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

Chapter 16

CHAPTER 16

“ W e’ll cover the rest of the house,” Yvette told Killian, her voice steadier than she felt.

They split up, checking room after room in tense, desperate silence.

With every passing minute, Yvette’s anxiety deepened. Memories of Maisie’s tear-streaked face haunted her, making her fear the worst.

After what felt like an eternity, Yvette entered the dimly lit library, her last hope.

She strained to listen, her breath hitching as she heard a faint, muffled sniffle from the far corner.

“Maisie?” Yvette whispered, her voice cracking.

Another soft sound guided her toward a large wooden shelf near the window.

Dropping to her knees, she peeked beneath it—and there, huddled in the shadows, was Maisie, her small frame trembling with quiet sobs.

Yvette’s heart shattered.

“Found you,” she whispered gently.

Maisie’s head snapped up, her tear-streaked face crumpling with relief. “You found me…”

Yvette reached out, pulling the trembling girl into her arms and holding her tightly.

“I was so worried about you.”

Maisie clung to her, her tiny fingers digging into Yvette’s gown.

“I know… Papa is mad at me,” the girl sniffed.

Yvette’s throat tightened as she stroked Maisie’s hair. “He’s not mad at you, darling. He just… doesn’t always know how to show how much he cares.”

Maisie sniffled, her breath hitching. “I just… I just wanted him to laugh.”

“Oh, sweetheart…” Yvette murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

Maisie’s sobs softened as Yvette gently wiped her tears.

Hoping to lift her spirits, she asked, “Do you like reading?”

Maisie hesitated, then nodded slowly. “A little…”

Yvette smiled, reaching for a nearby book. “Shall I read to you?”

Maisie nodded again, her expression wary but hopeful.

Settling against the shelf, Yvette opened the book and began to read aloud.

Slowly, Maisie relaxed, curling up against her side as the soothing rhythm of Yvette’s voice filled the quiet library, chasing away the lingering shadows of fear and doubt.

Killian paced the grand entrance hall, his jaw clenched, his fingers raking through his already disheveled hair for the fifth time that night.

Maisie was still missing, and now, so was Yvette.

The pit of worry in his chest deepened, tightening like a vice. His mind reeled with possibilities—each one darker than the last.

Turning sharply, he barked at the governess. “Keep searching! And this time, look thoroughly! If either of them comes to harm…”

The governess curtsied hastily, her face pale, and scurried away just as Mrs. Calloway appeared from the servants’ corridor, wiping her hands on her apron.

“Your Grace,” she called out, her tone steady but concerned. “I thought ye should know… Her Grace and Lady Maisie are in the library.”

Killian froze, blinking. “The library?”

Mrs. Calloway nodded firmly. “Yes, Your Grace. I found them there myself not five minutes ago. Safe and sound.”

Without another word, Killian strode toward the library, frustration bubbling beneath his skin.

The double doors were slightly ajar, and he pushed them open with more force than necessary—only to halt abruptly at the sight before him.

Yvette sat on the cushioned window seat, her back resting against the wall, her knees tucked up slightly to cradle Maisie, who was curled against her like a content kitten.

A thick, leather-bound storybook rested in Yvette’s lap, her soft voice weaving through the room like a lullaby as she read aloud.

Maisie was fast asleep, her tear-stained face peaceful at last, her small fingers still clutching a corner of Yvette’s gown.

Killian’s frustration dissolved in an instant. He stood frozen, unable to tear his eyes away from the scene.

His daughter, cradled so lovingly… safe, comforted, and cherished.

His throat tightened, an unfamiliar ache settling deep within him.

Yvette glanced up, her gaze locking with his. There was no reproach in her eyes, only understanding—a quiet acceptance that tugged at something buried within him.

With a nod of silent gratitude, he moved forward.

Carefully, he bent and scooped Maisie into his arms, holding her as though she were made of glass. She stirred slightly but didn’t wake, her head resting against his chest as she sighed softly in her sleep.

Yvette rose gracefully and followed him as he carried Maisie down the dimly lit corridor toward her room. His steps were slow, almost reverent, his hold on his daughter protective yet gentle.

When they reached Maisie’s room, Killian lowered her onto the soft mattress with practiced ease. He adjusted the blankets around her, his touch lingering as he gently tucked a stray curl behind her ear.

Quietly, they left the room, closing the door behind them. They walked side by side down the darkened hallway, their footsteps soft against the polished wooden floors.

Killian exhaled slowly, breaking the silence. “How did you get her to calm down?”

Yvette turned toward him, her expression gentle. “I listened to her.”

He frowned, as though the concept were foreign. “Listened?”

“She was upset,” Yvette explained. “I didn’t scold her. I didn’t raise my voice. I let her cry and told her she was safe.”

Killian’s mouth tightened. “She needs more than soft words. Life isn’t kind.”

Yvette’s brow furrowed. “Is that what you believe? That being harsh will make her stronger?”

His voice hardened. “It worked for me.”

She stopped abruptly, forcing him to face her. “Did it?”

His jaw clenched, but he didn’t respond.

Yvette took a calming breath, softening her tone. “I understand that you were raised with strict discipline. You believe it made you who you are—but can’t you see how much it’s hurting her?”

“She needs structure,” Killian insisted, though his voice lacked its usual conviction. “She needs to learn?—”

“She needs you ,” Yvette interrupted, her voice cracking with emotion. “Not a disciplinarian. Not a tyrant barking orders. She needs her father—someone who loves her enough to be patient… to be kind.”

His gaze wavered, and for a moment, she thought she saw a flicker of something vulnerable in his stormy eyes.

“I am doing what I think is best,” he said gruffly, almost defensively.

Yvette stepped closer, her voice soft but resolute. “Being strong doesn’t mean being cold. She’s just a little girl, Killian… she’s not a soldier in your regiment.”

His fists clenched at his sides, but he said nothing, so Yvette continued.

“You’re either blind, or you’re ignoring the fact that you’re hurting her.”

And with that, she stormed down the hallway.

Yvette marched toward her room, her pulse hammering in her chest as the weight of their argument caused a frown to appear on her forehead.

He was impossible.

As soon as she reached her door and grasped the handle, the heavy sound of boots striding toward her filled the corridor.

Before she could react, a strong hand circled her wrist, spinning her around.

“Repeat what you just said,” Killian commanded, his voice low and dangerous.

His stormy blue eyes locked onto hers, sharp with intensity.

Yvette yanked her arm, but his grip didn’t budge.

“I said you’re either blind, or you’re ignoring the fact that you’re hurting your daughter. And it is so unfair, because you know it is wrong.”

“Yvette,” his voice was a warning.

“There are so many things you do that are wrong!” she added and Killian narrowed his eyes, his grip on her arm tightening.

“Do enlighten me.”

“Like how one moment you are distant and heartless, the next… you are gentle and—” she clenched her jaw, “—kind.”

His expression hardened. “Ye think kindness is a flaw?”

“No, but unpredictability is.” Her voice trembled, though whether from anger or something far more treacherous, she couldn’t tell. “Like kissing me like I was your entire world, and then calling the act a mistake.”

Yvette paused, now aware of how close he was.

Killian’s jaw clenched. “Careful, wife .”

“No, you be careful, husband ,” she hissed, stepping closer, her anger outweighing her caution.

“You need to choose. Be cruel or be kind. But stop dragging me, and everyone else, through this storm of yours.”

His nostrils flared as he stared down at her. “Ye think I choose this?” His voice was rough, like gravel. “Ye think it’s easy for me to be near ye—to want ye—and still keep my damn distance?”

Her breath caught, heart pounding. “Then don’t.”

The challenge hung heavily between them, taut and electric. His gaze dropped to her lips, darkening with hunger, and in one swift move, he backed her against her closed door. His hands framed her face, holding her still.

“If ye wanted me to kiss ye, ye could’ve just asked, wife ,” he rasped, his breath hot against her mouth.

A sharp inhale left her lips. Every nerve in her body ignited, her pride warring with an undeniable, reckless need.

“I am not asking,” she whispered defiantly.

The air snapped like a cord pulled too tight.

And finally, Killian crushed his mouth to hers, swallowing her gasp as fire surged through them both.