Page 67 of The Duke's Daring Bride

It took a moment to realize the way his chest was moving meant laughter, and it made her chest feel light.

Why? Why would his joy make her feel joy as well?

To cover her confusion and prevent the need to look him in the eye, Olivia shoved another piece of bread—this time topped with stilton—into her mouth, then reached for an apple slice.

He’d sobered, and now wrote—quickly enough for his letters to be a bit sloppy—“I did not mean to make you uncomfortable.”

Shaking her head, Olivia swallowed her snack too hastily, then had to reach for the beer to soothe her throat. It was perfect.

“No, no, you didn’t,” she tried to assure him, once she could speak again. “I just—I’m very hungry,” she blurted, right before shoving another piece of bread—this time topped with the apple and Edam cheese—into her mouth.

His lips twitched, along with his pencil.

Yes, I can tell. I have never seen anyone enjoy cheese quite so exuberantly.

Olivia didn’t think that was censure, but she still found herself flushing in embarrassment. She forced herself to chew more slowly, and after she swallowed, she stared at the plate, her fingers tearing apart the remaining piece of bread into small pieces without any input from her brain.

“I—I’m sorry. I know I’m not…” She blinked rapidly, hating the heat of shame in her cheeks. “I’m not a lady,” she finished in a whisper. “My nannies and governesses tried, and Papa even sent me to a finishing school, but…”

She pressed her lips together, not wanting to finish the confession. Hell, even her fingers were unladylike!

Yesterday they’d been covered in newspaper ink. Tonight she’d stroked her own cunny with them! And right now they obstinately refused to obey her command and stop massacring this poor innocent chunk of bread and fold into her lap like good little hands!

But between one blink and the next, said hands—stupid, disobedient, unladylike hands!—were covered by one of his, and her head jerked in surprise.

His hand was tanned with a white scar across two of the knuckles. Why? He was never seen in public and never left the townhouse, did he? Effinghell business was conducted via letter; everyone in Society knew that. What could have caused such harm?

And how was she only now, on her third day of marriage, really bothering to look at her husband’s hands?

Hesitantly, Olivia lifted her eyes to his.

When he saw he had her attention, Alistair smiled softly.

And she felt it, all the way down in her stomach.

He removed his hand to reach for the pencil, and began to scribble.

After what you did

I feel I owe

How can you think

He shook his head in frustration each time he crossed out a sentence and tried again. Then he took a deep breath and attempted once more.

Olivia, do not ever feel the need to apologize for who you are, when you are with me.

She… Oh. Well, that was quite kind.

“I am terrified, Alistair,” she whispered, the words spilling out. When his sharp gaze met hers, she tried to explain. “I’m terrified of embarrassing you. I know I don’t speak like a lady, I don’t act like a lady. I can’t seem to keep my thoughts to myself or remember to restrain myself. But now I’m a duchess!”

His expression was still concerned as he jotted frantic words without looking at the paper.

You are a duchess. YOU. I chose you to be my duchess. Therefore, however you act is how a duchess will act.

That was…impossible to deny, wasn’t it? Hmm.

“I can’t fault your logic,” she admitted, sweeping all the crumbs of bread into a pile in the middle of her plate.

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