Page 64 of The Duke's Scottish Bride
He cursed himself for letting his desperate need for comfort overwhelm him. The chilling memory of his nightmare, and his raw vulnerability, shamed him. He prided himself on control and somehow, he managed to bare his deepest fear.
As he was about to rise, and come to his senses, a soft, sleepy moan escaped from Marion’s lips. She burrowed deeper into the duvet and drew his attention back to her.
His breath was taken away at the sight of her. She looked so peaceful, there, in his bed. It was surprising and captivating. He could not look away, nor let himself be drawn away by his usual melancholy.
He reached out a hand, but his fingers hesitated just above her rosy cheek. He pulled back for a moment before bringing his hand down again and gently stroking the soft skin of her face. She stirred faintly at his touch but remained peacefully asleep. A small smile formed on her face, which spread to Anselm’s.
He let his hand linger for a moment and trace down the delicate curve of her jaw, before reluctantly pulling away.
How could I ever be worthy of her?
“Good morning, Verity,” Anselm said absently as he sipped his morning coffee while reading a newspaper. “Duchess.”
The clattering of silverware and swift movements of servants filled the breakfast room as Marion entered behind Verity. She looked at Anselm. He was impeccably dressed, and his expression was as composed and unreadable as ever.
Aye, he looks as if nothin’ happened between us, and that I dinnae wake alone in his bed.
As Marion took her seat, she could feel the residual, lingering heat of him on her skin. She crossed her legs under the table as she thought of what he had done, and all he had shown her. They had been so close and connected, intimate and open. His formality confused her, and she took a sip of earl grey to steady herself.
Is it regret he feels? Or embarrassment?
She grabbed a scone and began to butter it as her mind continued to reel, ignoring all else around her. If she was going to figure out the puzzle of her husband, she needed sustenance.She finished it quickly, then grabbed a small serving of cut stone fruits.
Is this coolness simply his default? Aye, a sort of wall to protect himself from the inconvenience of actual emotions?
She set down her napkin and glanced up at him across the table. He had finished reading his paper, buttered his toast with meticulous precision, and was now discussing the day’s agenda with Verity.
But he did not look at her. Marion’s confusion quickly twisted into frustration.
Aye, I ought to demand an explanation for this sudden coldness,she thought, the words lodging stubbornly in her throat.
Verity smiled politely as Anselm spoke in a low, measured tone about upcoming social engagements and the latest political gossip.
“I hear Lord Waltham’s estate is hosting a gala next month. They expect most of theton,” Anselm remarked. “It would do well for us to attend, for appearances if nothing else.”
“Yes,” Verity agreed softly. “It will be quite the event. So many eyes upon us all, especially with the new Duke and Duchess.”
Anselm shifted slightly in his seat, his gaze finally flickering toward Marion.
“And what of you, Duchess?” he asked smoothly, as a servant approached to replenish her teacup. “Have you any thoughts on how to occupy yourself in the weeks ahead? Any pursuits or plans?”
Marion hesitated because she was caught off guard by the question. “I suppose I shall keep to me paintin’ and, well… try to stay out of trouble.”
He gave a small, almost imperceptible smile. She detected the faintest curl of amusement around his lips. “Good. Keeping to one’s passions is a wise choice, especially for a lady newly settled.”
Verity reached over and offered Marion another scone, which she accepted gratefully.
Anselm rose slightly from his seat and called to a nearby servant. “Fetch some more of that cherry jam Her Grace favors from ’the cellar.”
Both Verity and Marion’s eyes turned sharply to him.
The servant bowed and hurried away.
Later that afternoon, Marion returned from a long walk in Hyde Park. She had gone with Verity to get some fresh air and enjoy the seasonable warmth of late spring.
It was a welcome diversion, but one that had tired her. All she wished to do was sit and write in her journal, which she had been neglecting. She was ready to curl up in her favorite corner of the drawing room and get lost in her thoughts. As she crossed through the doorway, she found Anselm alone and idle. He was gazing out the window at the small garden that was below it.
This is me chance. Be brave, Marion.
