Page 14 of The Duke's Sinful Bride

He took the tray and closed the door, setting it on the small chest.

Yvette remained seated, her cheeks still burning as she tried to compose herself. Killian, however, seemed entirely unaffected as he uncovered the dishes and gestured for her to join him.

“Eat,” he said simply.

It was the only word exchanged between them for the rest of the night.

CHAPTER 5

“It’s beautiful,” Yvette murmured as they drew closer to Braemore Castle, her voice barely above a whisper as they approached the main gates.

Their journey had lasted five days, and each day had been no different from the first. Long hours in the carriage were followed by brief stops at various inns along the way, and the routine became as predictable as the sunrise.

Yvette was grateful, however, that they had managed to secure separate rooms after the first night. The memory of the duke, shirtless and teasing, was one she could not seem to shake. Seeing him like that once had been challenging enough. Enduring it repeatedly would have been impossible.

The air was cooler here, carrying the crisp scent of impending rain. Yvette leaned slightly out of the carriage window, her breath catching at the sight that unfolded before her.

Braemore Castle stood proud and imposing against the rugged landscape. The massive stone castle seemed to rise out of the ground itself, its gray walls blending seamlessly with the rocky cliffs behind it.

The duke, seated across from her, glanced up from the papers he had been reviewing. He followed her gaze but said nothing.

The carriage rolled to a halt, and the footmen rushed to assist them. Yvette stepped down carefully, her eyes still fixed on the grand castle. She felt a strange mix of awe and fright.

This was her home now—a thought that was both thrilling and unsettling.

The castle’s staff gathered at the entrance, standing in neat rows as the duke led her forward. Their faces lit with smiles as he introduced Yvette to them.

“This is your new duchess,” he announced, his voice steady and authoritative.

The staff erupted into cheers and polite applause, their genuine warmth momentarily easing Yvette’s nerves.

Before Yvette could respond to the staff’s enthusiastic welcome, a high-pitched squeal pierced the air.

“Papa!”

A little girl of about six came hurtling out of the castle doors, her auburn hair, similar to her father’s, but lighter, bouncing in two tidy pigtails. Her yellow dress was clean and bright, but what caught Yvette’s attention most were the little gaps in her toothy smile.

The girl’s hazel eyes—the exact shade as her father’s—sparkled with unrestrained excitement. Behind her, a visibly flustered governess trailed, her expression that of exasperation.

“Papa!” Maisie cried, throwing herself at the duke with all the energy of a six-year-old.

He stiffened at the sudden embrace, his arms hovering awkwardly before finally settling around her small frame. Yvette observed the exchange, noting the unease in his stance despite the affection in his daughter’s expression.

When Maisie finally pulled away, Killian placed a steadying hand on her shoulder.

“Maisie, this is Yvette,” he said, his tone softening ever so slightly. “She is my wife now.”

Maisie’s wide, curious eyes shifted to Yvette. For a moment, the child simply stared, as though trying to decide whether this new presence was a friend or foe.

Yvette crouched to the girl’s level, offering a warm smile.

“Good morning, Maisie. It’s very nice to meet you,” she said gently.

Maisie’s lips pressed together, her small hands clutching the folds of her dress nervously. She didn’t say a word, her shyness overtaking her.

“She’ll warm to you,” Killian said abruptly, his tone dismissive.

He gestured to the governess, who hurried forward to retrieve the child.

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