Our gazes held a moment too long. I could get lost in those dark, mocking blue eyes. He angled his face and leaned in close, as if for a kiss. My mouth went dry. I was tempted to tilt my head and lean into him, even knowing what folly that was. Any flirtation now could cost me my castle. I kept my eyes wide open and defiant.
He ignored my mouth and pulled a twig from my hair. The almost-kiss was intentional, I was sure of it.
"One." He held a fragrant piece up for me to see. "Another here." He leaned in closer. I felt the heat of his breath all the way down my spine. "One more there." He took my chin in his hand.
My heart hammered.
He turned my head, angling his mouth toward mine. "Last one."
My heart hammered so loudly that I was afraid he could hear it. His touch was gentle as he pulled the last bit of brush from my hair and tossed it away, dropping my chin. I felt the loss of heat from his touch and more than a twinge of disappointment as he took a gentlemanly step back.
He pulled the last of the bushes aside and looked around to make sure we weren't seen. "After you." He stood back to let me pass.
The castle was just up ahead, a short walk up yet another path. I realized he'd played me for a fool. We were immediately spotted by the hired help preparing for the rehearsal. I didn't like to think what it looked like we'd been up to as we emerged, disheveled, from the hedge. Or what kind of reports would make it back to Manly, who was old-fashioned, to say the least.
I frowned at my escort, feeling a less pleasant kind of heat rising at him, and raised an eyebrow. "I thought the coast was clear."
His smirk was back. "It's just the help."
I frowned deeply enough that he couldn't miss my displeasure. "Thank you for your help," I said tightly. "I can find my way back from here." I didn't trust myself to be near him.
Unfortunately, as I made my dramatic turn, I didn't see the ditch between the path and me. I stepped down hard, twisting my ankle as my heel dug into the mud of the ditch. I slipped.
His reactions were quick. He caught me by the arm before my knee plowed into the ground. He wasn't quite fast enough, though. I somehow twisted my ankle in the process. The heel of my beautiful left shoe snapped off.
His fingers dug into my arm, holding on tightly. Our eyes met. Our faces were inches apart. Too close. Too intimate. Too tempting.
"Are you all right?" His expression was almost mocking, but there was concern there. Whether for me or himself remained to be seen.
I winced and waved him away. He released me.
"I'm fine." I gingerly put a bit of my weight on my ankle and tested it out. "I just turned my ankle. Nothing major. I'll be okay."
He knelt and pulled the heel of my shoe from the mud, taking in my bare ankle and running his warm hand gently, but confidently, over it in a carelessly sensual way. Shivers ran up my spine. My pulse was not my own. Nor my thoughts. There was a moment, an instant, when I imagined his hand traveling all the way up my leg…
"No swelling." He glanced up at me. "Seems you're right—just a minor turn of the ankle."
"Thank you, doc," I said, mentally measuring the distance between the castle and me. Walking there on a broken shoe wasn't going to be fun. Or fast.
Before I could protest, he swept me into his arms and carried me up the path and past the curious staff. I could have protested or fought him, but that would have only caused a scene and made things worse. Instead, I wrapped my arms around his neck, trying to balance my weight and make it easier for him. Not that he seemed to need any help. I wasn't a big woman, but he carried me as easily as if he was bringing in the mail.
He took me to a side entrance of the castle. "The bedrooms are right up those steps. Hardly anyone uses this entrance. You should be fine. If you're careful, none of the guests will see you." He set me down on the steps in front of the door and handed me the muddy heel of my shoe.
I glared at him, wondering how he knew so much about the maze and castle, and irrationally blaming him for my new predicament. But even my anger didn't make him less handsome, damn him.
"I warned you there were rogues roaming the grounds." He was enjoying this. "A bride-to-be shouldn't be avoiding her groom the night before the wedding."
My eyes went wide. Damn him again. He knew who I was all along.
Amazingly, the side door was unlocked. He pushed it open for me. I huffed in. But do you know how hard it is to slam a heavy, ancient castle door in someone's face?
He walked away laughing while I was still struggling to close it.
Chapter 2
My mother insisted on bringing her own hair and makeup artists from Seattle to make sure I looked my best. This wedding was her crowning glory, not mine, even though, when the dust settled, I was going to be the one wearing the duchess' tiara. Julie and Faye were waiting for me when I slid into my room, disheveled and in no mood to explain. Neither of them commented on my appearance or my broken shoe with more than a quick, shared smile. Neither of them would rat me out to my mother.
Seeing them, and the gorgeous dress hanging over the wardrobe, ready for me to change into, I took a deep breath and reached for my sense of humor. Some of my irritation at the stranger melted away. Julie and Faye had seen me through a great many of my scrapes. Their presence was comforting, like a chocolate chip cookie on a rainy day. I held up my broken shoe and grinned. "I don't suppose any of you have any Shoe Goo on you?"
"Another wardrobe tragedy?" Julie raised an eyebrow.
"You're surprised?" I asked.
She laughed and relieved me of my wounded shoe heel. Holding the dirty thing gingerly between two fingers, she deposited it on the en suite bathroom counter.
"I knew we should have brought a wardrobe person with us," Faye said as Julie returned to the bedroom.
"Don't worry. Wardrobe and a team of seamstresses will be on hand tomorrow to stitch me into my wedding dress." I felt lighter by the moment. I hadn't gotten the stranger's name, but I could hardly wait for him to see me on Manly's arm in that plunging neckline dress. Who'd be triumphant then?
"No cobbler?" Julie said.
I laughed.
Faye took my elbow and guided me to a seat in front of the antique vanity where a variety of curling irons, brushes, and styling products waited for me.
I raised an eyebrow. "I thought this was just a touch-up."
Faye laughed. "It is, Bliss. For you."
Faye and Julie never failed to cheer me up. They'd been with Mom since I'd been an errant teen.
Julie readied her makeup palette while Faye began working on my hair. "Sultry or virginal bride-to-be tonight?" She wiped my face clean and slathered me with radiance cream.
"What did Mom instruct you?" I asked.
Her silence spoke for her.
"Sultry. Hot," I said, knowing Mom wanted the opposite. "Let's call a spade a spade. Why disappoint the gossips?"
Julie shook her head and hid her expression from me. I liked to imagine that she was amused.
They worked quickly. My tardiness had put them on a tight deadline. I made a note to make it up to them with a big, fat bonus after I was duchess.
Within twenty minutes, they were helping me slip into my dress. I stood in front of a nineteenth-century mirror, studying myself. The dress was expensive, elegant, and sensually hugged the contours of my body, while the neckline plunged nearly to my navel. If I was going to be labeled a title grabber, I may as well look like one. At least I looked like a classy one. Julie was zipping me up when the door to my room flew open and Mom came in, a tempest brewing in her eyes.
"Mom! Here for a touch-up too?" I couldn't help goading her, a fatal flaw of mine. In my teen years, the tendency had gotten me grounded and punished more times than I could count. Now that I was an adult, she only had marginally less influence over me.
She looked immaculate and beautiful, younger than her years. Of course, she'd had help. The best and most expensive anti-aging creams. The best clothes. A nip and tuck here and th
ere over the years. But Mom only used the top plastic surgeons and was careful never to go too far. She didn't want or try to look twenty-five. She was content to shave a decade off and to be a beautiful mature woman with lips and a face that actually moved.
"You were seen looking disheveled as you came out of the garden with a young man." She sat down on the ornate four-poster bed, every movement and glance at me an accusation. Everything in the room was ornate and oversized. She looked small and almost delicate perched on the bed.
I wasn't fooled. Power emanated from her. Mom was a python poised to strike. She'd eat her young alive if I wasn't so important to her.
That was fast, I thought, impressed despite myself. My mother had more eyes in the back of her head, and more spies, than any person I'd ever known.
"I didn't know you were such a prude," I said, turning to study my side view at the same time I turned the knife in her. "Have we dropped into the Victorian era? Is my reputation suddenly sullied beyond repair?" I put my fingers to my lips. "Will I have to marry the poor, hapless guy? Manly will be so disappointed."
"You're always so dramatic, Bliss." Mom's voice was devoid of amusement. "And I wish you'd stop calling the duke Manly. You sound like one of his old cronies, not his future wife." Her gaze bored into me, demanding an explanation for the hot guy in the bushes.
I sighed as heavily as the dress would let me. She hated my heavy sighs, equating them with rebellion. She wasn't far off.
"Come on, Mom. How dumb do you think I am? Yes, I came out of the gardens with a man. Lucky he found me, too. I was exploring and got lost in the maze. I'd still be there if he hadn't come along and rescued me. By the time he found me, I was already running late." I pointed across the room to my broken shoe. "I ruined a perfectly good pair of shoes in the process. If he hadn't carried me the last distance to the castle, I'd have stood the duke up. We don't want that."
Her face remained placid, but her eyes were full of distrust. "Does this young man have a name?"
"Unless his parents were completely useless, I'm sure he does. He didn't give it to me, though." It would have been delicious to have more information than she did. Unfortunately, that wasn't the case.
Her smile was slow and deliberate. She believed me. And I wasn't even lying. She knew something. She knew who he was. I tried not to let my irritation show. What did his name matter to me? He was staying at the castle. I'd find out soon enough. But why dance too near that flame?
I held my arms out and did a slow spin. "What do you think, Mom? Will the duke be pleased?"
"The duke is an old lecher. You might just give him a heart attack." Her voice softened and turned playful.
I smiled at my mother, catching a glimpse of the girl she must have been. "That might be the nicest thing you've said to me in years." Impulsively, I went to the bed and gave her a hug.
To my surprise, she hugged me back. "We're both getting what we want. I know this isn't the easiest thing for you, Bliss, believe me. I won't forget it. My first husband was twenty-five years older than me." She shuddered at the memory. "But he gave me my start. I've always been grateful for that and all he taught me." She paused. "I've asked a lot of you over the years. Maybe I've always expected too much."
She actually blinked back a tear and pulled me tight against her, suddenly a ferocious, protective mama bear. "Learn what you can, Bliss. This marriage will be brief. I promise you."
The rehearsal was short and private, just the immediate bridal party and the minister. Long enough to get through the essentials before my parents began throwing more than verbal grenades at each other. The usual family fun.
When it was over, I took Manly's arm and let him escort me to the anteroom to the dining room, where before-dinner cocktails were being served. He stood tall, as tall as his aged body would let him. He looked surprisingly youthful tonight. Maybe it was the twinkle in his eyes or his upbeat spirits. He was enjoying himself immensely, that was clear. His sense of devilment and fun gave him sparkle and irresistible verve. He wasn't the dashing groom I'd imagined and dreamed of by any measure. But he was kind and long past his philandering days.
There was something to be said for high fidelity in a man. And if he was a man who was marrying me for my money, like so many of the douches I'd been with, at least he was honest about it and willing to give something valuable to me in return. Walking down the long corridor toward the festivities on his arm, I felt more like a concerned great-granddaughter than his future wife. I had affection, but no passion for him. But so be it.
My heart beat wildly as we neared the anteroom. Him, the nameless man, my nemesis and a face I couldn't get out of my mind. Would he be at dinner? Every guest in the castle for the night had been invited. What kind of host would exclude anyone?
Ahead of us, my young bridesmaids laughed and ran down the hall, playing tag and dancing and skipping as young girls will. I envied their freedom and sense of fun, wishing them the love of their lives when they grew up. No bride in the modern day should have to have what amounted to an arranged marriage, but here I was. Were bridal wishes a thing? They should be. I needed one badly.
I tightened the grip on my hand that was tucked into Manly's arm. He sensed my anxiety and patted my hand reassuringly as we entered the anteroom. "Ready to face the lions, my dear?"
Thankfully, he'd misread the source of my nerves. I kissed his cheek. "With you to protect me? I have nothing to worry about. Lead on." Playing to his male pride and vanity was the only kind of flirting I could really manage with him.
"There's nothing to be afraid of," Manly said. "Titles are just titles, really. They're just people."
I wasn't shy. I wasn't afraid of people, not even people with titles. My mother was a powerful woman. Through her, I'd met all kinds of powerful and famous people—politicians, billionaires, actors, scientists, entrepreneurs, playwrights, musicians. Fame and power didn't frighten me, not like an unexpected physical attraction to another man on the eve of my wedding.
I took a deep breath and scanned the room before me. My parents and Manly's good friends, the Duke of Axton and the Duke of Hardison—Axe and Hardly, as Manly called them—were just behind us. The girls ran ahead into the room and were eyeing the appetizers being passed around by the staff. People, all kinds of people, but no tall man with a dark head. No sardonic laugh or dangerous, twinkling blue eyes. He wasn't here.
I relaxed, at least a little. No one was late to cocktails and dinner in Manly's castle, not without repercussions. No one in his right mind would miss Manly's grand entrance. Whoever he was, he'd decided to avoid drinks and dinner, and that was fine with me. No chance of Manly reading any involuntary lust in my eyes this way.
Almost immediately, we were swept up in a whirlwind of introductions and polite small talk. Manly's charm was evident as we made the rounds. He was a wit, for sure. He had a dry, devilish sense of humor and an encyclopedic knowledge and vocabulary. I soon found myself laughing and enjoying myself as he showed me off. Something of the young man he must have been showed through and lightened my spirits. He was so obviously enamored with me and pleased with himself for catching a sweet young thing. I was his. His. At his advanced age, Manly still had power with beautiful women, or so he liked to believe. It was hard not to be charmed by his peacocking. Hard not to find his possessive pride in me adorable and sweet.
I was still on edge. I needed a drink. I called the headwaiter over with a crook of my finger and whispered to him, "We're ready now. Bring out the special cocktails."
Manly loved scotch. It was his favorite liquor. As a special birthday surprise, I'd had a cocktail invented for him using a reserve of hundred-year-old scotch Mom had gotten her hands on. I called it the Perfect Hundred. In reality, it was a Rusty Nail made with hundred-year-old scotch. I hadn't wanted anything to ruin the flavor of such valuable liquor. The Rusty Nail was perfect, basically scotch in scotch, since Drambuie was nothing more than a liqueur made from scotch.
Tomorrow there wou
ld be a new wedding cocktail—the Blissful Duke. As I waited for Manly's surprise, I watched the entrance for him from the corner of my eye. Moments later, the waiters arrived with trays brimming with Perfect Hundreds. I broke away from Manly and picked up a crystal bell on a sideboard. I rang it, trying to get everyone's attention. The room quieted.
"Ladies and gentlemen, this isn't traditional at a rehearsal dinner. This dinner is my handsome groom's show, after all. But, as you all know, tomorrow is my Manly's one hundredth birthday. That's a milestone that really should be celebrated in style. I'm afraid it will be a tiny bit overshadowed by our wedding." I took Manly's arm again and smiled into his eyes. "So, my darling Manly, I give you this drink—the Perfect Hundred. Made with scotch that was distilled the year you were born. With love, Manly, to you, a perfect hundred!" I raised my glass to him.
The gathering echoed my toast: "To Manly."
As I brought the glass to my lips, a movement out of the corner of my eye caught my attention. I turned toward it. My heart stopped. He lounged in the doorway, a Perfect Hundred in his hand. Our eyes met. His mouth curled into a mocking smile. He shook his head ever so slightly, seeing right through my loving fiancée act. Still holding my gaze, he lifted his glass to me.
Murmurs and disapproving looks swept through the room at his arrival. Whispers that spoke of scandal.
"What's he doing here?" the countess standing next to me said.
I continued to stare at him, mesmerized.
"I suppose he had to be invited," the woman next to the countess said.
"Invited, yes. But to show up after what he did," the countess said. "Unforgivable. Uncouth. Classless."
I felt the shudder in the countess' voice.
All around me, people were toasting Manly, mercifully distracting him. He didn't notice the newcomer or the way I had to pry my eyes away from him. I was afraid the electricity between us would arc across the room. I tossed back my drink, willing it to act quickly, before the Perfect Hundred became the Perfect Stumble.
Duked: Duke One, Duke Society Series Page 2
