Page 37 of The Duke's Sinful Bride

She stood up and walked toward the window, her gaze scanning the yard outside, hoping for any sign of him, but Killian was nowhere to be seen.

“Maybe he’s just caught up with something,” Yvette murmured, though her voice lacked conviction.

Maisie, however, was undeterred. She had been so certain that her father would come. She turned her bright eyes to Yvette, a question on her lips.

“Do you think Papa will come soon?”

Yvette swallowed, her heart sinking a little as she smiled down at the little girl. “I’m sure he will. He’s probably just finishing up with work, Maisie. Let’s just wait a little longer.”

Maisie nodded, but her excitement had dimmed slightly, her small face now clouded with confusion. Yvette’s mind raced, wondering what had delayed Killian.

But even as she sat there, waiting for him, something within her gnawed at the back of her mind. The growing distance between her and Killian was becoming all too real, and she wasn’t sure how to bridge it.

For now, though, all she could do was wait.

And still, Killian didn’t come.

Killian stood in front of the mirror, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his hand.

He had spent the morning tending to his beasts, and the heat of the day clung to his skin, a mix of dust and sweat from his work.

Though his mind wandered briefly to Yvette’s invitation, he knew a quick bath would do him more good than rushing off to her side in such a state.

He turned away from the mirror, deciding to cleanse himself before he saw her.

The bath was quick but refreshing, the water cool enough to bring him back to his senses. As he stepped out, toweling off, he heard the familiar tap of knuckles on his door.

“Enter,” he called, his voice echoing faintly in the quiet room.

The old butler, stepped in with a polite bow, holding a letter in his hand, “Your Grace, a letter for you. It is marked as urgent.”

Killian’s brow furrowed as he took the letter, the weight of it in his hand telling him that this was no ordinary correspondence.

He broke the seal with a practiced motion, quickly scanning the contents. His stomach tightened as he read.

The letter detailed an issue on one of his construction sites—an entire shipment of materials had been stolen overnight. The scale of the loss was staggering, and the tone of the letter made it clear that his immediate intervention was required.

The problem wasn’t just the theft itself, but the potential for it to disrupt the entire venture, not to mention the reputational damage to his holdings.

His pulse quickened as he processed the urgency.

“Damnation,” he muttered under his breath.

The timing couldn’t be worse. Whatever Yvette needed to speak with him about would have to wait.

He dressed quickly, pulling on his coat and boots before striding to the stables.

Within moments, he mounted his horse and set off toward the site. His mind briefly flickered to his wife as he rode, but it was quickly swept aside by the more pressing concerns of the theft.

When he arrived at the site, the scene was worse than he had expected.

Workers were scattered about, speaking in low tones, some looking over their shoulders, others pacing nervously.

“Your Grace,” the foreman greeted him with a troubled expression. “It’s a disaster. The supplies—gone. Tools, timber, everything. We’ve been robbed, and we’ve no idea who did it.

Killian’s jaw clenched as he took in the scene. “And ye have no leads?” he asked, his voice colder than he had intended.

The foreman shook his head, his face drawn tight with concern. “None, Your Grace. We’ve scoured the grounds, but nothing’s come of it.”

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