Page 102 of Surrender Your Grace
“I don’t think,” he said. “Iknow.He’s loved you since you were five, freckled and in pinafores, following us wherever we went. I’d complain and try to send you home, but Duncaninsisted you tag along. He taught you to fish, catch frogs, swim…”
A soft smile touched her lips. That was the Duncan she’d fallen in love with.
“I might not have learned if I’d waited for you,” she teased.
“True,” he said wryly. “But Duncan stepped in.”
As a friend and a brother. Then, and now. Even when she grew up and left the school room, there was nothing more between them. No romance or passion or a whisper of marriage between them, until he stood to inherit riches.
He must have sensed her continued unease because Andrew touched her cheek, his voice solemn. “I trust him with my life. More importantly, I trust him with yours. But I’ll tell you what I told him—if he ever hurts you, he’s a dead man.”
The familiar arpeggios ofAve Mariafloated in from the drawing room. Andrew offered her his arm.
When she stepped into the room, all she saw was Duncan. Not in full Highland regalia, thank goodness, but still impeccably turned out. No tartan, no sporran, no sword. Just Duncan—handsome as sin and infuriatingly composed. His dark gaze locked on her as Andrew escorted her forward.
At the makeshift altar, the fireplace festooned with white ribbons, greenery, and hothouse blooms, Andrew kissed her cheek and placed her hand in Duncan’s.
As he moved to the groom’s right, and Cici rose from the piano to take her place at Maggie’s side, Duncan murmured for her ears alone, “You’re late.”
“I needed a moment.”
He leaned in closer. “Do you need another?”
“I’m not sure a moment would help,” she whispered. “I tried everything to drive you away. Some of the most appalling behavior I’ve ever displayed—and youstillshowed up today.”
“I noticed,” he said dryly. “You insulted my country, my castle, my family, my music—even my whiskey. And somehow, I still want to marry you.”
Her throat tightened. She knew it had less to do with affection and more to do with hundreds of thousands of pounds.
But then he said, quietly, “Underneath all the defiance and the shields you throw up, I see fire. I rather like a woman with fire, and I’ve got enough Highland grit to withstand the heat.”
The bishop of London, tall and stately in his purple vestments, cleared his throat. “Are the bride and groom ready?”
The intimate moment fractured, Duncan nodded. “We’re ready to proceed, Your Lordship.”
“Very well,” the bishop said as he flipped to a page marked with a ribbon. “Dearly beloved,” he began as was tradition. “We are gathered here in the sight of God, and in the face of this company, to join together this man and this woman in holy matrimony.”
He paused, his gaze settling on the couple before him.
“Though this union is forged under a special license and within a private home, its sanctity is no less binding, nor its vows any less sacred. Surrounded by family and trusted friends, let us witness the beginning of what I pray will be a true and lasting bond.”
As the timeless blessing wove around her, Maggie clutched Duncan’s hand in a death grip, her nails digging into his skin. He didn’t flinch. His voice remained steady. Hers, less so as she spoke vows she’d never imagined saying. Not like this.
Yet, here she stood, her hand in his, her words echoing his, facing a future she neither trusted nor dared hope for.
When the bishop pronounced them man and wife, Duncan didn’t kiss her. Not at first. He simply looked at her, gaze steady and storm-dark, and whispered, “Nothing is guaranteed, Maggie. It’s up to us to write our story. Starting now.”
His lips brushed hers then.
Not with heat. Not with hunger. But with certainty.
And that—somehow—was worse.
Because heaven help her, it felt real.
Chapter 29
The ballroom shimmered beneath the glow of hundreds of candles. Mirrored panels along one wall reflected a sea of color as couples swirled across the dance floor. The scent of roses mingled with the sharper tang of beeswax and cologne. Laughter rose above the elegant strains of the eight-piece ensemble.
