Page 42 of A Scottish Bride for the Duke
“If I marry an English lord I will have to stay here.” She hadn’t meant to say the words, but they were out now, and there was no point trying to deny them.
She would have to stay. Although, hopefully, she would visit her parents in the Highlands again, she would never get to live that free, unrestrained life she’d experienced with them.
That was the pain of growing up, she supposed. No matter who she married—or where—her life would change. But the fear of having to flee for her life, and then the knowledge that she would have to marry, and her future husband was unlikely to be one whom she loved or respected, ate at her.
“Youmustmarry an English lord?” the duke asked, but to her surprise, his voice was quiet, respectful.
“Daenae ask me for information I cannae give ye.” She winced at the sudden strength of her accent, the way it came out whenever she felt stressed.
But he merely glanced at her. “I think I know by now that you’re not going to reveal all the secrets of your past to me. It just strikes me as sad that you feel youmustdo something that evidently makes you unhappy.”
“I’ll adjust,” she said robustly, even if her voice cracked a little at the end.
“Yes,” he murmured. “I have no doubt you will. I just… think you should not have to. Not to this degree. I would not wish unhappiness on anyone.”
She turned to face him then, lit by the smoldering embers of the fire. Here, he appeared softened, as though the warm, red light had filed down his edges.
“Are ye never unhappy?”
His brows arched. “I? Why? Do you think I am?”
“Well, ye are a duke. And you have a duty to yer—yer world. And to yer maither. Ye do many things out of duty, I think.”
Including tolerating Eliza and accompanying her to events she doubted he would have attended otherwise.
Yet, despite his scowling, he had not uttered one word of complaint.
“Duty is a duke’s backbone. If he does not have duty, he has nothing.”
“Isn’t that lonely?”
He blinked as though surprised she had asked such a thing. But then he sighed, his shoulders loosening.
“Sometimes, I suppose,” he admitted. “I am not a man ruled by his impulses. One must find ways of overcoming them. True weakness comes from being bound to one’s baser instincts. If I were to lose myself in loneliness, I would achieve nothing. And if you consider my position logically, I am extremely fortunate.”
Intrigued, she leaned in closer. “So ye allow yourself none of yer impulses?” she murmured. “That, to me, seems like a terrible life to lead.”
The corner of his mouth quirked in a wry smile. “Save for you, my lady. You have gotten under my skin since the moment you arrived.”
“Aye, and I wanted to, too.”
“I know.”
“Ye were so unwelcoming and cold,” she said, feeling the need to explain herself.
Yes, he had not behaved well, but neither had she. Looking back, she could admit that now—and admit the need to change her ways.
“And so I reacted against it. But I think maybe I shouldn’t have pushed ye.”
“Maybe not. And yet you are a thorn in my side despite it all.” His gaze passed from her eyes to fix on her mouth, and she felt the ghost of that gaze everywhere.
A touch. Her breath hitched, and she glanced away.
“Do ye often fence?”
He laughed then, a low, rough sound that scraped against her skin. “I knew you were watching me that day.”
“I never expected to find ye half naked in yer garden.”
