Page 5 of His Duchess to Remember

He might not have spoken to her much or shown her any affection or warmth, but he had kept a polite distance. Not just on the ride to Highcastle but at the wedding, too. As she had asked in their letters, he was abiding by her wishes to treat this as a business arrangement.

Strangely, that comforted her, as she continued to watch the clock.

At five minutes to midnight, a knock came at the door… and Octavia’s nerves surged afresh.

Her husband was here.

“C-Come in,” she stammered, wincing at the sound.

The door swung open, and Malcolm walked in, his footfalls heavy on the worn oak floor. He wore a clean shirt and kilt, his hair damp as if he had just bathed, the fabric of his shirt sticking to the carved contours of his muscular chest and arms.

She noted that he had not shaved, a surprisingly pleasing shadow of stubble highlighting the strength of his jaw and the full shape of his lips.

As he drew closer, she smelled lavender soap and something deeper, spicier. A fragrance that infiltrated her senses.

He paused in front of her, looming over her by nature of his towering height.

“You smell nice,” she croaked, feeling somewhat exposed in her comfortable nightdress.

His stony expression did not alter, his green eyes fixed upon her face.

“Have you been well tended to?” he asked flatly.

She nodded. “I have.” She hesitated. “I was worried you might not come.”

He said nothing, standing perfectly still, his posture rigid.

“But please, do not forget your promise to me,” she added, her nerves tightening her throat.

He dipped his head in a small nod. “I will be leaving in a week.”

“A week?” Her eyes bulged. “But… you are supposed to stay for the duration of our honeymoon.”

“Ye can stay here until we ken if ye’re with-child,” he replied in that same emotionless tone. “If ye are, ye can return to England. I have a manor there; it’s yers now. Ye need never come back to Scotland again.”

It was not quite what they had agreed before. He had made no mention of an English manor.

“If you have a residence closer to my family, why are we not there?”

It would have saved her the trouble of traveling for so many days.

He glanced toward the window. “I have things to attend to while we wait to hear if ye’re with-child. I couldn’t remain in England.”

“And what of your… um… yearly visits?” she asked, her face as hot as a poker fresh from the fire.

“That is a discussion for another time.” His voice brooked no argument.

Yet, despite the slight change in what she had expected, there was a part of her that trusted him. It might not have seemed like it, but the arrangements he had clearly made showed a level of care, even if just in the practical sense.

And I shall be closer to my family again. That is nothing to complain about.

She doubted she would ever grow accustomed to such a cold, drafty, silent place as Highcastle.

“Very well,” she said.

There was nothing more to say, no more reason to delay the inevitable, no more excuses. The time had come.

Despite her determination to go through with her plan, and the hope of children that soared in her heart, she could not seem to stop her hands from shaking as she peered up at her husband. Even standing so still and calm, he radiated power, so intimidating that she could not catch her breath.