An Invitation to Marriage Read online

  Even from where she spied, Holly observed the poor unsuspecting devil positioned beside the priest glance at his pocket watch with a darkening scowl.

  Oh! The last thing she wanted to do was bear witness to her own folly. Now, because her gaze refused to be drawn away from the impending catastrophe, she would have a first account of the moment her husband-not-to-be grasped he’d been abandoned at the altar.

  In fact, any moment now, realization would strike.

  Her heart in her throat, she spotted Poppy glancing worriedly down the aisle. Her cousin Belle sat beside her husband and brothers, all waiting in anticipation for the bride to make her dazzling entrance.

  Another nightmare!

  It was hard to imagine which was worse: going through with the wedding or not going through with it at all. Either way, it was too late to debate the merits now.

  Holly’s thoughts were interrupted when the church organ struck up the melody of the wedding march. Unable to take the suspense, to watch the mutiny she was responsible for, she shut her eyes. Tight. The whispers would start any moment, the thumping of boots as the duke marched down the aisle in furious pursuit of his runaway bride soon to follow.

  She waited.

  And waited.

  But no running boots signaled a furious duke.

  No whispers of shocked onlookers reached her ears.

  Only the rustling of people rising.

  Holly opened one eye.

  And gaped.

  There, adorned in her wedding dress of soft pink silk, a figure sauntered down the aisle, an elegantly crafted veil of matching color hiding her features.

  Her other eye shot open.

  Several guests were wide-eyed and stared at the bride in shock. Or were they staring at her feet—Holly couldn’t be sure.

  Had she fallen and hit her head?

  But sure enough, even after Holly pinched her arm and bit the inside of her cheek, the figure still moved down the aisle.

  Her gaze flicked to the duke, who stood ramrod straight and indifferent, his eyes only fleetingly sweeping the bride from head to toe, and Poppy…oh, Poppy! Her older sister was frowning, not in suspicion but rather in confusion. She must be wondering what had happened to Willow, Holly thought.

  Willow.

  With a gasp, Holly inspected every small detail of the bride. Could it be? The dress fit adequately enough, but Holly knew Willow was slightly taller than she was.

  Her gaze dropped to the bride’s feet. The gown stopped just above the ankles, displaying a remarkable amount of skin—and shockingly blue slippers.

  Oh, dear Lord!

  They were the same color as the shawl Willow had given her.

  Studying the figure, Holly noted the soft blond hair, just like her sister’s, more strawberry colored than her own. Poppy noticed it about the same time as she did, for Holly noted from the corner of her eye that her sister’s jaw dropped. God bless her, she recovered before anyone could take note. Lucky for them, all eyes were on the bride. Or rather, her ankles.

  Frozen with the knowledge and dread of what Willow was entering, Holly willed her sister to turn and run. This had to be some terrible trick. Why else would Willow take her place after Holly had warned her?

  Fear crept up her spine. She should never have left without her sister.

  The duke waited, entirely unsuspecting, for his bride to reach his side. He stood, proud and unshakable, with nothing but a small stretch of his lips, watching her sister stroll down the aisle.

  For the first time Holly noted the sheer number of guests in attendance. Since she hadn’t been privy to the arrangements, courtesy of the Dragon Duchess, she had not considered the wedding to be such a big event.

  Curses! The entire town would know within the hour that the Duke of St. Ives had married the wrong sister. Served the handsome devil right to be duped, but not at the expense of Willow. If only she had heeded Willow and Poppy’s advice, she would not be peeping—

  “What on God’s green earth are you doing?” A voice boomed from behind her, and Holly whirled, her feet slipping from the footstool.

  Time suspended as she fell to the floor.

  Long, strong arms shot out and caught her by the waist, and Holly was hauled against a broad chest. Her astonished gaze locked with the stark white of a cravat, while the rich scent of sandalwood teased her nostrils.

  Lord, the man smelled good.

  Just as fast, she was set back on her feet, where she found herself gazing up, and up, and up into the surly eyes of an imposing figure.

  Holly stood frozen, held immobile by the thunderous twin icebergs as she heard a hush fall over the church. Even the church organ had missed a dramatic note as the deep male voice reverberated through the thin wall that separated them from the congregation.

  In hindsight, Holly ought to have known her efforts to escape would have the same result as a dog barking at a knot. And if she knew anything about the man who had just caught her, it was that the devil had a wicked sense of humor indeed.

  Chapter 2

  Nine days ago

  Ever since Holly Middleton had been a little girl, she’d dreamt of a grand wedding, the kind of wedding that would be on the lips of the whole of Britain, even the royal house. No detail had been overlooked, from the flowers and the breakfast spread to the style of her wedding cake. The dress, though Holly had yet to decide on a design, would surely be the stuff of envy and copied by all who desired to be fashionable. She had always loved gold, lace trimmings, and purple peonies.

  But that was not what occupied Holly’s thoughts as she strolled through Hyde Park with her sisters in tow. At that precise moment Holly wondered whether this would be the year she found lasting love.

  As a child, she would fall in love every day with someone or something new. She’d even fallen in love with the notion of falling in love. Her mind never lacked imagination, from dreaming of wedding a prince, to a brawny Scotsman, to falling in love with the vicar’s son the next day. Later another notion would inevitably capture her heart—falling in love with a pirate, perhaps. Other times she would fall in love with a lyric or a poem.

  Never had any of those affections lasted.

  But Holly held out hope that one day she would meet a man that would cast such a glorious spell over her senses that no obstacle could snap the tether that bound them. And she would know he was the man she’d been dreaming of her entire life.

  So she decided at a young age that her future groom would be handsome, strong, a bit dangerous and, most importantly, madly in love with her.

  Would he be a prince? Maybe. A pirate? Perhaps not. A detective? Not out of the realm of possibilities. A playwright? Would that not be smashing? A duke? For all one knew!

  Needless to say, theirs would be a courtship of adventure and magic. In her daydreaming, she and her perfect gentleman would meet on a clear midnight to lie beneath the sky and stare up at the stars, sharing their deepest fears and grandest dreams.

  He’d indulge her puffing on a cigar now and then, however improper it was, accepting that she enjoyed the taste. Together they would walk hand in hand through the countryside, making fun of passersby, and every so often they’d take naked dips in the sea. On colder days they’d snuggle up before a fire and read to each other from their favorite books. It would be the perfect courtship and a prelude to the perfect marriage.

  The only thing Holly hadn’t known about her future wedding was the identity of the groom.

  Which was all about to change.

  In the center of Hyde Park.

  Holly spotted him seated upon a giant chestnut horse—a figure to behold even from afar. He was conversing with another gentleman, nodding at something his companion said, when—without warning—he turned his head and their eyes locked.

  The earth shifted beneath her feet.

  By Jupiter!

  The man was tall and wickedly handsome.

  His was the kind of face that made a woman stop dead in her tracks to adm
ire his beauty. Even the way he sat atop his thoroughbred appealed to her inner romantic. Such sturdy thighs would most certainly carry her up a flight of stairs! Though it was impossible to notice much else with his gaze holding her own.

  Then he did something Holly could never have imagined. He turned his thoroughbred in her direction, sent her a bright smile, and tipped his hat in greeting.

  Sweet Mary!

  The daydreaming flared up almost instantly.

  Soft lips kissing.

  Purple peonies.

  Golden silk.

  A magical garden setting.

  She did not think the moment could be more perfect. And then the gentleman urged his horse forward.

  ***

  Two days ago

  In the back of Holly’s mind, she knew the moment felt all wrong. Though wrong did not seem to justify what she felt as she watched the duke gesture to three sheets of paper with his forefinger. He was imparting something to her, something he considered necessary; she could tell because his lips were moving and his eyes unsmiling, but all Holly heard was the dreadful crackle of her charred dreams.

  This was not how it should be.

  What began six days ago as a feeling of disappointment and anger over the Dragon Duchess commandeering her wedding was quickly steamrolling into something else. Call it a grasp of instinct or the sharp blade of self-preservation, but Holly’s innards were suddenly clenching in protest at donning the title Duchess of St. Ives.

  I cannot do this.

  The softly whispered words in the back of her mind taunted her. She was mad—insane. Why else would she agree to marry a man the day after she’d met him? Why else would she agree to be wed in just eight short days after that? Why else would she stand idly by while they disregarded her ideas?

  But the answer was clear. In her ascent into the puffy clouds of love, she would have agreed to fly to the moon on the back of a seagull. She had always been that way. Which made the next moment so much more bitter than sweet.

  The duke handed her the three-page set of—she quickly glanced over the top sheet—rules? At a loss, her bewildered gaze flicked to his, but he remained silent, his hands locked together behind his back, scrutinizing her.

  Not sure how to proceed, she flicked through the sheets, dumbfounded at the content that would dictate their marriage.

  Sweet Mary.

  With one deceptively hopeful word—yes—she had sold herself to a life of slavery? A life dictated by a domineering clod?

  “But this is ridiculous,” she said, her eyes lifting to meet his. “How can you expect me to eat only one slice of toast in the morning? I love toast. I eat at least three slices!”

  He pointed to the line just beneath that preposterous rule.

  “That is only for breakfast. You will have more than enough food to sustain you throughout the day.”

  Holly stared at him without blinking, aghast. Surely he did not mean it? But the vacant look in his dark eyes told her he intended precisely that.

  Her brows knitted together, her eyes flicking between the paper and him.

  “Do you follow the same eating restrictions?”

  He shook his head. “I am a man and not as frail.”

  I beg your pardon?

  “I will have you know I’m as sturdy as any country miss!”

  He dismissed her comment with the wave of his hand. “Nevertheless, the rules are there for a reason.”

  To starve her!

  “What happens if I fail to comply with them?”

  His brows scrunched together. “Why would you?”

  Obviously, the man did not know her at all. But then, they had not even been acquainted for a full fortnight. Would she have agreed to marry a pirate on such short acquaintance? No. Why should a duke be any different?

  “But if I don’t,” she pressed.

  He shrugged. “If you feel you must break your marriage vow to obey me, you will be punished.”

  “You would punish your wife?” Holly could not keep the note of wonder from her voice.

  Honestly, punishment seemed a tad dramatic.

  Children were punished.

  Adults were not.

  Again he shrugged. “A relative term—you will lose some if not all of your perks of being my duchess.”

  Holly stared at St. Ives, who stood undaunted and entirely in earnest, trying to recall the exact quality that had drawn her to him. As she held his gaze now, he was not all that appealing. Of course, the man remained wickedly handsome, and his superior air of elegance was hard to dismiss. But on closer inspection, much closer, Holly noted an emptiness in him that hadn’t been there before, a look that told her he felt no emotion for her or their upcoming nuptials. Which made her wonder, was she just some means to an end?

  “You made me believe you loved me,” Holly said with all the horror she felt at that moment. “You deceived me.”

  The accusation seemed to catch him off guard.

  He blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

  “You said the moment you saw me you knew I was perfect. You said all those things, and like a starved fool I consumed your every word.”

  Surprise entered his gaze, and then his features hardened to granite, the only other emotion Holly had glimpsed since she had said, quite naively, yes. Displeasure darkened his features.

  “Does it matter?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  His teeth clenched before those blank eyes narrowed. They studied her, most likely assessing what to reveal and what to keep hidden.

  Holly felt like a fool.

  “The day we met in Hyde Park I noticed an air of eagerness about you. I’m in urgent want of a wife, and you, for all your faults, were desperate to fall in love. You were the perfect candidate.” He paused. “I never lied to you.”

  His words slammed into her with enough force to rob her of any breath. By Jupiter! In one sentence he had managed to call her perfect by being desperate and eager.

  Horror washed over her.

  “How could you deceive me like this?” she croaked out.

  “At most I charmed you, Miss Middleton. The rest, well—you just conjured the illusion that you wanted.”

  Had she? Was this her fault? Still, she felt the need to ask, “So you do not love me?”

  “Madam, love is for the small-minded. I am a duke. There is no room in my life for such feeble emotions.”

  Holly took a step away from him. How had she missed this? How had she not noticed the arrogant set of his jaw, the steel that was so well masked in his gaze? Her blindness to this man defied explanation.

  It was the eighth day of their acquaintance. It was also the day Holly Middleton fell hopelessly out of love with the Duke of St. Ives.

  Chapter 3

  Present day

  Brahm Tremont, the sixth Marquis of Warton, watched as a slight figure darted out of the vestry with an unmistakable sense of urgency. Tilting his head, he found her actions curious: plastering her back against the wall, glancing wildly around, dashing to the nearest door, discovering it locked, plastering her back against the wall again. All this while clad in nothing but a chemise, her face partially concealed by a pretty piece of cloth.

  Nevertheless, he recognized her instantly.

  Holly Middleton.

  The bride.

  The chit had managed to snatch a duke. It was quite the advancement from being a silly girl to attracting the attention of the most sought-after bachelor in England. Indeed, Brahm recalled only too well a time when she had chased after him in a ballroom, shouting his name for all of Christendom to hear. Thankfully, her attention had been an attempt to distract him from his sister’s mad scheming. But in what must have been the most paralyzing moment of his life, he’d believed Holly Middleton was on the hunt for a husband and had set her cap at him.

  Now he was ready to wish Miss Middleton and St. Ives all the luck in their marriage, except he couldn’t understand why Miss Middleton was creeping down the hallway of the ch
urch.

  He glanced at his pocket watch.

  The wedding should be starting right about now. All the other guests were seated, but Brahm was late. Of course, he had intentionally arrived tardy because he loathed weddings, which was why he had taken his time smoking his cheroot outside and delaying the inevitable. No need to suffer through the eye batting and coy smiles of every unattached lady in his vicinity more than he had to.

  His shoulders flexed to uncoil the tension gripping him there. If there had been any way to dispense with attending the wedding entirely, Brahm would have. He claimed no friendship with St. Ives or the bride. Unfortunately, his sister did, and that was all the connection needed.

  Trouble always lingered in a woman’s wake, as was again evident in the mysterious actions of Miss Middleton, who still stood plastered against the wall. Then she disappeared.

  Into thin air.

  Just . . . poof.

  Brahm blinked. Surely she had not just become invisible? But there was no sign of a door. One moment she had been pressed up against the wall, and the next . . . He wondered if perhaps there had been something other than tobacco mixed within his cheroot. Had he just imagined Holly Middleton running around half naked?

  Before he could determine his sanity, another movement caught his eye. This time it was a woman clad in a wedding dress.

  Brahm shook his head.

  Surely that wasn’t Holly Middleton? He couldn’t tell, not through the veil. But her skirt was too short, revealing a generous amount of skin, more so with each step. He watched as she paused and inhaled a deep breath, smoothing out any wrinkles in her gown with her palms.

  Brahm scowled in her direction.

  Something very Middleton-esque was going on here.

  Could that trio never behave?

  He waited for this Middleton to move away from him before he set out to the space where he witnessed Holly Middleton disappear. He halted at the same spot, more or less, and pressed his back against the wall, just as she had. Seconds later the wall gave way to a hidden passage.

  One corner of his mouth quirked up.

  He hadn’t imagined things after all. Which begged the question, just how had the little conniving creature known this secret panel existed?