Page 95 of The Duke's Scottish Bride
Love. True love.”
Anselm’s breath hitched. He set down the book and wrapped his arms around himself. The words resonated with a terrifying accuracy. All he could hear were Emmanuel’s and Verity’s voices.
Perhaps he was not the only man to wrestle with the danger of love, or the fear of losing control.
And the need for control… it was destroying him.
Chapter Forty
“Your Grace,” Beth said softly one morning while retrieving a tray of untouched toast and tea from a small table in Marion’s studio. “You really should try to eat. You will make yourself ill.”
Marion sighed while pushing a stray strand of her chocolate locks from her paint-smeared face.
“I am nae hungry, Beth. Truly. I will eat if I feel like it. Ye can just leave the tray.”
Beth wrung her hands.
“But… you are fading, Your Grace. And His Grace, he looks like a specter himself. The whole house feels… wrong. Please, do pardon my bluntness.”
Marion offered a weak smile.
“It will pass, Beth. Everything passes.”
“Perhaps a walk, Your Grace? The air might do you good! Or maybe, we could have the carriage readied and you could go into town to see if there are any art supplies?—”
Marion shook her head.
“No. I prefer to remain here. Thank ye for yer concern.”
Beth sighed, then her eyes lit up with a sudden thought.
“Oh! I almost forgot. Lady Verity asked me to tell you that she found some truly exquisite new orchids in the conservatory. She thinks they would be quite lovely for you to paint. She said something about the colors in the light. She requests your presence there at eleven o’clock.”
“My dear, that is only five minutes from now.”
“I apologize; I was distracted by trying to fetch you some sustenance.”
Marion sighed before pushing herself up from her stool. “Very well. I shall go to her.”
Marion walked slowly down the halls, making her way towards the conservatory. Her heart was still heavy, and restricting her pace, but a faint curiosity stirred within her at a new subject for her art. She had grown tired of the dark abstractions that clouded her mind.
The glass-domed structure was a haven of warmth and light, teeming with life amidst the promise of summer that was upon them. As she stepped inside, the humid air, heavy with the scent of exotic blooms, enveloped her. She breathed deeply, wondering how long it really had been since she had stopped and smelled the roses.
She looked around, expecting to see Verity. Yet, there was no sign of her. She only saw Anselm, standing by a towering orchid with his back to her.
Anselm.
Marion’s breath hitched. Her instinct was to turn and flee, to retreat to the safety of her studio, or better yet Scotland. She took a step back and reached for the glass door.
At that moment, the door swung shut behind her. The distinct click of a lock echoed through the glasshouse. Marion whirled around, her eyes wide with alarm. Through the glass, she saw Verity and Emmanuel, standing side by side, their faces grimly determined, and arms crossed.
“Oh, Verity! Emmanuel! What in God’s bloody name is the meanin’ of this?” Marion demanded. She rushed to the door and rattled the handle. “Unlock this door! Immediately!”
Verity merely shook her head. “Not until you two speak. Truly speak.”
“Indeed,” Emmanuel added. “Consider it… an intervention. For the good of all concerned. We cannot watch you suffer anymore.”
“Ye cannae do this!” Marion retorted, pounding on the glass. “This is outrageous! Unlock this door!”
