Page 35 of To Defy a Highland Duke

For four months, he’d battled the insidious truth. From the instant he’d set eyes upon her last summer, he’d recognized his mate.

Oh, he’d fought wildly against the truth, but much like a drowning man accepted his fate and succumbed to the water, he’d surrendered to the inevitable.

He, Keane Buchannan, Duke of Roxdale, and Marjorie Kennedy belonged together.

Toward that end, he intended to court the mesmerizing Englishwoman. To convince her to become the next Duchess of Roxdale.

Yesterday, he’d thought he didn’t have time for courtship or wooing. Couldn’t accommodate a wife at this juncture in his life. Because, until meeting her, no woman had appealed to such an extent. He couldn’t envision a partner for life until meeting her.

When a man felt the way he did about Marjorie, he made a way. Forged his own path. Overcame any obstacle.

Unless, that was, she didn’t feel the same for him.

He pushed that abysmal thought to the recesses of his mind. It was too soon to concede defeat. Why, when he put his mind to it, he could be quite pleasant, charming even.

The fire that destroyed the Martins’ home and possessions had taught him something. Life and opportunities should be seized and lived to the fullest right now.

Not tomorrow or next year. Or someday. Now.

Keane would be twenty times an idiot not to pursue Marjorie. What he felt for her, well, it wasn’t common. Now he understood the secret looks Graeme Kennedy kept spearing Berget. Even Will Martin’s gaze had frequently traveled to his wife.

He wanted what they had.

That oneness of spirit. The unity of souls.

Marjorie wasn’t immune to him. Her blistering kisses yesterday proved that. But how amendable would she be to his proposition?

Kisses were one thing.

A lifetime commitment was another entirely, particularly when she’d loved another.

Love—if that was what this unholy knotting in his belly and cause of his erratic pulse was—was a gift. A treasure he certainly never expected to receive, but he’d not deny something so precious.

Marjorie could only be an asset in his goal to reform the duchy.

She made him want to be a better person.

For her. For himself. For his people.

They walked in silence until Keane opened the study door. After pushing the panel inward and stepping aside, he gestured for Marjorie to enter before him. “After ye, my lady.”

The merest wisp of a pleased smile tipping her winsome lips, she glided into the chamber, her gaze fixed upon him.

Mayhap she was as captivated by him as he was by her.

He couldn’t prevent the swell of primal pride welling behind his ribs, but he checked his grin. Cockiness wouldn’t endear him to her. He knew that much about the woman he intended to make his wife.

Closing the door with a soft snick, Keane then turned the key in the lock. He didn’t want an overzealous servant or probing guest to interrupt this conversation. After all, a man didn’t declare himself every day. If all went well, Marjorie would agree to a short courtship and a spring wedding.

Mayhap March. He’d always liked March, when the Highlands budded to life again.

A winged ginger eyebrow quirked in amusement as Marjorie looked from the key resting in the lock to his face. “Hmm, this must be serious indeed if you need to lock me in, Your Grace.”

He chuckled and raked a hand through his hair.

Glancing upward, he froze.

Bloody damned hell.