At the Duke's Wedding (A romance anthology)

by Caroline Linden

  “Do tell me more,” she said dryly.

  “I’ll tell you what you need to know, which is that another carriage was approaching. I caught just a glimpse of the driver’s face as he slowed down to pass me—mind you, I was facing away from the road, staring off at the lovely countryside—and I noticed he wore a ridiculous purple waistcoat.”

  “Who was it?”

  “I wasn’t sure. The fellow seemed vaguely familiar. And I didn’t think much of it until supper at the Red Lion.”

  “Was he there?”

  “Not only was he there, but I happened to overhear his conversation. Something about a surefire plan for a fortune and catching the next boat to America. I didn’t think anything of it until I realized I’d seen him at the jeweler’s in London and on the road to Dorchester. And then I remembered that I had a ring worth a bloody fortune in my pocket. I put two and together and thought I’d better make sure the ring was safe.”

  “Do you really think this man was following you, intent on stealing the ring and fleeing to America?” Henrietta asked with a gasp.

  “And let’s face it, there aren’t many reasons to venture out to Dorset, other than for the duke’s wedding. Or his wedding ring.”

  “Oh, God! Do you think he stole the ring already? He could be halfway across the Atlantic by now!”

  “No, because I anticipated that he would try to steal it. So I hid it,” Jack said proudly. Henrietta felt a rush of relief. He had the ring. It was safely hidden away. Within hours this whole debacle would be resolved.

  “Where did you hide it?”

  “That’s the thing. I don’t quite remember,” Jack said. He gave her a sheepish version of his famous grin. It did not make her swoon. Not at all.

  “I’m going to close my eyes, take a deep breath, count backward from ten, and ask that question again. I hope to have a better answer. Please, Jack.”

  “I may have had a few, so I’m not sure exactly, but I think I stuck it in a low beam in my room at the inn. The good news is, I don’t think he stole it.”

  “One hopes. One very desperately hopes.”

  Chapter Eleven

  “Marriage is an abhorrent institution that stifles the liberty of man!” Jack cried out. A pub full of drunk blokes cried out in agreement. “Hear! Hear!”

  “Don’t tell the duke I said that,” Jack mumbled. Annie just rolled her eyes. Not that Jack noticed; he’d been looking at her breasts.

  “On the way to the duke’s wedding are ya?” Jack turned and looked at a small man who had taken the seat beside him.

  “What business is it to you?” Jack slurred.

  “The duke’s wedding. Has a ring to it,” the man said flashing a grin that would not sell a single bottle of Smythson’s smelling salts. “Say, I heard a rumor about the ring...”

  The Red Lion Inn

  They arrived at the inn around midday—far later than expected after some wrong turns and some bickering over asking for directions. Their nerves were frayed. This time tomorrow the wedding would be taking place. Jack didn’t even want to think about what would happen if the ring was not here.

  The Red Lion was just as Jack vaguely remembered it. There was a large parlor with tables and chairs, a very well-endowed maid serving mugs of warm ale, and a very short, very rotund, and very bald innkeeper.

  “Welcome back, my Lord!” The innkeeper, who went by the name of Jenkins, greeted him warmly, which gave Jack an uneasy impression that he’d spent far too much money on his last visit, which meant he’d had far too much to drink.

  “My wife and I would like a room,” Jack told him.

  “Your wife?” Jenkins burst into such uproarious laughter his face reddened to a shade akin to a bottle of Bordeaux.

  “Wife?” Henrietta asked as she tilted her head curiously. Jack cringed and stifled the urge to explain that they couldn’t enter a rented bedchamber together otherwise.

  “Were you not here the other night, declaring that marriage was an abhorrent institution that stifled the liberty of free men?”

  Though it was likely true on both counts, Jack said smoothly, “You must have me confused with someone else.”

  “No, I swear it was you!” Jenkins exclaimed. “On the way to the duke’s wedding, you were. It’s coming back to me now. You said that a man’s leg wasn’t the only thing getting shackled.”

  “What ever—?” Henrietta had Questions. Jack had a rising temper.

  What if Henrietta really was his wife? Then this old, pudgy, small-town innkeeper was likely ruining their holy union. Henrietta deserved so much better. She did not deserve to be a part of this scene.

  Neither did Jack. And he did not want to describe his comment on leg shackling to Hen.

  “I insist that you are mistaken,” Jack said forcefully. But damn, he felt ridiculous arguing with a man who was probably only half as tall.

  “Then you lead the whole barroom in singing that old ballad, “I hope I

  Die a Bachelor.” Then, calling out the buxom barmaid, Jenkins called “Remember that Annie?”

  “Aye,” she said. Judging by her expression, she did not remember the incident fondly.

  “My wife and I would like a room. For the hour,” Jack repeated firmly.

  “You and your ‘wife’ would like a room for an hour?” The evil little innkeeper gave another laugh that someone else might have described as jolly, but Jack was not in the mood.

  “Preferably the same room ... that is...”

  Jenkins handed over the keys, smirking all the while.

  “Second door on the left. As I’m sure you’ll recall.”

  In the room

  Jack looked around the small, clean chamber. Dormer windows overlooked the high street. The high-pitched ceiling was supported by lower, exposed beams. The walls were white, the floor an uneven wood paneling. The only furnishings consisted of a bed, an armoire, and a nightstand.

  Look for the ring. But all he saw was the bed. He was far too aware that Henrietta was near, a bundle of nervous energy already looking around the room for the cursed piece of jewelry. Try as he might, he couldn’t regret having misplaced it. For then he wouldn’t have fallen in love with Henrietta.

  Had he—?

  Jack pushed his fingers through his hair.

  Henrietta peered under the bed.

  Jack exhaled and paced. Did he love her?

  She methodically searched the armoire drawers, one by one.

  He certainly needed her.

  Without her help, he would have just admitted the loss and prayed that his grin was enough to earn the forgiveness of the duke, the new duchess, and the dowager duchess. He might have lost his best friend and family over his absentmindedness. Aye, he needed her.

  Yet as Jack watched her contort into an odd position so she might peer into the fireplace and up the chimney, he realized that yes, indeed, he truly loved her and he would not be happy without her as his wife.

  Also, he had said everything Jenkins had accused him of, though he no longer meant a word of it. Not one.

  He loved Henrietta. He wanted to marry Henrietta.

  But there was just something he had to do before he proposed.

  “If I recall correctly...” he mused.

  “What are you doing?”

  Jack stretched and reached up to one of the beams across the ceiling. The man following him had been short, like the innkeeper, so Jack concluded that a high place, like a crevice in the gnarled old wood, was the best spot for the ring.

  He slid his hands along the rough wood. Splinters. Damn.

  Henrietta’s gaze was intent upon him. Don’t cock this up, Jack. Oh, he cared about the duke and his bride and their perfect day and the family heirloom. But he truly cared about Hen’s good opinion of him.

  And then ... oh God ... and then ... his fingers skimmed across something smooth. Something like gold, studded with priceless gemstones. The ring.

  Jack grinned. Oh, did he grin. Because happily ever after was j
ust around the corner.

  With the bauble in his hand, he dropped to one knee before Henrietta.

  He held out the ring for her review.

  “Oh, it’s beautiful,” she sighed, slipping the ring onto her finger and holding it up to admire it in the light.

  “Hen...”

  “You found it, Jack!” She beamed at him. He would have felt like the luckiest man in the world if she weren’t utterly missing the fact that he was trying to propose.

  “Henrietta...”

  “Oh, goodness! I am so relieved!” She kissed him briefly on the lips and started toward the door. Jack remained on one knee while she chattered on, oblivious. “For a moment there, I feared that all was lost, but—”

  “Miss Henrietta Black,” he said firmly.

  “Jack? Whatever are you doing?”

  “I’m trying to propose, Hen.”

  Slowly, she turned. She took a few steps toward him. They clasped hands. All the feelings he wasn’t sure how to convey managed to arrange themselves into words.

  “It’s simple, really. We suit—in spite of our vastly different temperaments—or perhaps because of it. I need you to keep me focused and you need me to help you be a bit more adventurous. But most of all, Hen, I have fallen in love with you. Will you do me the honor of becoming my beloved wife?”

  Chapter Twelve

  Do not lose the ring. Do not ruin the wedding

  —Jack’s drunken thoughts the night he hid the ring.

  Henrietta was, quite simply, speechless. She had never imagined anyone would propose to her, let alone a man like Jack. He was handsome, kind, made her heart wildly skip beats and lud, the way that man kissed a girl!

  But what of Sophronia?

  She relied on Henrietta. And even though she’d given her blessing to indulge with a rogue, she hadn’t said anything about marrying one. And leaving her. Alone. In her old age.

  And they had to get back to the house soon. Dinner would be in a few hours and everyone probably noticed she had gone missing and—

  Actually, they probably hadn’t noticed her absence at all. Henrietta spent most of her life in Sophronia’s apartments, keeping the old lady company and generally keeping out of the way of the duke and his family. No one really paid much attention to her.

  Except that rogue Jack, who had caused her tremendous amounts of trouble. Yet he’d also given her tremendous amounts of pleasure.

  Jack, Lord Willoughby.

  Was proposing. Marriage. To her.

  Any second now, her heart would resume beating and she would remember how to breathe. Then her brain could work and could reply.

  “Yes,” she said breathlessly. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”

  He swept her into his arms, and Henrietta knew this was the right thing to do. Sophronia would understand Henrietta wanting love and a family of her own. Or perhaps they could have a long engagement, or perhaps...

  Later. Henrietta would worry about that later. Right now she was being thoroughly kissed and loved by this rogue. Just a moment after that, her clothes were finding their way to the floor one layer at a time. It wasn’t long before she was once again treated to the glorious sight of Jack in very little clothing.

  And a moment after that Henrietta discovered that, in some things, Jack’s attention span did not waver at all. He kissed her deeply as they lay on the bed and she surrendered to the great pleasure of his hot, bare skin against hers. She threaded her fingers through his hair and held him close, never wanting to let him go. Exquisite moments passed while he lavished attention on her breasts—his strong, warm hands and his hot mouth doing things that had her gasping in pleasure. Jack then explored her belly, the curve of her hips, and the outrageous sensitivity of the soft skin of her inner thighs.

  He glanced up at her. His eyes darkened. Focused. Determined. She sighed.

  And then with his mouth and his hands he did wicked things, such that she’d never imagined. He touched her there, stroking until she was wet and teasing her until she was writhing and quite nearly begging for something she instinctively craved.

  “Wait for me, Hen,” he whispered as lay above her, settling his weight on hers and enveloping her in tremendous warmth. He found her hands, interlacing their fingers together. She held on tight as she felt him at her entrance.

  There was so much she didn’t know. But there was so much more she wanted. And above all she trusted Jack not to hurt her. She just had no idea how much pleasure he’d bring to her...

  “I want you,” she whispered, gazing into his darkened eyes. He claimed her mouth for a kiss as he slowly thrust into her. Her breath caught in her throat at this strange, new, wildly pleasurable sensation of him inside of her. And then he began to move in a steady rhythm that seemed designed to drive her mad with desire. Jack, too. She felt his hands grip hers and she heard him groan in pleasure. She heard him gasp and it only made her want him more. They moved together, a tangle of limbs. She wasn’t sure where she ended and he began. When he drove into her harder, she bucked her hips to meet his because ... because ... he reached down between them and stroked her there. It took but a moment before she cried out in a pleasure she’d never dreamt of. Jack, too, seemed to hit the same dizzying heights, calling her name as he reached his climax. Through it all, he never let her go.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Ring—check. Beautiful and beloved betrothed—check. What could possibly go wrong?

  —Jack’s innermost thoughts on the drive back to Kingstag

  Jack and Henrietta were jolted from their lovely reverie by church bells ringing, indicating the hour had grown late. Quickly and haphazardly they helped each other dress. It became quite plain that while Jack might have a future as a lady’s maid, Henrietta would never be hired as a valet. She could not tie a cravat if her life depended on it. But there was no time to bother. They needed to hurry back to Kingstag.

  “Just an hour? With your wife?” Jenkins called out after them.

  Jack stifled a devilishly long string of curses.

  “We will not be honeymooning at the Red Lion in Dorchester,” he muttered.

  “Honeymoon! Married!” Henrietta was in a bit of a daze. Still, she remembered to check that yes, the ring was snug on her finger. The gorgeous, sparkling diamond-and-sapphire heirloom was impossibly beautiful. The new duchess, Miss Grey, was one lucky woman. Or she would be, once they returned safely to the house with the ring in their possession.

  Hippolyta was brought round and they climbed in and drove off. It wasn’t long before they left the town and were all alone on an open country road.

  “Do you think we’ll make it back in time for supper?” she asked.

  “As long as nothing goes wrong,” Jack replied. “We know the route now.”

  “And we have the ring.” Again, she held out her hand to admire the way it sparkled in the late afternoon sun.

  “The horses have rested,” Jack added. Indeed, the bests were animated and eager to run.

  “And we’re in Hippolyta, the most terrifyingly fast carriage in England,” Henrietta said, with a death grip on the rail and on Jack too for good measure.

  “What could possibly go wrong?” Jack mused, gazing down loving at Hen before guiding the horses through a curve in the road.

  “That!” Henrietta shrieked, and pointed to a carriage stopped ahead.

  “Whoa!” Jack pulled hard on the horses, urging them to slow.

  “Stand and deliver!”

  A man stood in the carriage parked in the center of the road. It would be too dangerous to attempt to drive around him, especially since he brandished two pistols. Henrietta shrieked. Again.

  “You!” Jack seethed, recognizing the man who’d followed him all the way down from London. It was the hideous purple waistcoat that gave him away.

  “The ring, if you please.”

  “No!” Jack shouted. The man aimed his guns at Jack.

  “No!” Henrietta shouted.

  The man trained his pisto
ls on Henrietta. On his betrothed. On the love of his life. Jack felt his heart stop for a moment. What could possibly go wrong? Why did he have to say that? He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think. His heart was lodged in his throat. Now that he’d found Henrietta, he couldn’t lose her.

  “Give him the ring, Hen,” Jack said. Wessex would understand, surely. The magistrate would recover it later. It was just a stupid piece of jewelry. It paled in comparison to his lovely Henrietta.

  “I will do no such thing,” she huffed. The nefarious man tilted his head curiously at the slip of a girl refusing the man with two locked and loaded pistols in hand. “Do you know what we have gone through to get this ring?” she hollered at him. Truly, Sophronia had rubbed off on her.

  “Do you know what I have gone through?” the man cried out.

  “But it belongs to us,” Henrietta said.

  “You probably shouldn’t argue with the man with the pistols,” Jack urged.

  “You probably want to listen to your companion,” the man said. Then he trained his pistols on Jack. Henrietta’s eyes went wide and she gasped.

  “Very well, you can have the ring,” Henrietta said. “Come and get it.”

  Keeping the guns pointed at Jack, the man jumped down from his carriage. He ambled over as if he had all the time in the world.

  “Hold on, Hen,” Jack said under his breath. And then, with a crack of his whip, the horses shot off at a gallop.

  “Come back here!” The man’s shouts were lost in the wind. He didn’t stand a chance. Not when he was on foot and had to rush back to his hired hack and the tired old brood mares pulling it. Hippolyta flew onward.

  “It’s a good thing you did that,” Henrietta said.

  “It was a damned risky thing I did,” Jack said, finally able to breath again. “But I had to get you away from danger.”

  “Just as well. I daresay we wouldn’t have survived if he’d gotten close and discovered that I cannot get the ring off.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  The important thing was that they had the ring. The most important thing was that Henrietta agreed to keep him from disasters like this for the rest of their lives together.