The Duke’s Sinful Bride (Vows of Sin #5)

Chapter 14

CHAPTER 14

Y vette woke the following morning with a heavy heart. She hadn’t expected to feel so… unsettled.

The events of the previous night had left her torn between conflicting emotions, and she wasn’t sure how to face Killian. She had bared a part of her soul to him—something so personal, something she had never shared with anyone, not even her dear brother.

She had cried in front of him, cried for the loss of a relationship she could never have, for the rejection from a father who should have loved her unconditionally.

His response? A kiss on her forehead.

The area where his lips had touched still burned. Even now, nearly eight hours later, she could feel the imprint of his kiss, and it unsettled her more than anything else.

The thought of facing him today made her stomach twist. She needed space—needed time to think—to understand what all of this meant.

So, she did what she had done for most of her life when confronted with emotions she couldn’t manage—she avoided him.

Daisy noticed the shift immediately. Yvette had been quieter, more withdrawn than usual, and her lady’s maid, always eager to please, sensed the change.

“Your Grace, you look a bit out of sorts today,” Daisy remarked as she helped Yvette into her gown, her voice full of concern. “Is everything well?”

Yvette hesitated, brushing her fingers along the hem of her dress. “I’m fine, Daisy,” she said with a forced smile. “Just tired, I suppose.”

Daisy, ever so eager to distract her, brightened. “Well, ye should take a walk outside then, Your Grace. The gardens look particularly beautiful this time of year. You might like to take a turn about the flowerbeds. It’ll do you some good, I think.”

Yvette gave a small nod, though her thoughts were far from the idea of a peaceful walk.

She simply didn’t want to face Killian. Not yet.

She could feel her thoughts twisting in a spiral, and felt unsure how to deal with the emotions he had stirred in her.

Soon, Yvette found herself making her way to Maisie’s chambers. It was something she hadn’t done before because she had no reason to go into the little girl’s room.

She knew Maisie was often there with her governess, but she hadn’t seen much of the child on her own. As she approached, she heard voices, the soft lilting tones of Maisie’s speech followed by a sterner, measured voice that could only belong to the governess.

Yvette paused by the door, listening.

“Maisie, you cannot speak like that,” the governess said firmly. “It is improper.”

“Ye know, governess,” Maisie replied, her voice high and innocent. “I just wanted to show ye how well I can draw.”

Yvette was surprised to hear an accent from the girl’s mouth. She hadn’t displayed it before.

Perhaps it slips out on occasion , Yvette thought.

“Not ye — it is you ,” the governess corrected, her tone bordering on harsh. “You must erase that brogue from your vocabulary if you ever hope to fit in properly. It will be difficult for you if you continue to speak like that. People will laugh.”

Yvette’s brows furrowed at the governess’s words, and without thinking, she pushed open the door.

“Your Grace!” The governess glanced up in surprise as Yvette entered, and Maisie’s face brightened at the sight of her.

Yvette’s gaze was directed firmly at the governess as she crossed the threshold. “That will do, Miss Pemberton,” she said, her voice sharp with authority.

“You will not speak to Maisie in such a manner.”

The governess blinked, clearly taken aback by the sudden intrusion, but Yvette continued without hesitation. She turned to Maisie with a smile, softening her tone.

“You speak however you wish, Maisie. There’s no need to change your words for anyone.”

Maisie beamed up at her, her cheeks flushed with pride. The governess, however, tried to interject.

“But, Your Grace, the child must learn?—”

Yvette raised her hand, silencing the governess mid-sentence.

“Do you not realize what you are doing? You’re discouraging her from embracing her heritage. She is of Scottish lineage, and if she wishes to speak with a brogue, then so be it. It harms no one.”

The governess opened her mouth to argue but Yvette’s stern gaze kept her silent.

“Is that what you tell her?” Yvette asked, her voice growing colder with each word, “that her heritage will bring ruin to her?”

The governess’s face paled, and she stammered, struggling to find the right words, but none came. Yvette wasn’t finished.

“I would have you know that the only reason I haven’t rid you of your position already is because I wasn’t the one who employed you,” Yvette continued, her voice firm and unwavering. Maisie seems to have some fondness for you, but if you ever speak to her like that again—if you ever try to make her feel ashamed of who she is—I will take this matter to my husband, and I will make sure you are dismissed.”

Killian stood frozen in the doorway, his eyes lingering on Yvette as she glared at the governess.

My husband. That was what she had called him.

A strange warmth, something he hadn’t expected, unfurled within him, making his chest tighten. He had never imagined Yvette would come to Maisie’s defense in such a way.

For a moment, he wondered if he should march in, sweep her into his arms, and kiss her as though nothing else mattered.

Or perhaps he should rid them of the governess on the spot.

The words that had come from Yvette’s lips had struck him deeply, especially considering her own childhood. A girl who had been deprived of her mother and had grown up in the cold, unfeeling walls of a nunnery.

He had long since doubted her ability to care for Maisie properly, but now, he was sure that she was fit to do so.

He had seen how Maisie flourished when given attention he hadn’t always been able to give her.

But Yvette, despite her own tragic past, had somehow defended her with an unshakable confidence. His heart swelled with an emotion he couldn’t quite name—something that made him feel both pleased and conflicted.

She was his wife of convenience, the sister of his friend, tied to him by duty and necessity. There was no place for any emotion beyond the practical, and yet here he was, caught between duty and an undeniable pull toward her.

Sighing, he turned away, his heart still thrumming with unfamiliar thoughts, and made his way to his study.

He needed to clear his head, sort through these tangled feelings before they overtook him.

But just as he settled into his chair, trying to focus on the reports before him, there was a knock at the door.

“Enter,” he called, his voice still heavy with thought.

The butler appeared, his face impassive as usual. “Mr. Sharp to see you, my lord.”

Killian grunted, relieved for the distraction. Lachlan Sharp was always good for a laugh, even if the man’s antics sometimes grated on his nerves.

With a brief nod, Killian waved him in.

Lachlan sauntered into the room, his usual carefree swagger evident as he dropped into the chair opposite Killian’s desk.

“Well, well,” Lachlan said with a grin, “ye look like someone’s just told ye yer favorite horse has been sold off. What’s the matter, my friend? Yer duchess giving ye trouble?”

He winked with a mischievous gleam in his eyes.

Killian scowled but couldn’t suppress the slight smirk that tugged at the corner of his lips.

“Don’t start with me, Lachlan,” he muttered, though the irritation was not entirely genuine. “What do ye want?”

Lachlan leaned back, drumming his fingers on the arm of his chair. “Aye, you’ve got a face like someone who’s been dragged through a hedge backward. What’s got ye so twisted? I’ve seen ye smile at a good hunt more than that.”

Killian shot him a sharp look, but Lachlan only chuckled.

“Come now, Your Grace. If it’s the duchess, I’ll lend an ear. Do ye need help sorting out matters at home? I’ve got experience, ye know.” Lachlan raised his brows suggestively, but the joking tone in his voice betrayed his lightheartedness.

“Enough of that,” Killian growled, waving a hand dismissively. “Let’s get down to business. I have enough on my plate without yer nonsense.”

Lachlan’s grin widened, sensing that Killian was more irritated than he let on, but he sobered quickly as the conversation turned serious.

“Right, right. Ye did ask me to look into matters. I’ve been digging, but it’s proving more difficult than I expected. Whoever is behind this is covering their tracks well. Nothing’s come through so far.”

“Damn it,” Killian muttered under his breath. He rubbed his temples in frustration, “I knew it’d be difficult. Whoever started these rumors has a plan, and they’re playing it carefully. But we can’t let them get away with it.”

Lachlan leaned forward, his expression becoming more serious.

“I can see that. I’ll keep looking, but I’m telling ye, whoever’s behind this is a slippery one. I have checked all the usual sources, but it’s all coming up clean.”

“Then dig deeper,” Killian said sharply, his voice steely. “The rumors started at Lady Berwick’s ball, so trace everyone who attended that event. Someone there has to know something. A little whisper, a slip of the tongue—they’ll have a clue, I’m sure of it.”

Lachlan nodded, his tone taking on a more resolute edge. “Right then, I’ll head to London. I’ll dig deeper, ask questions, and see what I can turn up. But I can’t promise it’ll be easy.”

“I don’t care about easy. Just find something,” Killian replied firmly. “I need this resolved. Quickly.”

Lachlan raised his hands in mock surrender. “Aye, I’ll do my best. But I warn ye, it’s not gonna be pretty. Ye’ll owe me a drink for this, mark my words.”

Killian couldn’t help but chuckle despite his mood.

“You always know how to make light of a bloody serious situation, Lachlan.”

“Ah, ye know me,” Lachlan replied with a wink. “Now, I’ll leave ye to yer brooding. Don’t be expecting any miracles from me.”

“Do not come back empty-handed, Sharp,” Killian said with a smirk, leaning back in his chair as Lachlan stood to leave.

“Are you certain you don’t want to wear the blue gown tonight, Your Grace? It would bring out the color in your eyes.” Daisy hummed as she worked, glancing at Yvette with a playful smile.

Yvette adjusted the pins in her hair, letting out a small sigh as Daisy fastened the final clasp of her gown.

The evening was settling in quietly, and Yvette had taken longer than usual to get ready for dinner, her thoughts swirling erratically.

Yvette shook her head, her lips curling slightly as she gazed at her reflection.

“No, I think the green will do just fine tonight. It is more subdued. I don’t want to be the center of attention at dinner, Daisy.”

“You are never simply the center of attention, Your Grace,” Daisy quipped, turning away for a moment to retrieve the slippers by the vanity, “you are a picture of grace, always. It’s impossible not to notice.”

Yvette couldn’t help but laugh softly.

“You do know how to flatter, Daisy. But let’s not get carried away. I’ve had enough attention for one day.”

Before Daisy could reply, there was a knock at the door. Yvette turned toward it, her brow furrowing slightly.

“Who could that be?”

“Shall I get it, Your Grace?” Daisy asked, already moving toward the door before Yvette could respond.

“Yes, please,” Yvette replied, her tone tinged with curiosity.

The door opened, and a footman stepped in, carrying a small stack of letters.

“A letter for you, Your Grace,” he said with a bow. “From the Marquess of Akenfield.”

Yvette straightened, her heart skipping a beat at the sight of her brother’s name. She hadn’t heard from him since her arrival in Braemore.

Daisy collected the letter with a small nod of thanks, handing it to Yvette. The footman was dismissed, and as the door closed behind him, Yvette turned her attention to the envelope.

She ran her fingers along the edge of the envelope, her heart lightening just a touch as she opened it.

Yvette unfolded the paper and began to read.

Dearest Yvette,

I hope this letter finds you in good health and spirits. I trust you are settling into Braemore and that the arrangements with Killian are to your satisfaction. I do hope that he is treating you well, and that the marriage, as unconventional as it may be, is not causing you distress.

As you know, I have always been concerned for you, especially after all the years we spent apart. I want you to know that I trust Killian. Though he is a stern man and a difficult one to read at times, I do believe he has a good heart, and he will treat you with respect. However, I would appreciate hearing from you to know that he is not causing you undue discomfort.

Furthermore, Georgiana would like to know when would be the best time to visit you. She’s been meaning to see you since the wedding. However, I did tell her that you’d return to London soon. Perhaps you could find some time to meet with her when you arrive.

I remain, as always, your devoted brother,

Edward

Yvette smiled softly, touched by the genuine concern in her brother’s words. Her heart warmed at the thought of him looking out for her, even from such a distance.

She had often felt alone in the world, but this—this was a reminder that she was not without family.

Yvette’s heart fluttered at the part about Georgiana. She felt an unspoken bond with her brother’s wife even though they had only met once.

Yvette turned to the final page, her brother’s handwriting appearing once more, but this time, it was brief and to the point.

Dear Aunt Yvette,

I miss you.

Yours,

Aaron

Yvette’s eyes softened as she read the simple, heartfelt words. Her nephew’s innocence and affection never failed to make her smile, and she could almost hear his voice in her head, calling her name with that sweetness only a child could possess.

Yvette sat back, a sigh of relief slipping from her lips.

For a moment, the heavy weight of loss and isolation seemed to lift.

Yes, her father was gone, and the opportunity for reconciliation had died with him. She would never hear the apology she had longed for.

As she sat there, surrounded by the words of her family—her brother, Georgiana, and little Aaron—she realized she was not as alone as she sometimes felt.

She had family. They were far away, but they cared.

And that made all the difference.