Page 49 of How to Win a Duke’s Heart

Evan gazed into his wife’s teary eyes, full of gratitude and joy, and his heart swelled with such love, his ribs ached. This petite firebrand with streaks of fire and sun in her hair, who was frequently in a tangle of some sort and often went against Society’s expectations and strictures, had wiggled her way into his heart.

By God, he was fiercely glad for it. Ferociously thankful that circumstances had brought her into his life and made her his wife. No other woman challenged him to be a better person, forced him to examine himself, caused him to realize what was truly important in the scheme of life like Sophronie, his darling unconventional duchess, had done.

Yes, they’d grated on each other. Rubbed one another raw at times.

Regardless, that sparking of flint against steel had ignited a passion and love of profound strength and endurance. Nothing he’d ever before experienced with another woman or could ever experience in the future could compare.

Sophronie was splendidly unique, gloriously exceptional, and in every way made him a better person. Evan didn’t care that she was an American, or that she wasn’t an aristocrat, or that she said or did things le beau monde took exception to.

She made him complete.

They fit together—even if her hurt, sorrow, and sense of betrayal didn’t allow her to see that yet. Evan must persist until he broke through her self-erected barriers, and she was able to, at last, recognize the truth.

They were always meant to be together. It was their destiny.

By divine providence and grace, he’d been gifted this marvelous woman as his wife. Only a simple-minded, selfish imbecile would reject such an unexpected and treasured blessing.

Sophronie believed the only reason he refused to grant her an annulment was because he was obstinate and wanted to gain control of her half of the fortune.

In point of fact, he didn’t want to face a future without her. Convincing her of that would take some doing, but he was a patient man. Still, she needed to remain in residence for him to persuade her how much she’d come to mean to him.

“We’ll see ye in the house, Evan,” his mother called, pulling her fur-lined mantle closer about her shoulders. “Dinna be late for luncheon. We have guests coming and a special birthday to celebrate.”

“We willna be overly long, Mother.”

Amid smiles, teasing, and a few speculative glances, his female relatives departed the barn. The stable hands went about their chores, leaving Evan and Sophronie alone.

“She’s a bonnie lass.” Evan ran his hand down the mare’s withers. “How old is she?”

“She’s eight.” Pride shone in Sophronie’s eyes as she stroked the horse. “I halter trained and broke her myself, though it didn’t take much doing. She was born at Woodmead Hill and had seen so many other horses being ridden, she took to it as naturally as a duck to water.”

Evan smoothed a strand of fly-away hair over her delicate ear. “Sophronie, I vow ye are the most extraordinary woman I’ve ever met.”

A smile blossomed across her radiant face, and his heart sang. Her happiness made him content, and her sorrow grieved his spirit.

A barn cat exited one of the stalls and jumped up on a bale of hay. She sat upon her haunches and proceeded to groom her mottled gray fur. Outside, rooks called to one another, their raucous caws strident in the morning’s foggy calm.

It was a gloomy day by anyone’s standards, yet never had Evan felt as optimistic and light-hearted as he did at this moment.

“Would ye like to go for a ride?”

“Oh, yes, and I’m sure Cinnamon would too after her ocean voyage.” Something akin to affection made her azure eyes even brighter. “Just give me a few minutes to change into a riding habit.”

No, she couldn’t leave. This harmony between them was too precious. Something had changed. Evan felt it in his spirit.

“Canna ye ride her astride in what ye have on?” He flicked her cloak, profoundly reluctant to let her go with this fragile new intimacy sparking between them.

“I can.” Sophronie pressed a kiss to Cinnamon’s neck. She kept her gaze averted, her profile to him. “But I thought you preferred that I behave with more decorum fitting a woman of my new station.”

A Highlander’s boot to Evan’s breastbone would’ve hurt less than those words.

That she would try to change to become what she thought were his perceptions of a lady exhilarated him and simultaneously cleaved his soul in two. Sophronie was wrong. He didn’t want to change a damn thing about her. She was perfection just as she was, and he’d been a blind fool not to have seen it before.

“I don’t want my actions to bring censure on the duchy.” She closed her eyes and pressed her cheek against Cinnamon’s neck, as if she couldn’t bear to see Evan’s censure and disapproval.

Evan cursed inwardly.

God rot him for all of the times he’d insinuated she was gauche and unladylike. Though unintentional, he’d made her feel inferior as if she was wanting and deficient because she wasn’t afraid to forge her own path. Her independence and intrepidness were qualities he’d come to admire most in her.