An Invitation to Marriage Read online

  “Was that really necessary,” she grumbled, settling into the seat.

  Warton grunted. He leaned over to close the door, when a pair of pail fingers yanked it open again.

  Poppy’s head poked inside. She arched a brow at the two of them. “Well, this is a sight I never thought I’d see.”

  “Poppy!” Holly exclaimed. Guilt and shame churned in her belly but still she could not conceal the delighted flutter in her heart at the presence of her sister. She had never been so happy to see Poppy in her life. “What are you doing here?”

  “What am I doing here? What are you doing here? Everyone is looking for you, but I wanted to find you before anyone else. What happened? Willow has been whisked away by the duke, and Papa is out of sorts. And not to say anything about the dowager—I heard she fainted right on the sidewalk!”

  Holly blinked.

  Had the Dragon Duchess fainted? Of course she had! It would be just like that woman to pull out every dramatic stop.

  “What else happened?” Holly asked her sister.

  Poppy bit her lip. “I heard the Countess of Rockworth say she overheard Lady Mastley tell Sir James that St. Ives will demand retribution for today’s deception.”

  “But that’s just gossip.”

  “Apparently Lady Mastley claimed to have heard the rumor directly from the source—St. Ives—after he roused his mother back from her faint.”

  Oh, no.

  She’d known the duke would want something but had not thought it’d go quite so far as retribution.

  Already Holly’s imagination ran wild with possibilities and images of being flogged or paraded down the street while everyone snubbed her. She might even be ordered to work as a maid in the duke’s kitchen! Or what if he demanded she be sent away? Perhaps even to a country as far as Russia?

  “Miss Middleton.” Warton’s sharp voice interrupted them.

  When both their heads whipped his way, he raked a hand through his hair and sighed. “Please get inside before we are discovered.”

  “Oh, of course,” Poppy said and jumped into the carriage, shutting the door firmly behind her. “How did the two of you end up together, in any case?”

  “Oh, he followed me,” Holly said, motioning to Warton, who narrowed his eyes at her.

  “After I saw you acting suspiciously.”

  Poppy’s gaze flicked from one to the other. “That explains that but what of Willow? Why did she marry the duke?”

  “That is what I would very much like to ask her. She was supposed to pin a note saying I had run away.”

  “But she took your place, instead.”

  Holly nodded.

  “My question, then,” Poppy murmured, regarding them with avid interest, “is what the two of you are up to?”

  “Who says we are up to anything, Miss Middleton?”

  Poppy arched a brow as if to say, do you really expect me to believe that?

  “I think it best to lie low,” Holly said. “At least until the dust settles. My presence in London will only remind the duke of what transpired here today, and I do not wish to make things worse for Willow.”

  “That does make sense,” Poppy murmured.

  “And the Marquis of Warton has agreed to escort me to one of his cottages in the country.”

  At that, Poppy’s jaw dropped. Her eyes flicked to Warton. “He did?”

  “Do not look so shocked, Miss Middleton. I am a gentleman, after all.”

  “Ah, yes, the famed gentlemanly honor to assist ladies and whatnot.” Then to Holly she whispered, “I do not have to remind you that his,” she motioned to Warton with her head, “actions aren’t born of love?”

  Warton’s gaze sharpened.

  “Poppy!”

  Holly’s face flamed. Of course, she knew that! She had just fancied herself loved by the man she left at the altar, and she wasn’t about to make the same mistake twice.

  “I’m just saying. Do you honestly believe this wise?”

  Warton stiffened, his features clouding as his gaze narrowed at Poppy, who leaned forward, her voice dropping an octave. “You’ve already incurred the wrath of a duke, and running off with another gentleman may only fuel that anger.”

  “The duke will not know because you will not tell him. In fact, you mustn’t tell anyone, except, maybe, Willow. I will send a note to father reassuring him I’m safe and well, visiting a friend.”

  Poppy rearranged her skirts. “If that is what you wish to do, I will not stop you. By this time tomorrow word will have spread throughout the city and beyond. By next week the ‘heathen wedding swap,’ as people have labeled it, will be on the lips of every gossipmonger in England.”

  The heathen wedding swap?

  What a dreadful analogy!

  “I am so sorry, Poppy,” Holly whispered. “This might ruin your chances at a good match.”

  Poppy harrumphed. “The man I marry will not pay attention nor care for such minor things. You, on the other hand, must guard against further damaging your reputation.” Her sister spared Warton a purposeful glance. “Perhaps I should come along to act as your chaperone?”

  Warton shook his head. “It will draw too much attention and unnecessary gossip if two sisters disappear.”

  “Fine,” Poppy muttered. “But at least apprise me of your destination?”

  “It is best if you are not party to all the details,” Warton said, massaging the bridge of his nose. “But if you must send word to your sister, you can arrange a message with my man of affairs. He will know how to get in touch.”

  Poppy nodded. “Right. Thank you.”

  Warton’s jaw tightened but he nodded. “If I were smart, I would hand you both over to your father and wash my hands of this mess.”

  “So why are you helping me?” Holly challenged, her chin raising a notch, even though she held her breath.

  His dark eyes bore into hers, which had an immediate effect, as all the hairs on her arms rose.

  “I have always gotten the sense you do not care much for our family,” Poppy said, interrupting the moment.

  If that had been a moment at all. Holly hoped not. There could be no moments between them. Of any kind.

  Warton raised a black brow. “Well, at least we now know your senses can be on point.” There was a pause, and then his big shoulders shrugged. “At times.”

  “That still doesn’t answer my question,” Holly pressed.

  “When I know the answer to that, Miss Middleton, you will be the first I inform. Rest assured, I will assist you—but only to our agreed-upon destination. Make no mistake. From there you will be on your own.”

  “I ask for nothing more,” Holly said.

  Poppy’s eyes flickered between them, a frown creasing her forehead. “Well, then, since you have everything in hand, I best get back. Will you stay in town for one more night? Willow may want to see you before you leave.”

  “I rather doubt the duke will allow her,” Holly said miserably.

  “Perhaps,” Poppy agreed. “But the duke has never come up against a Middleton before. Our sister might be able to slip out tonight. If not, she will at least pen a letter.”

  Holly turned to Warton, who cursed under his breath. “Very well, you can stay in Josephine’s chamber, but we depart before the break of dawn.”

  “Thank you,” the sisters murmured together.

  “Do not thank me. You are not out of the woods yet.”

  Holly nodded, leaning forward to pull her sister in for a tight hug. “Please tell Willow that I am sorry.”

  Poppy nodded. “Good luck.”

  Warton waited until she slipped from the carriage before wrapping on the roof.

  Holly lowered her gaze and laced her fingers together, not wanting him to witness her inner battle to keep the tears at bay. Emotion clogged her throat. Now that she had spoken with Poppy and the tension of the morning had worn off, all she wanted to do was throw herself onto a bed and cry until there were no more tears left to shed.

&
nbsp; Guilt overwhelmed her. How would she face Willow this evening? What would she say? She ought to have been stronger. Now Willow might be miserable for the rest of her life, all because of Holly’s enthusiasm to find a fairy-tale love.

  “All will be well, Miss Middleton, given enough time.”

  Holly lifted her eyes to find Warton staring at her. She rubbed her arms. Just how long was enough time? A few days? Weeks? Months? Years?

  “I am concerned for my sister. The duke is . . .” Words failed her.

  “St. Ives will come to his senses. And if your sister is anything like you, then I would not lose hope yet.”

  Holly offered him a small smile. Those were the kindest words anyone had ever said to her. “You know, it occurs to me that this is the first time we’ve ever had a civil conversation.”

  “No, Miss Middleton, it’s the first time we’ve ever had a conversation.”

  Holly’s lips stretched into a wide grin. “I do believe you are right.”

  He was also right about Willow. If there were anyone who could outsmart a duke and manage his ridiculous rules, it was her sister. Willow would not have married St. Ives if she hadn’t been confident she could handle him.

  “I am always right.”

  Holly refrained from rolling her eyes at Warton’s male arrogance. She also did not know why she was reacting to him, but she suspected it might be because he was playing the part of the chivalrous knight. Which was not good. Not for her. Because knights that save damsels usually end up kissing them. Which would be another bad thing. Because if Warton ever kissed her, then she might get all sorts of ideas—like how would it feel if he caressed her collarbone with his fingertip? What would it be like if he whispered sweet words into her ear? How would his bare chest feel under the palm of her hand? Or, God forbid—what if he was the one?

  Poppy was right. Traveling with the marquis was not a good idea. But she was going to do it anyway.

  Whether Holly liked it or not, today marked the beginning of a storm rolling her way. And whether she wanted to or not, she must steel herself for the repercussions. But she did know one thing: no matter what the aftermath or how much she feared it, she would never regret not marrying the Duke of St. Ives.

  Chapter 5

  “Miss Middleton.”

  Holly jerked at the sound of her name and glanced up to Warton, who had appeared in the doorway. She was sitting curled up in his parlor, enjoying the warm glow of a fire crackling in the hearth, lost in thought. A sense of awareness stole over her.

  He was leaning with his hip against the threshold, studying her with hooded green eyes. His dark hair, windswept and overlong, reminded her of a barbarian more than a proper lord. Like most gentlemen, he preferred to keep his face cleanly shaved. Unlike for most men, it did nothing to soften his features.

  It was impossible to look away.

  “You are worried about your sister.”

  Oh, Lord, and that voice. Butterflies fluttered up against her spine every time his deep, throaty baritone blended with concern.

  She nodded. “I’m wondering whether Willow will be able to slip away tonight.”

  “I have a coach waiting for her should she succeed.”

  “Thank you.”

  He pushed away from the door. “Why did you not marry St. Ives?” he asked, settling into the empty chair across from her. “You would have been a duchess.”

  But she would not have been loved. Neither would she have loved her husband. For her, that was the most important thing. Unfortunately, it seemed also the most impossible thing.

  “I made a mistake,” she admitted.

  He spread his long legs. “There are worst mistakes than wedding a duke.”

  “Spoken like a true nobleman.”

  “Indeed.” He lifted a brow. “Yesterday I would have claimed there is no motivation good enough to cause one to desert a betrothal agreement.”

  “And today?”

  “Today I am curious.”

  She gave a tired smile. “I believed he loved me. I believed a lot of things.”

  “What changed?”

  “He revealed his true character, and well, I fell out of love with him.”

  His head tipped to the side. “I may not be practiced in all this nonsense of romance but how does one fall in love with a person without any awareness of their true character?”

  When he put it that way . . .

  “With a dramatic sense of flair, my lord, and an impractical amount of foolishness.”

  She thought his lips quirked and tried not to think how dangerously attractive she found Warton. Or how enticing was the scent of soap clinging to his skin. In all of her past dealings with him, she had never taken notice of him in such a way. And considering she had imagined an entire romance that hadn’t existed, this was perilous territory indeed.

  Get hold of yourself, Holly. You just jilted a duke.

  It still stung that Holly had been so impressionable and over-eager to grasp onto the cock- and- bull fiction St. Ives had presented to her.

  “St. Ives must have been desperate for a wife,” Warton said.

  “I never thought to ask.”

  “Considerate of you—or more foolishness. What did St. Ives reveal that caused you to run away?”

  She shrugged. “He handed me a set of rules to be followed once we were married.”

  Something blazed in his eyes. She felt his scrutinizing stare all over her. Gooseflesh fanned out over her skin. And try as she might, she could not break his gaze.

  And Holly did try.

  “What manner of rules?” he asked, leaning forward and resting his arms on his knees.

  “Restricted eating plans, prescribed sleeping hours, and such rot.”

  “That is bloody ridiculous.”

  “Agreed. I stopped reading when I came to the clause that stated breakfast includes one slice of toast.”

  “You enjoy toast?” Amusement colored his eyes.

  “I love toast.”

  “I never imagined St. Ives as a controlling—”

  “Tyrant?”

  “Dictator.”

  “He is certainly that. There was even a mark on wifely duties.”

  “Wifely duties?”

  Her cheeks warmed. “You know . . . marital relations.”

  “I see.” He pressed his lips together to keep from laughing.

  Holly wasn’t certain she saw the humor, but she was not going to express any further remarks on the topic of intimacy—the very dangerous, all much too tempting topic.

  “Of course, women are not above certain rules,” Holly murmured. “I am aware we cannot just do as we please. By all accounts we are at the mercy of our husbands. But a three-page set of rules dictating my life—that is stretching even my limits.”

  Warton whistled. “Three pages, eh?”

  She nodded. “And now Willow must deal with the beast. I still cannot believe she took my place.”

  “I imagine your sister only wished to do what is best for your family.”

  “At least she is a duchess. However much comfort she can draw from that.”

  “And you get a second chance.”

  A second chance.

  “I probably shouldn’t set my sights on a duke again,” she said with a small smile. “I imagine I burned that bridge to the ground.”

  Warton leaned back in his chair, chuckling. “I imagine you did.”

  “Perhaps I shall become a pirate.”

  He raised a brow. “I doubt the life of a pirate is as romantic as the picture in your head, Miss Middleton.”

  He was probably right.

  “I am still in possession of all my teeth,” she agreed. “A life of a famous painter or infamous writer shall suit me better.”

  “Both noble and brazen pursuits, I think.”

  Her gaze slid to the burning embers in the hearth. The thought of having another chance, a do-over, so to speak, held a startling amount of intrigue. What would she wish to do, then, no
w that she would not be the wife of some duke or another lord?

  “May I remark upon something, Miss Middleton?”

  “Of course,” Holly murmured.

  “You are not the same woman you were since your last trip to London. Granted, you are still a small bundle of trouble, but there is something different about you.”

  She lifted her eyes to his.

  Oh, lord. She had been in far too much danger of liking him already, and now he had gone and said that. And there was something different about her, in so far as she had just gone through her first love disappointment.

  But she doubted that was what he meant.

  Did he feel this newfangled awareness between them too? Or was this yet another fancy she had constructed in her mind?

  “I suppose, with time, we all endure a fair degree of reform.”

  ***

  The punch Brahm felt to his gut drew the breath from his lungs. He stared into the shimmery blue eyes of Holly Middleton, aware of every pulse pumping through his veins. She looked so young, so innocent, so entirely intoxicating. There was something about her impish grin and the way it brightened her delicate features. Something had changed about her. She was so unlike the girl always making a spectacle of herself. Something had shifted. Grown.

  He noticed her.

  A bloody disconcerting fact.

  The thought circled his head until his muscles stretched taut beneath his clothing. Even his relaxed posture could not settle the tension gripping him.

  He managed to tear his gaze away from her and glanced broodingly into the fire.

  Brahm had never thought there would come a day when he would aid a woman with any scheme—and certainly not Holly Middleton. His actions today were shockingly out of character for him. He should have handed her over to her guardian, as was his first instinct.

  So why the hell hadn’t he?

  Brahm wasn’t ready to delve into that question yet.

  Furthermore, he was now firmly invested in helping her, for one simple reason—if anyone ever discovered Miss Middleton had been alone with him, in a hidden passage, in his home, in a carriage, there’d be hell to pay. Especially since it wasn’t in the spirit of holy matrimony.