Page 87 of The Duke's Scottish Bride
He moved his hands from her face to her shoulders, then down her arms in search of unseen injuries. His green eyes were wide, haunted and filled with terror, as he considered just what could have happened.
“A scratch? Marion, the man had a knife at your throat! He could have… he could have killed you! I almost… I almost lost you!”
His voice was hoarse, thick with emotion that he could no longer keep at bay. The rigid control he usually maintained was completely gone as he held his breath to steady himself.
He pulled her into a fierce embrace, holding her so tightly she could barely breathe, and burying his face in her chocolate hair.
“Oh my God, Marion. My God.”
“Your Grace,” Mr. Lewis offered as he stepped up to them. “I took the liberty of sending for a carriage, which will be here momentarily to bring you home.”
“Thank you, Lewis,” he said as he scooped Marion into his arms. “Please also be sure that a physician is sent to the house to do a full examination on Her Grace. We must ensure that she is all right. There may be injuries we cannot see…additional wounds we must care for?—”
“I am fine, Anselm,” Marion said as she put a hand to his cheek. “I appreciate yer concern, but that is not necessary. I would tell ye if there was somethin’—”
“I will decide what is necessary,” Anselm insisted. “Be off now, Lewis.”
“I will see it done immediately, Your Grace,” Mr. Lewis said with a small bow as he set off with speed.
“Please, Anselm,” Marion said once more. “I am beggin’ ye to relax. Ye have saved me from a fate worse than?—”
“Do not finish that sentence, Marion,” Anselm said as he looked away from her. “Do not dare.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
That night, the house was even quieter than it had been in the days that followed Verity’s quarrel with them. Marion felt as if a heavy blanket of silence had settled over it, like an impossible layer of thick snow. She sat by herself in the drawing room, a book unread in her lap, as she stared at the fire casting flickering shadows on the walls.
Aye, the flames dance like me uneasy thoughts.
She jumped slightly when Anselm entered causing the book to fall on the rug with a thud. She could instantly feel that he was distant because of something in the slowness of his gait. For all that had changed between them, a rigid, almost brittle stiffness surrounded him as he strode toward the fireplace. He did not look at her but instead stared into the flames.
“We have gone too far, Marion,” he said, his voice low, flat, and devoid of emotion.
He may as well be talkin’ to a business associate,Marion thought as her heart constricted.
“What are ye talkin’ about, Anselm? Gilton is gone now, thanks to ye. He is ruined. We have nothin’ to fear from him now.”
She rose to her feet then, taking a tentative step towards him and meeting him in front of the fireplace.
“He confessed to everythin’, Anselm,” she pleaded with him. “He told me about the notes, me uncle and aunt, and his vile plans. It is all over. We are safe. Ye have made us safe…”
He shook his head from side to side as he stepped away from her and crossed to the far window.
“Not from him. From… whatever this is,” he said as he finally turned to face her, his eyes meeting hers. “Our marriage, Marion. It was a convenience, which is something we had established from the start. It was a unique solution to a problem that needed to be solved. It was never supposed to be… all this.”
He gestured vaguely between them. His words failed to describe just what had grown between them.
“It was a duty, nothing more,” he pressed. “A temporary arrangement to secure Verity’s future and protect my family’s name.”
Marion felt a sharp, piercing pain in her chest, as if his words may as well have been Gilton’s blade. Her breath caught in her throat.
“Anselm… what are ye sayin’? After everythin’… after what we’ve shared?” Her voice was barely a whisper and her heart shattered with each word as it came out of her mouth. “You cannae mean it! I daenae believe ye! Not after… after I saw ye in the park. After ye held me.”
“I am saying…” He paused and walked to the beverage cart to pour himself a brandy. He took a long sip before speaking again. “I am saying that we have allowed ourselves to become… entangled in a manner that is not befitting the bounds of our original agreement. It was a mistake. A profound error in judgment on my part.”
“Error in judgment? I am a human bein’, Anslem. Ye willnae talk to me as if I am some business matter.”
He looked away again, as if the sight of her pain was unbearable, or perhaps, as if he feared his own resolve would break.
