by Tanya Wilde
All was good with the world.
She sat stunned, teacup tightly clasped in her hand, marveling.
All was good with the world.
The only thing that remained was to ask her husband to let go of his disgruntlement, for her, for them, which she was certain he had already done, and the world would be perfect.
Something magical had exploded into her life.
Something much like love.
Maybe Poppy was right.
Maybe there was something different about her, after all.
Chapter 21
Ambrose stared down at Holly Middleton with hard eyes. He was sure his face was expressionless, and he kept his mask in place even though inside he was rock steady. His sister-in-law had caused him quite some trouble, not to mention had almost cost him his entire inheritance. She was also the woman whose actions had given him his wife.
Needless to say, his feelings on Holly Middleton were not as conflicted as before. They were quite simple. He would not lose his wife now that he’d found her. Anything else qualified as insignificance.
And Ambrose was painfully aware that, if he wasn’t careful in the way he handled this devil of a situation with her sister, Willow might leave.
Just thinking about how his wife might react if he wasn’t careful had him fighting the urge to tug at his cravat.
Miss Middleton’s eyes fluttered open.
“Good, you are awake.” He saw her wince. She looked so damn much like her sister, it almost hurt to look at her. He’d throttle an imbecile who dared kidnap Willow. It chafed knowing that at the moment, he was that imbecile.
“You found me; you must be in raptures,” she said, her voice still thick from sleep.
Ambrose recalled that the men had said they’d given her a dose of laudanum after she had attempted to escape them. She had also been hurt in her attempt to escape. He had released his fury upon the men over that. He hadn’t wanted Miss Middleton hurt. He’d merely wanted her present to account for her actions and now he didn’t even want that. He just wanted this matter to be done with. He already felt too much like a bastard.
“Did you truly think I would not? Did you truly believe jilting me would not carry any consequence?” Ambrose could at least make a point about consequences and all that. Perhaps some of it would sink in before he released her in the morning.
She had betrayed him, after all. Though, not before he’d done the same, admittedly, given that he might have allowed her to believe he found her attractive and possessed affection for her—neither of which had been true.
But that was no longer important.
The scene had been set. He’d wake his wife with his lips and every other part of his body. They’d make love. After they’d worked up an appetite, they’d go down for breakfast. At the table, Willow would find a feast spread out. And her sister. At which point he declared all animosity in the past. And apologize for his part in her running off.
It seemed today was a day for all sorts of revelations and self-reflection, including that he’d been an ass first.
And he’d be remiss if he denied that, for a moment, he missed the cold control that had allowed him to feel nothing for the last decade.
“Yes, yes, you are a mighty duke and shall deliver my comeuppance. Spare me the woeful tale of how my betrayal forever broke your heart. You married my sister. That is a far cry from being jilted. In fact, if I am to believe the London Times, you always meant to marry Willow, not me.”
Ambrose clenched his jaw. Christ Almighty, save him from women. Clearly, she did not regret her behavior. In fact, she’d already justified it.
He let out a deep breath. “A necessary tale to spare both our houses the humiliation of your actions.”
“It seems like everything worked out for you, Your Grace, so why must you still do this?”
Ambrose paused. Should he tell her now?
No, he had a plan, one with a sequence of events. Well thought out events. And with some luck, after a night to ponder the consequences of what she’d done, Holly might pause and reflect before her next harebrained adventure.
God willing.
“You embarrassed my family,” Ambrose pointed out. “You gave your word and then you broke it.”
“And what of you?” she challenged. “You hid your true feelings, masked your true intentions. What is that if not breaking one’s word? And now I must be the one punished? You have no right to me, Your Grace. I am not yours.”
Thank God for that.
“You made sure of that, did you not, Miss Middleton? But there are other ways to mete out lessons.”
Like stewing on the idea that she was being held prisoner, awaiting a doomed fate.
Twelve hours wouldn’t make much of a difference in the grand scheme of things. It also gave him time to polish the finer details of his plan. And that was important. Because he needed Willow to understand he had harmonized his view of their marriage, his ways, and his past—that he wanted nothing but her happiness.
“A lesson is one thing, marriage to your brother is lifelong,” she pointed out.
“So that is why you ran away instead of facing the aftermath of your actions, the threat of another looming marriage.”
“I’m curious, what does Lord Jonathan have to say about this plan of yours? What has he done to warrant the same punishment as me?”
“It’s past time he marries,” Ambrose murmured. That wasn’t untrue, he supposed.
“So you will happily doom us both to a life of unhappiness?”
He’d been willing to, hadn’t he? And then his wife had changed everything with her smart mouth, lingering touches, and bright smile. She had cast her own light on him.
In that moment, staring down into his sister-in-law’s face, Ambrose felt truly grateful for the upheaval of his life. He’d been such a bloody ass before.
“You betrayed me,” he said simply.
“Your brother did not.”
Ambrose stopped his lips from curving into a sly smile. For the first time since they met, he admired Holly Middleton’s spunk. She didn’t have as much as her sister, in his opinion, and she also didn’t look as beautiful as his wife did in her ire, but he admired it nonetheless.
“How can you believe what you did was right?” Miss Middleton continued to demand. “That it was acceptable to deceive me and fool me into believing you were something you were clearly not?”
Because I was different then. And desperate.
“We all put our best self forward when making new acquaintances, Miss Middleton,” Ambrose drawled instead.
“That was your best self?”
“I was being charming.”
“Up till the moment you handed me a set of rules to live by. You really ought to have waited until after the wedding.”
“Agreed.”
Though he was glad he hadn’t. He’d never thought he’d be glad that Holly Middleton had abandoned him at the altar, but he was in bloody raptures.
“I am a person, you know,” she snapped. “Not a slave. I do not need my meals assigned to me. Your deception went too far. Your rules go too far.”
Ambrose was tempted to throw his hands up in a rant. His rules were ridiculous, he got the bloody message. Exasperated at everyone’s opinion, he ground out, “The rules are there for a reason.”
“Reasons that apparently do not require any explanation. How is my dear sister faring with those rules?”
“Your sister is . . .” Wonderful. Beautiful. Infuriating. “A challenge,” he muttered.
“Have you ever considered that your rules suppress the very essence of our nature?”
Of course he had. It was one of the reasons he had never pressed Willow to follow them—not truly.
“Because it is not in your nature to follow rules?” he asked.
“It’s not our way to blindly follow,” she corrected. “If I were you, Your Grace, I’d focus on what does lie in our nature rather than on what doesn’t. Your life wo
uld be easier.”
Now his sister-in-law was dispensing marital advice? They’d veered too far off topic. Refocus and wrap things up. He had things to plan. That and this berating was beginning to get deuced uncomfortable.
“Wise advice, but it changes nothing. You will marry Jonathan.”
“Are you in possession of a heart? Do you feel anything resembling emotion, or is this all just a pretense?”
At the present, mostly pretense. Though not the sort she was talking about, he was sure.
“Oh, I feel,” Ambrose declared. “I feel too damn much.” More than she, his wife, or his brother could ever suspect. “And it changes nothing. You will marry my brother within the coming fortnight and become part of the family you so wished to escape from.”
Inside, a smile spread. Outside he remained remarkably poised. Perhaps in his next life he could try his hand at acting.
“I am already part of your family! Is that not enough?”
“My decision has been made.”
It took effort to keep his mask in place, as saying it out loud nearly made him smile. The shock on her face tomorrow morning would be priceless. He bit down on his jaw.
“You tricked me! You used my romantic ideals against me from the beginning! You sought to take advantage of my nature, which ought to be punishment enough.”
It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her to go. To run home or to run to Willow. He nipped the urge in the bud. He had to speak to his wife first.
“It was imperative that I marry posthaste, and you were in desperate need of falling in love,” he found himself admitting. Here and now, he could give Holly Middleton this one honesty.
“Not that desperate.”
He almost chuckled at her waspish tone. “I miscalculated.”
“You thought me too weak to oppose you.”
“Not weak, Miss Middleton, only smart.”
“Where is my sister?” she countered. “I wish to see her.”
“All in good time.”
“Too afraid we will outsmart you once again?”
They likely would if he had any intention of staying this course.
“Precautionary measures.”
“But of course.”
“As you said, Miss Middleton, I should focus on what lies in your nature. You can’t help but stir trouble.”
“Does Willow know you are keeping me against my will?”
“My wife knows what I see fit to tell her.” Christ, he sounded like a jackass. He couldn’t wait until the ruse was up.
He suddenly recalled his men saying that she had to have had help in running away.
“Have you been compromised?” he asked, his sudden concern startling him. It shouldn’t have, however. She was Willow’s family, which made her his family, too.
“You sent three monkeys after me.”
“A simple yes or no would suffice.” His men hadn’t touched her, he knew that much, but he gave her credit for that strategy.
“Yes,” she snapped.
Ambrose did allow his lips to curve into a smile then. “I see your spirit hasn’t been broken by your little adventure. I am, however, disinclined to believe you.”
“Then why did you ask?”
Best not answer that one.
“The men that brought you back told me of your little attempt to escape and that you were thrown from your horse in the effort.”
“I’ve had rotten luck lately.”
“They spoke the truth, then?”
“Yes, though you’ll believe nothing I say in any case.”
“They also told me you were aided by a gentleman.”
“A tale I told in an attempt to foil them.”
No, there had been someone. Her eyes told him so.
“You are a terrible liar, Miss Middleton,” Ambrose drawled. “Your eyes are much too expressive. If there was indeed a man who aided you, I will discover his identity and bring him to task.”
Or, more likely, drag him to the altar to marry her. They were now family, after all. God help him.
“You are under the mistaken impression that every man quakes in his boots at the prospect of defying you.”
“Some men are brave,” he agreed.
“Some men, Your Grace, are more formidable than you give them credit for. And some are far more dangerous than even yourself.”
“A man is only as formidable as the friends that stand at his back, Miss Middleton.”
“And how many people stand at yours, Your Grace?”
“Friends come in all forms, Miss Middleton.” He stood. A menu for breakfast awaited his attention. “If you will excuse me, I have preparations to see to.”
“What of my father? You cannot marry me against my will!”
“Your father has given his permission to the union.” It was a blatant lie, but it served his purpose. Oil to the fire.
“That is a lie! He would never do that!”
Ambrose turned on his heel and stalked from the room. He had said all he had come to say. But mostly he had wanted to see for himself whether resentment coiled in his gut at the sight of her.
It hadn’t.
In fact, he looked forward to dropping the ruse and seeing Willow’s smile when he did.
A grin curved his lips.
WILLOW WAS DAYDREAMING. Again. It had become quite the habit, one she enjoyed rather immensely. And, at the moment, she was daydreaming about how she was planning to seduce her husband, thoroughly, completely, and (this was the most important part) wicked, wicked, wickedly tonight.
There was only one problem.
She lifted her nightgown, holding it up before her for inspection.
It was, in a word, revolting. Utterly unbecoming. Downright repellant. Nothing one would wear to a seduction, especially when said seduction was the prelude to getting one’s husband in a good mood to talk about all the reasons he ought to drop this score he wished to settle with her sister.
She stared at the nightgown. If she wore it, every inch of her flesh would be covered. And it was yellow. Ish. Her nose wrinkled. So, no, she hadn’t planned her nightwear to include marriage or seduction, but this particular travesty was shameful. Shameful, albeit comfortable to sleep in.
Well, she couldn’t wear it.
I could always wait for him naked.
The thought started up all sorts of wicked memories.
Willow shivered.
She flung the garment to the side. She would wait naked. Under the covers. In any case, shyness was no longer an option. Not after she had brazenly kissed him there.
Heavens! She couldn’t think about that and not feel heated.
Perhaps she ought to open a window and allow for some crisp air to breathe into the room and soothe the warmth of her skin.
Ah yes, that did sound lovely.
With that marvelous idea in mind, she quickly did just that, delighted when the soft rays of the moonlight cast the walnut floor in a wildly romantic glow.
Shedding her clothes, Willow settled under the covers to wait.
Chapter 22
Ambrose stared down at his sleeping wife in wondering fascination, tracing the side of her face with a gentle finger. The room was dark with only a few embers still illuminating the bed in a soft glow. He drew in a deep breath, inhaling the scent of her sweetness into his lungs. Her hair fanned over his shoulder where her head rested, soft and silky. She looked so sweet and innocent in her sleep; her beauty tore at his heart.
Ambrose hadn’t expected to find happiness or even a measure of joy in his marriage. And the truth was that he hadn’t tried all that hard. He had been nothing but a beast ever since he set out to find a wife, had thought only of himself and his resentment towards his father.
His wife’s words came to mind. Let it go already . . . Your father meant well in his own way.
His wife was right. Whatever Ambrose’s thoughts might be over the clause, his father’s intentions had come from a place in his heart. A strange place. But a pla
ce in that region, nonetheless.
In a way, Ambrose was much like the late duke, who had also valued structure and order. His heir was his heir. There was no spare for the spare. And yes, Ambrose had gone overboard with his sense of protection after Celia’s death, but he was working on that.
And even after all that, a miracle had still landed on his lap. A miracle within a miracle. A miracle that drew him in and slayed the beast inside him with every look.
That he felt happiness now scared the hell out of him. He was in a constant flustered state.
And the fact that he held her sister prisoner at the moment was deuced foolish. Yes, in a few short hours she’d be free, but he still felt like a royal bastard.
Maybe he should wake his wife and simply tell her now. He stroked his fingers through her silky strands, studying her face. She was sleeping so soundly, he couldn’t bear to wake her.
Only a few more hours.
He pressed a soft kiss to Willow’s temple, his lips lingering against her skin.
She might still be furious with him for not informing her sooner, but Ambrose was confident he could cross that bridge unscathed. After all, in the end, he’d done the right thing. His heart was in the right place. His heart was with her.
Closing his eyes, he savored this moment with her in his arms, and felt himself drifting off to sleep.
The sudden shout of a muffled voice from somewhere in the house snapped him back to alertness. He slowly pulled away from his wife.
Warning flared in his gut—trouble.
He planted a soft kiss on the tip of her nose before leaving the bed.
He barely cleared the chamber before the unmistakable boom of his name vibrated through the halls.
“St. Ives!”
“Get your rotten ass down here or I’ll tear this place apart,” the voice blustered.
“St. Ives!”
Ambrose quickened his steps, mindful that the shouts could wake Willow at any moment. Displeasure, annoyance, and anger consumed him all at once. Who the hell dared to enter his home in such a shockingly improper manner?
