by Tanya Wilde
Willow studied the woman in silence, peering at her from beneath her lashes. Mostly to avoid the scrutiny of St Ives. Years of pampered lifestyle had done nothing to halt the fine lines of the woman’s timeworn skin. Her salt and pepper hair should have afforded her a more seasoned appearance. Instead, her milky, fatigued eyes suggested a more dismal spirit.
“We must dissolve this travesty immediately!” The dowager carried on.
Willow gave her a sharp look. She did not want the dowager to influence the duke’s mind about dissolving their marriage. Holly had mentioned the Dragon Duchess had commandeered the wedding arrangements, hence the name. Would the woman attempt to commandeer the outcome of this marriage, too?
Willow risked a glance at her husband, startled to find those black eyes scrutinizing her, noting every little nuance of her reaction, she was sure.
She held his gaze, refusing to be intimidated. If Willow were to remain his wife, he ought to be aware she did not cower under frosty glares, and refused to be bullied by anyone, even a man as powerful as he.
“The marriage will not be dissolved.” His eyes never left hers. His voice brooked no argument.
Willow was not about to argue.
“Oh! The shame!” The dowager sobbed.
It was enough to provoke a flash of annoyance.
Apparently, the duke thought so too for he sent his mother a look of displeasure to which the duchess sniffed and looked away—silenced.
“Where is your sister?” St. Ives asked, turning his attention back to Willow.
“I’ve no idea,” Willow said, shivering when those black eyes fixed on her. For the first time, she wondered how she was going manage a husband if he proved completely unmanageable. Up until now, she had stood firm in her mind that she could. She already knew he was imperious, but what if he was unbendable?
What if he would not give an inch?
And she needed him to give at least two inches—to gain his trust and to save her sister from the brunt of his anger. Beyond that, it did not quite matter, she supposed. She wanted a child. He required an heir. The math was simple.
“I find that hard to believe,” the duke was saying. “She was present when last I reported the time. So, I imagine, were you.”
“Holly is unaware that I took her place,” Willow admitted. “I was supposed to draft a note for my father to find and leave.”
The duke said nothing, just stared at her.
God help her, her gaze dropped to his lips for the briefest moment before shooting back to his eyes again. A knowing glint flashed in their depths. They were in a battle of wills, she realized. And she had lost this round.
Willow sat up straighter. She could not lose composure again underneath his gaze. Even if it pained her. Which it did. Ramrod stiff had never been her chosen position and at that moment, with the wailing Dragon Duchess on one side and a temperamental husband across from her, Willow wondered whether this would be the premise of their relationship. Her life.
Chaos.
“So instead of penning a note, you married me instead? To save your family from scandal, I presume?”
“Something like that,” Willow murmured.
“On my life, this family is going down in infamy!” The dowager responded with a sulk.
It took an infinite amount of willpower to not roll her eyes. If anyone was going down in infamy, it would be Willow.
“So your sister does not know you took her place and you don’t know where she ran off to,” St. Ives clarified. “Is that correct?”
Willow lifted a haughty chin. “Yes. But even if I did know, I would not tell you.”
“Such loyalty,” he murmured. “One way or another, wife, I will find her.”
Willow inhaled a low, deep breath. Her husband was a striking man. One might easily forget just how bossy he was by staring at the man.
“I am in possession of a name, you know.”
He jerked, the movement subtle, but Willow noticed the slight jolt. “You do know my name, do you not?” she remarked dryly.
A sudden air of stillness surrounded him, and Willow saw the exact moment he concluded that he, in fact, did not.
“You cannot recall my name, can you, Ambrose?” she echoed incredulous. “I am in complete shock.”
“Of course I know your name,” he snapped, and smirked. “Willa.”
“That is a nice name, Willa, but it’s not mine.”
His brows drew together in a fierce scowl, and this time Willow suppressed a smile. If he wished to learn her name, he’d have to ask. Or hope for someone to call her by her name. Because a man like him would never ask.
“Winnifred.”
Unbelievable.
“I’m not acquainted with anyone by that name.”
The dowager moaned. “Oh, how will I ever set foot in society again?”
They both ignored her.
“Wendy.”
“Really, Ambrose, you should stop.”
“It has something to do with a tree,” he muttered.
Honestly.
“It also rhymes with pillow.”
His features contorted into a dark scowl. “Damnation, tell me, then,” he growled.
“Why do you wish to know the whereabouts of my sister?” Willow countered. She suspected she wasn’t going to like the answer. Holly had to be protected at all cost.
“Your sister made a spectacle of me,” St. Ives answered.
“You weren’t jilted,” Willow pointed out.
“Do you imagine just because you stepped in, your sister will be released from the consequences of her actions?”
“Yes?” Willow drew out the word.
“Have you any thought on how it feels to be so publically made a fool?”
Willow’s heart dropped to her stomach. No, she did not. But all the same, beyond her own reasons for marrying the duke, she must protect her sister.
“I took her place, is that not enough?” she implored.
“That won’t absolve her from the consequences, no.”
His dismissive tone sparked her temper. “And what consequences are those?”
He shrugged. “She will marry my brother, Jonathan.”
She jerked forward in her seat. What?
The man had just discovered the deception! How had he already plotted a plan of reckoning?
“And how long did it take for you to decide that?” Willow demanded.
“About as long as my astonishment lasted when I discovered I had been betrayed by my betrothed.”
Willow snapped her brows together. His astonishment, as he called it, had lasted only a blink of an eye. “That seems harsh, does it not? Can we not come to another sort of understanding?”
“It seems perfectly appropriate that she marry my brother as I have wed her sister, do you not agree?”
“An eye for an eye, you mean.”
“If that’s how you wish to see it.”
“Your logic is archaic,” Willow rejoined.
“Maybe,” the duke returned. “But if saving your sister from the consequences of her actions was why you happily took her place, you have grossly underestimated your position.”
“Well,” Willow said with a petulant pout, “I would not go so far as to say happily. But I had thought you would spare my sister your anger. Plus, I am the oldest sister. By rights, I ought to have been married first. And before you attempt to bully me, you should know that I will always protect my sisters. Nothing and no one can force me to do otherwise, including you.”
“Commendable.”
Willow quelled a shiver at the deep timbre of his voice. Lud, she had to be careful. He might be her husband, but in this matter, he was her adversary. “So what happens now?”
“We attend the wedding breakfast.” His eyes turned frosty. “You will sit, smile prettily, and not mention a word of what transpired today. For all intents and purposes, it was you I courted. As far as anyone is concerned, you were always meant to become my wife.”
You were alway
s meant to become my wife.
In another life, with another man, those words would have melted her insides. From him, only coldness settled in her belly.
“As you wish. But why punish my sister? Won’t that raise unnecessary questions?” Willow attempted to call on his logic.
“It’s a matter of principle.”
“You mean pride.”
“Call it what you wish, the outcome remains the same.”
Oh, it will not, Willow vowed. One way or another, she would change his mind. “Perhaps you can tell me why you wanted to marry in haste in the first place?”
“Perhaps you can tell me the whereabouts of your sister,” he countered.
Willow sighed. The man was determined to be difficult. Not that she could blame him; his pride had taken a blow.
“And just so we are clear, wife,” he said with an infuriating amount of authority, “I am not a man swayed by the tears of a woman, if you were thinking of using them on me.”
“No, I suppose you are not,” she said, sparing a glance at her sniffing mother-in-law. No indeed, he was not. The poor woman had swooned and the only emotion it had elicited from her son was annoyance. Credit, it was annoying, but nonetheless.
Willow studied her husband from beneath the rim of her lashes. Somewhere inside him, an honorable man resided, she was certain of it. Even if it was dim hope, she was determined to find and appeal to that man.
Once again, she found her gaze dropping to his lips and then jerked them down to her hands. She had developed an unhealthy obsession with her husband’s mouth. It was that kiss. Merciful heaven, it had overpowered all of her senses.
She wondered if the dowager would swoon again if the duke kissed her now, right here. Or how would they both react if she kissed him? Willow pushed the tempting image from her mind. There was still a wedding breakfast and her family’s questions to get through. Not to mention, saving her sister from the duke’s plot.
Settling deeper into her seat, she shut her eyes, closing the curtain on his penetrating gaze. If he expected her to wilt under his scrutiny, to bow her head and capitulate, to lay down her arms . . .
She would not give an inch if he did not.
Chapter 4
The wedding breakfast of blazing stares. That had been the total sum of Willow’s thoughts at the wretched affair—and it was thankfully over. It had been quite unnerving to behold. She had never seen so many withering glares across one table. A cold, tiring affair, indeed. But then, that wasn’t surprising given this day had not meant to be hers.
Nonetheless, her beloved cousins, Bradford and Quinn, had taken turns sending her new husband dark, threatening looks. Her father, bless his soul, had shot them warning glances. This, Willow suspected, was to insist on keeping the matter civil—the matter no one had spoken a word about.
But it hadn’t ended there. Poppy had peered with narrowed eyes at the Dragon Duchess whenever the dowager sniffed and groused on about dignity and length of wedding dresses. And between her woeful bemoaning, her mother-in-law made sure to cast Willow dirty looks. As if she alone was responsible for all the wrongdoing in the entire world.
Willow, for the most part, only glowered at Poppy, who purposefully goaded her mother-in-law with snappish remarks about said wedding dress.
St. Ives, for his part, had glared at everyone. Or at least Willow thought he had. In his heart. One couldn’t rightly tell by looking at him, mask and all.
It was fortunate, Willow mused, that no guests had been invited to the breakfast. A detail she had learned the duke had insisted upon. The unspoken truce would never have lasted under the pressure of the shrewd eyes of the ton. And even then, there were servants to be concerned with as far as gossip went—ergo, their silent agreement to not mention Holly’s name. And, Willow thought too that perhaps everyone had tacitly agreed to a small period for emotions to cool, whatever good that had done them.
And Willow supposed no one had wished to incur the wrath of St. Ives since he had every right to be furious. It was inevitable, of course. Everyone had waited for him to explode—which to his credit and everyone’s relief, he had not.
While frosty glares had been the main dish of the day, Willow still held hope that not much lasting damage had been done. Holly was tucked away somewhere safe for the moment and, with time, her husband would come to see reason.
God willing.
So with nothing to be done but wait or join in on the glaring contest, Willow’s thoughts had turned to her impending wedding night. And then promptly turned away.
Towards the champagne.
Glass after glass.
Of course, St. Ives’s hawk eyes hadn’t missed this, and his lips pursed tighter with each sip she took. She noted that small sign of displeasure because, like a moth drawn to a flame, her eyes were drawn to those full sultry lips. And every time she looked at them, she took another sip. It apparently mattered little whether she liked him or not; every time those eyes fell on her, they set her blood on fire.
Then, as if being obsessed with his lips wasn’t enough, she found herself wondering if their consummation would be as hard and unyielding as the man, or if there was another side to him, a more sensual side.
Cue more champagne. But no matter how much she sipped and sipped, her thoughts stayed with her. Indeed, they had accompanied her straight through the breakfast and into her new bedchamber—her present whereabouts—feet planted firmly in the center of the room.
She cast an uncertain glance at the bed, then at the door adjoining their chambers. Would her husband expect her to wait in his chamber? Like, say, reclining on his bed? Naked?
Would he be naked?
Willow was no prude. A child had to be produced in some fashion. But the rest, the little intimate details of the deed, well, that remained a mystery.
She started at the sudden creak of the door. Expecting her husband, she whirled.
Poppy slipped into her room, shutting the door after her. “There you are! I have been looking everywhere for you!”
“Poppy!” Willow rushed over to her sister. “What are you still doing here? I thought everyone had left.”
“They did, well, all except for father and Bradford. They are in the study with your husband, so I decided to loiter around and eavesdrop.”
“Of course you did,” Willow murmured, bemused.
“Not to mention one of my sisters ran off on her wedding day, and the other took her place,” Poppy said, and then made a generous motion toward her face. “And, might I add, all without informing me to ready my jaw movements for the big reveal. Are you all right? I didn’t want to leave before speaking with you.”
Willow collapsed on the edge of the bed. “I’m terribly sorry, Poppy.”
“There is no need to apologize, dear. Just tell me what happened. How did all this come about?”
Willow took a deep breath. “When I went to go check on Holly one last time, I found her quite put out, Poppy. She was in a complete state of panic. Not only did she not wish to marry St. Ives, but she said that he’d deceived her horribly.” She paused, glancing at her sister. “I told her to go and I . . .”
“Decided to take her place?” Poppy said, giving her an appraising look.
“Yes.”
“That does not make any sense. Why would you take her place if he is such a beastly man? Father would’ve made sure she’d gotten out of the marriage if that’s what she wanted.”
“Yes, Father would have. But then, what about you? Or me? Or even Holly someday? All our prospects—our family name—would’ve been completely ruined. And jilting a duke at the altar…not even we can skirt convention that much, Poppy.”
Poppy sat down on the bed beside her with a huff. “You’re right, Willow. But to marry him? What about the deceit he pulled on Holly?”
“That he’s truly more of a beast than a knight in shining armor, you mean? Anyone but Holly could see that. Granted, the man is as austere as they come—and something about rules, H
olly said. But I can handle one man. I didn’t promise to obey him, after all.”
Poppy smirked at that. “I suppose Holly would have run off eventually, but at least this way she might still find the love she is so eagerly in search of.”
“Or she’ll stumble into more trouble,” Willow muttered. “Let us hope for the former.”
“Oh, I wager she will have the time of her life,” Poppy said, blue eyes sparkling. “But what about you, Willow? Now that you are married to the man Holly ran away from?”
With a groan, Willow rose and swept to the window. “Honestly? I have a feeling that he might not be as beastly as all that. I know it’s bizarre to say, given how little I know him, but I just have a feeling. At any rate, I won’t be having the time of my life just yet.” Willow turned to her sister. “Is that odd?”
“Everything about this is odd,” Poppy said, falling back against the pillows. “I spoke to Holly, you know. She was as shocked as I by the turn of events.”
“You spoke with her?” Willow said in a hushed voice, glancing at the adjoining door.
Poppy sat back up. “It’s safe to talk. Father’s with the duke, remember?”
“Right, I suppose the contracts must be amended now,” Willow murmured. “As well as the marriage license.”
“At least you are a duchess, which ought to be some comfort.”
“That is beside the point.”
“It is?” Poppy said with a sly wink. “I reckon the perks will keep you happy, if not your husband’s stellar body.”
“Poppy!”
“The man watched you like a hawk at breakfast, you know. I thought he was afraid you might jump up and run, too.”
“I wouldn’t get very far,” Willow muttered, trying hard not to think about any perks involving her husband. In any case, she had the sense St. Ives would physically shackle her to him if it prevented her from leaving. He had said an annulment wasn’t an option. Whether for pride or his reason for a rushed marriage, he wanted to remain married as much as she did.
“You may be right. I cannot imagine a man like that giving up anything of his.”
Anything of his.
Willow knew she wasn’t supposed to feel a thrill at the word “his” but damn if it didn’t rouse the pressure in her blood. It pained her, this sudden attraction to the duke. A day ago, he had been Holly’s betrothed. It seemed laughable to indulge in fancies about him now when just hours ago any thoughts on him had been dismissive.
