Chapter 5 #2
“I will not sleep in comfort while you take the couch, because that would make me feel as though I’ve stolen something I shouldn’t. This is already improper. I will not add to it by making you sleep like a servant.”
She did not know why she felt so strongly about this, but she did. As annoying as he was, he had done a great favor for her, and she did not wish him any sort of discomfort.
“I’ve slept on worse than a couch.”
“I don’t care,” Charity replied, sighing, and then added a bit quietly, “I will not repay that by forcing you into discomfort.”
“You’re stubborn,” Duncan’s gaze held hers. So, he had learnt a new thing about his new wife.
And then he did something unexpected, he plopped on the bed, and leaned back before adjusting the pillow as if making himself comfortable.
“What are you doing?” Charity’s mouth fell open in disbelief.
“Lying down,” he shrugged. “You ought to join me.”
Charity stared at him, furious. Duncan remained infuriatingly calm, head resting back against the pillow.
“I’m not sleeping in that bed.”
“Then you’re not sleeping at all.”
Charity opened her mouth to argue again, but exhaustion hit her like a heavy curtain. She could feel it behind her eyes, and suddenly her resolve weakened.
“Fine.”
She moved to the bed and climbed onto the far edge, as far from Duncan as she could manage without falling off. She lay down stiffly, facing the wall, blankets pulled up to her throat.
She could finally avoid him now.
Charity shut her eyes and tried to breathe. But sleep did not come. Minutes passed, but her mind kept replaying the day.
She shifted, and the mattress dipped slightly with the movement. Duncan exhaled.
“You’re moving,” Duncan said. “Stop.”
“I can’t,” Charity snapped, then regretted it immediately because it sounded childish.
“Why?” his voice sounded a lot less guarded.
“I suppose the conditions are not ideal,” she frowned. A week before, she could never have imagined that she would ever find herself in a situation like this.
“Would it help to talk?” he said, and she could feel him turning towards her.
“You’re not the sort of man who enjoys conversation,” she said, “so I’m surprised at this offer.”
“I enjoy silence,” Duncan replied, “but I don’t wish for you to be groggy tomorrow. So, if it helps…”
She swallowed and took a breath, forcing herself to be practical. If she kept thinking, she would keep spiraling. If she asked questions, perhaps she could anchor herself in reality.
“Fine,” she whispered. “Then answer me. I shall ask you questions.”
Duncan made a low sound that might have been an agreement. Charity stared into the darkness and asked the question that had been circling her mind since she woke in Blackford.
“You’re Scottish,” she said. “So how did you end up being a duke?”
“I was raised in Scotland,” he said. “Most of my life.”
“But you have an English title?” she said. Clearly, both things did not go together.
“Aye.”
“That doesn’t explain why you’re here,” Charity pressed. “Or how you became a duke.”
Now that she thought about him, she had a string of questions. She was curious about him.
Duncan was silent long enough that Charity thought he might refuse. Then he said, “My father was English. He inherited the title before I was born, and he didn’t live in Scotland, but he… had reasons to send me north.”
“Reasons?” Charity’s brows drew together. “What sort?”
Again, she was not sure whether he would even answer. But then was surprised when he did.
“He wasn’t a man fit to raise a child.”
He had said the words so casually that it took her a moment to understand what they meant, and the seriousness of them.
“So you were sent away?” she swallowed. She suddenly felt herself drawing comparisons with her own situation, though she did not want to assume much.
“I came back when I was told he was dying,” he admitted. “I was his only son, and therefore had to return.”
Charity’s throat tightened again, thinking of her parents' funeral. We seem to have more in common than I expected, she thought.
“And when he died, you became the duke?” Charity’s fingers curled beneath the covers.
“Aye. It was a shift, though,” he said. “I brought Malcolm with me, as he made the place feel less strange.”
“He’s very comfortable with you.”
“Aye. He’s been comfortable with my temper since we were boys,” Duncan’s voice turned dry. ”
“Since you were boys,” Charity repeated. “So he’s not just an employee.”
“No,” Duncan said. “But I brought other staff from Scotland, people who’d served my family there.”
Charity’s mind flicked to Mrs. Sinclair and Rowan. It was suddenly beginning to make some more sense to her.
“So you built your household with people you could trust,” she said.
“Yes,” Duncan replied simply. “Trust is scarce in my world.”
The quiet that followed was not unpleasant, and Charity hesitated because she wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answer.
But she needed to. If she was truly going to be his wife, then she could not remain ignorant.
“Why didn’t you look for a wife?” Charity asked softly. “Was it because you didn’t want one?”
“Sleep,” he said.
“That isn’t an answer.”
“I’m not answering it,” Duncan replied.
Charity felt a flare of frustration.
“You demand honesty from me, and yet you refuse it yourself. That is not a fair thing.”
Duncan was silent, and the mattress shifted again when he stood up.
Charity’s body reacted immediately, the instinctive tension returning. She turned her head, and even in the dim light, she could make out his shape moving toward her side of the bed. He stopped near her, close enough that Charity’s heart kicked hard in her chest.
Charity’s fingers moved without permission, as she clutched the small cross necklace at her throat, pressing it into her palm as if it could steady her.
“Look at me,” he said.
In the dimness, his face looked harsher, the scars more pronounced.
“What Englishwoman would agree to be my wife,” Duncan said quietly, “when I’m nowhere close to their standards?”
The words startled her, and she didn’t know what to say.
I disagree.
Because he might be intimidating, but he was also infuriatingly handsome, in that hard, dangerous way that made her pulse betray her. But it would be unwise to say that.
Charity swallowed and forced her voice steady, “Standards are often foolish,” she said as a neutral response.
Duncan’s gaze stayed on her for a beat, as if assessing whether she meant it. Then, he reached out and placed a hand on her shoulder and pushed her gently back against the pillow. Charity’s pulse hammered anyway.
Duncan pulled the covers up over her, tucking them around her shoulders as if he were barricading her from the world.
“Sleep,” he said again.
“I….”
“Sleep,” Duncan repeated, “You’ll need strength tomorrow, if you’re going to face your uncle.”
It was effectively his way of ending the conversation.
Charity swallowed, fingers loosening around her cross.
“And you,” she asked quietly, “will you sleep?”
“Aye,” he said.
He moved towards the sofa and opted to sleep there.
Charity stared into the dark for a moment, but her heart was still beating too fast.
Still, there was one change. Her mind now felt safer.
Was it him? It is him. Maybe her husband-to-be wasn’t such a monster after all.