between them.
The ball, theton,the whispers, all of it faded away, leaving only the two of them. He led and she followed perfectly in time.
The music swelled, demanding a crescendo of intimacy, and for a fleeting moment, he thought he might kiss her. He would do it right there, on the dance floor, oblivious to the hundreds of eyes watching their every move.
Just as the music came to a halt, Anselm’s hands lingered on her because his body refused to let go.
Why am I acting like a smitten schoolboy?
“Marion! Are you quite all right?” Verity appeared suddenly at their sides, her brow furrowed with concern. “Lord Quinn looked quite put-out by my brother’s display.”
Anselm flinched slightly, yanked back to reality now, and he released Marion swiftly.
His wife also blinked and stepped back with a nod, then turned to his sister.
“Yes, Verity. I am perfectly fine,” she said with shaky breath. “I am just exerted from all the dancin’ and fine champagne.”
Anselm turned to his sister as a tight smile formed on his lips.
“Indeed,” he told Verity. “I took care of the matter and merely ensured Her Grace was not subject to any undue attention.”
“I am glad! Let us grab another round of champagne then. I’m sure it’ll alleviate all the unpleasantness from that encounter,” Verity announced, and she led them away from the dance floor.
“Lord Standale,” Anselm began as he shook the lord’s hand. “It has been some time. I hope your family is well.”
Half an hour later, which passed on without any further incident, Anselm navigated the crowded room. Verity stood patiently by his side, while Marion was accosted by some dowager showering her with advice about embroidery.
Then, Anselm spotted Lord Standale, a respectable man of inherited wealth and impeccable lineage. He did not know much about his lordship personally, but the fact that others did not have any ill to speak of him was good enough.
“They are, Your Grace. A pleasure to see you as well,” he said as he offered a smile. His eyes were immediately drawn to Verity.
“May I present my sister, Lady Verity. Verity, this is Lord Standale, an avid patron of the literary arts, as it seems.”
Lord Standale bowed and gifted her with an amiable smile. “My lady, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
“And you, my lord. Do you enjoy reading?”
“I confess, as much as I enjoy the latest fiction coming out of London, my true passions lie in taxidermy.”
“Come again, my lord? Did you say?—”
“Taxidermy. My family dearly loves to hunt, and I find it a fulfilling hobby. It is the only way to immortalize the lives given for the sake of the hunt and to commemorate the time we spend at our country estate.”
Anselm winced. This was not going as he had hoped.
