Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
That evening, Elizabeth dined with her husband for the first time.
Not at a ball, not while sneaking glances or whispering in shadows, but as the newly minted Duchess of Redmoor.
A place had been prepared for them in a quiet corner of the otherwise imposing dining room. Alasdair had requested only a small table for two, near the hearth.
The fire crackled steadily, its glow casting golden shadows across the carved wood paneling.
A single slender candle in the center of their table threw a gentle light between them, softening the sharpness of Alasdair’s features and deepening the mystery in his eyes.
Servants moved with practiced ease around them, lighting the sconces, then fading discreetly from the room.
Elizabeth took it all in slowly. The flicker of firelight, the muted clink of silverware as the courses were laid out, the faint scent of roasted meat and warm bread.
She hadn’t realized until now how tightly she’d been holding herself all day, her back straight, her shoulders high, her words chosen with care.
“You’ve planned all of this?” she asked softly, a smile tugging at her lips. “You didn’t even ask for my help.”
“There’s still time for hostin’, Madame,” Alasdair said, lifting his wine glass. “But ye deserve to be surprised. Wooed, even.”
“Is that what this is?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. “Being wooed?”
“Aye. Everythin’ here’s for ye. For yer pleasure.”
The words weren’t spoken with any flourish. He wasn’t boasting. He was simply stating a truth, and somehow, that made it all the more disarming.
Elizabeth ran her hand along the edge of her plate, grounding herself. Her chair was impossibly comfortable. She felt almost too regal in it, as though it had been carved to hold only a duchess. And across from her sat the man who had so suddenly, and perhaps foolishly, made her one.
Alasdair was too composed for someone who’d proposed with almost no notice and no planning. Then again, everything about him seemed to defy the rumors: the tales of brawling and belligerence, of wild tempers and unpredictable moods.
So far, he’d been nothing but calm. Kind, even.
“Thank you, Your Grace,” she murmured, meaning it more than she expected.
He tilted his head. “Ye should call me Alasdair. Especially when we’re alone.”
She felt her face flush. “Yes. We are alone.” Her voice faltered, then steadied. “You do remember we’ve been alone before?”
He smiled faintly. “Aye. But not like this. Not with approval.” He set down his glass and leaned in just a little. “Our marriage gives us leave to be together without folk raisin’ a fuss.”
Elizabeth looked down at her roast and began to cut it into precise little pieces.
Why was it easier to talk to him when they were teasing each other in the shadows? Why did this room, with its elegance and quiet, feel heavier than all their stolen conversations?
“Say something, Elizabeth,” Alasdair coaxed. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table, close enough to close the space between them. “Say anythin’, or I’ll be forced to ramble on about the weather. Or explain to ye how kilts are made.”
A small laugh escaped her. “Kilts are… surprisingly interesting,” she said, before she could stop herself.
“Mm. Is that so?” His grin widened. “That’s all ye’ve got to say? That kilts are interestin’?”
“They are.”
“Well then,” he drawled. “I was hopin’ for more of the woman who once tried to reform me into a fine gentleman.”
“Do remember,” she countered, raising a brow, “you asked for my help.”
“Ye did a grand job,” he said solemnly. “I’ve been usin’ cutlery and everythin’.”
Elizabeth rolled her eyes and hid a smile behind her glass.
“But,” he added, lowering his voice, “I think ye like that I’m a brute. Gentlemen daenae usually steal kisses in dark corners.”
That made her blush all over again. She remembered far too well how his hands had touched her in that room, how his mouth had made her forget herself entirely.
“Regardless, we are past arrangements,” she said, her voice faintly unsteady. “This is a marriage now. And I don’t know what that means for us.”
Alasdair studied her carefully. Then he rose, slowly, with deliberate grace, and walked around the table.
She expected him to pace, to lean against the wall maybe—but no.
He dragged a chair beside hers, sat down, and turned his whole body toward her. His knee brushed against hers beneath the table, and he didn’t move it.
“This is a marriage, aye,” he agreed. “But it’s not a trap, Elizabeth.
” He reached out, not to touch her, but to rest his hand on the table near hers.
“Ye’re the Duchess of Redmoor now. This house, this title, the staff, everythin’ that’s mine is yers, too.
My people already admire ye. They’ll follow ye as their mistress.
Ye can host, or not. Take visitors, or not.
Sleep in, wander the gardens, sketch the moors, sing to the roses, do nothin’ at all. Ye daenae answer to me.”
Elizabeth stared at him, uncertain how to process that much freedom. It didn’t feel real.
“And my sisters?” she asked suddenly, her voice sharp with worry. “What will happen to them? I wasn’t thinking clearly when I accepted your proposal.”
“Ouch,” Alasdair said, clutching his chest in mock offense. “Ye wound me.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I ken why ye’re worried. But listen to me: they’re Lady Grisham’s daughters by blood. But they’ve also got Oakmere watchin’. And me. I’ll do what I can.”
“But she’ll punish them, Your Gr—Alasdair. The moment they stop obeying, she’ll turn cold. She’ll chip away at them the way she did to me.”
“Then we’ll protect them,” he said simply. “As best we can. But ye—ye were the one in trouble. I ken that. That’s why I acted.”
Elizabeth looked at him. His eyes were steady. She believed him. And yet…
“You threatened my reputation.”
“Aye, I did,” he admitted. “But only because I kenned it would work. She’d never let it go that far.”
She nodded, not entirely soothed, but understanding the strategy.
“Tell me what ye want, Elizabeth,” he said, his voice softer now. “Tell me what ye want as my wife, and I’ll give it to ye.”
She met his eyes. There was no jest in them. Just sincerity.
And perhaps a little hunger.
“Anything?” she whispered.
“Aye. My word on it. Jewels, books, travel… even a bloody hedgehog if that’s yer fancy.”
He leaned closer. The scent of him filled her senses—pine, smoke, and something sharper. Her pulse fluttered in her throat.
“Kiss me,” she breathed.
Alasdair’s mouth curved into a wicked grin. “That’s me good girl. With pleasure, wife.”
The kiss was a firelit promise.
His mouth met hers, slow at first, then deepening as his hands cupped her face. His rough palms cradled her gently, grounding her even as her world tilted. His tongue swept into her mouth, claiming, coaxing.
She melted into him, a soft sound escaping her throat.
“Ye like that, do ye nae?” he murmured against her lips. His hands slid from her face to her neck, one pausing over the pulse there.
“I do,” she admitted, trembling.
He pulled her closer until she was almost on his lap.
“What about your staff?” she managed to whisper.
“They know better than to disturb us durin’… dinner,” he said, his grin wicked.
One hand trailed lower, finding the laces of her bodice.
When he swept the plates and wine aside with a crash that echoed across the room, Elizabeth gasped. “Alasdair!”
“They won’t come,” he assured her, lifting her with both hands and setting her gently on the table.
Her skirts rose around her as his body came between her knees.
“Mine,” he whispered, kissing her jaw, her throat, then the hollow between her breasts. “So beautiful. Do ye ken how beautiful ye are?”
She tugged at his hair, a wild instinct, and he only groaned approvingly.
“Don’t stop,” she whispered.
“I willnae.”
His touch became worship. He kissed her slowly, thoroughly. When his fingers slid under her skirts, exploring, her breath hitched.
“W-what are you doing?”
“Showin’ ye what it means to feel wanted. Desired.”
She didn’t speak. She couldn’t. But her body answered.
He lifted her again, effortlessly.
“Where are you taking me?” she asked, dizzy.
“To our bed, wife. Where ye belong.”