Page 101 of Wedded to the Scottish Duke

“I’m not that type of man. Pick a different man for yer hunt tonight.”

He swept away from the table and marched toward the nearest set of stairs. His mind was racing so fast that by the time he made it to his room, he was fumbling for the key.

Ah, Celia… if only ye were here now.

He pushed his way into his room and kicked the door shut behind him, then fell back on the bed with his hands in his hair.

He was no longer sure which was worse. Was it the courtesan approaching him, making him realize that he didn’t think he could ever have another woman in his bed again besides Celia? Or was it the motherly woman instead, the one who had glimpsed his grief and told him not to suffer it?

“If I go back, I could end up hurting her…”

Even as he said the words, a shocking memory flashed through his mind, one that he had surprisingly buried. It came back to him in a haze.

It was the night after his father’s funeral. He and his brother were getting drunk on their father’s wine, uncertain how to handle what was somehow a mix of grief and relief. They hadn’t known how to honor the memory of a man neither of them had really liked, so they made comical toasts to each of their father’s failings and drank themselves into oblivion.

Through this cloud of drunkenness, he suddenly saw their mother. Clothed fully in black, she had walked into the room, tutting at them, though she also smiled softly. When his brother fell asleep, she summoned a servant to help him to bed and moved to Keith to help him tidy up the last of the wine.

“What good do you think will come of all this drinking, Keith?”

“It’s just one night,”he had told her.“I’m thinking about how to look back on all of this. Aye, I’m also thinking… about how not to be him.”

“Not to be him? What do you mean?”She had nearly dropped a bottle of whisky in surprise.

“I mean everyone tells me I am his spitting image. That I grow more and more like him every day.”His mirth had abandoned him like a stone dropping down a hill, gone in an instant. He had wiped his brow uncertainly.“I don’t want to be like him. What if I treat my wife the way ye…”he had trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.

“Listen to me.”His mother had stepped toward him, placing her hands on his shoulders.“You are nothing like your father.”

“Mother, please?—”

“You are nothing like him!”she had declared with sudden passion.“From the day you uttered your first word, it was clear you have goodness in your heart. Do you not remember the last time he tried to raise his hand to me? Do you remember what you did, my kind son?”

He had sighed, remembering it very well, indeed.“I stopped him.”

“Yes. You did.”She had patted his cheek affectionately.“Which is why I know you will never hurt the woman you love, because you risked yourself to defend me.”

The memory left him abruptly. He was back in his chamber, staring up at the ceiling with his hands over his face.

Was it possible his mother was right, after all? Was he depriving himself of happiness, even when there was no chance of him becoming his father?

He sat up in bed. He didn’t think it through, for he didn’t need to. Within seconds, he was racing to pull on his frock coat and a fresh set of boots. He bolted out of the room and raced back down the stairs.

The courtesan turned around with a smile when she saw him, but he didn’t even glance at her. Instead, he headed straight to his groom and footman, who were drinking with the locals.

“In the morning, follow me back to London,” he said to the footman as the groom choked on his ale in surprise.

“London?” the footman repeated. “I thought we were going to Scotland.”

“Change of plans.”

Keith walked away, heading toward the motherly lady, who now stood in the serving hatch, counting their earnings for the night.He dropped more coins through the hatch, paying for the rooms, though he no longer had need of his own.

“Going back to her, pet?” the lady asked with a knowing smile. “Good. Go mend your broken hearts.”

He chuckled at her words and walked away, heading around to the stables. He didn’t care if he had to ride all night and all day—he had to get back to Celia. He had to see her. He had to explain everything.

As he stepped out into the darkness, for a moment, it felt as though he was back at Lady Arundel’s house, watching as the mysterious lady who he now knew was Celia approached the lake and began to take off her clothes. Her spirit, her beauty, everything… from the moment he first held her in his arms, he was intoxicated.

We were always meant to be, Celia.

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