by Tanya Wilde
But she couldn’t admit any of this to her sister. Holly had been in love with St. Ives mere days ago.
“I believe what your sister is saying, Miss Middleton,” Warton spoke up, his eyes resting on Holly, “is that she wished to marry and took advantage of an available groom.”
Holly’s gaze flew to Willow. “Is that true?”
Willow nodded, relieved that Warton had so easily come to the right conclusion. She gave her sister a sheepish smile. “But please know I never intended on stealing your betrothed before that moment.”
“I suppose that is a comforting thought,” Holly said, her eyes sparkling. Then just as suddenly, her amusement faded. “Has St. Ives spoken to father yet?”
Willow nodded, allowing Holly to tug her to the sofa.
“So, does father mean to lock me away in a tower or perhaps, dare I ask, a dungeon?”
It would be just like her sister to find that thought most intriguing! “I’m afraid not. The duke has requested father’s permission to establish a betrothal agreement for you and his brother, Lord Jonathan Griffin.”
“I must not have heard you correctly, Willow, because it sounded like you said the duke wants me to marry his brother?”
Willow gave her a solemn look.
“I cannot marry your brother-in-law, I do not love him!”
“Regardless of anyone’s feelings, St. Ives has men searching every inch of the city. He suspects, or at least I think he does, that you might return to Derbyshire. He has already dispatched men there, as well.”
“But why? Lord Jonathan is on tour. He even missed the wedding.”
“He is expected back any day now, I’m afraid.”
“Surely Lord Jonathan will not stand for this?”
“I thought so as well, but what if the duke threatened to cut his brother off?”
“He could marry an heiress.”
“It will still require him to marry. So why not marry you and keep his brother happy?”
“Has father agreed to this arrangement?”
“Not as of yet.”
“Well, then, St. Ives must have demanded father agree, and Lord knows father hates to be told what to do.”
“No man does,” Warton muttered from behind them.
Holly let out a small sigh. “Is it not a crime to wed a relation by marriage?” she asked.
“Unfortunately not,” Willow said. It would have made things much easier.
“A pity.”
Willow gave her sister’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “I won’t let it come to that. But it might be best if you put some distance between you and the city.”
A lot of distance.
“The marquis has agreed to escort me to one of his properties in—”
Willow held up her hand, stopping Holly midsentence. “Do not tell me where you are going. I don’t want to take the chance of spilling your whereabouts, however unintentional.” She glanced at Warton, considering him a moment.
He was a man of passionate temper, but a gentleman of honor. They made quite the pair, these two. Almost like pork and apples, an odd combination, but somehow the flavors worked. “What of your servants? Are they aware of your destination?”
“I assure you, madam,” Warton drawled, “my servants do not gossip.”
How utterly male of him to assume that.
“Servants gossip among each other, if nothing else,” Willow pointed out. “And you’ve given yours the night off in the wake of a huge scandal. They may not realize the significance, but others may draw suspicion from that.”
“Point taken,” Warton grumbled.
Willow suppressed a smile. She wondered what could have driven Warton to help Holly. It wasn’t precisely in line with his reputation or character. The man was a well-known grump. By all accounts, the marquis ought to have dragged Holly back to their father and washed his hands of her, not dive straight into the hornet’s nest.
Was there something more to it than simply help? He was difficult to read, but she noticed how he always seemed to keep his eyes on Holly. That, if nothing else, would likely keep her out of trouble.
And Willow trusted Warton.
“We shall be careful to remain undetected,” Holly reassured.
Willow nodded. “Stop only where you are confident no one will recognize you. For the time being, the duke doesn’t suspect you have a protector. That gives you an advantage, Holly, so use it wisely. I will do what I can from here, but we must think of an alternative plan in case I fail to convince the duke to let the matter go.”
“No one will catch us off guard,” Warton griped.
“Thank you.” Willow knew she needed to assure him that they were all grateful for his aiding Holly. “I owe you a great debt for aiding my sister.”
He grunted. “The duke will not get his hands on her.”
Willow turned to her sister, one brow arched. She said with her eyes what she could not speak out loud with Warton within earshot: Now is not the time to fall in love with this man.
Holly shrugged noncommittally and Willow fought the urge to huff out in frustration. She adored her sister, but Holly was too quick to fall head over heels.
“How will you appeal to St. Ives to accept an olive branch?”
“I have no clue, but I shall figure something out. The man is as stubborn as an ox, intent on dictating the lives of others. It shall give me great pleasure to bring him down a notch or two.”
“He has not hurt you?”
Willow heard the fear in Holly’s tone, but she truly didn’t think that her husband was that kind of man. He would’ve shown those colors already if he was. Instead, he’d threatened to deny her pleasure. Intolerable behavior, certainly, but she felt that his “rules” and “boundaries” were the worst of it.
“No, dear, I do not believe he shall. He seeks only to control me, and I daresay, should he discover me gone, it will give him quite the fit! But that’s the most of it.”
“You are so terrible, Willow,” Holly said with a smile. “Best hope he does not realize you are gone.”
“It might do him some good to discover his wife is in possession of a fine backbone.”
“I cannot express enough how sorry I am,” Holly murmured.
“Stop apologizing,” Willow demanded. She glanced at Warton. “I came to see if you were all right, and I am pleased to find you have chanced upon a champion of sorts, however shocking.”
Warton lifted one dark brow.
“Well, it is,” Willow reaffirmed. “If I penned down all of the least likely gentlemen to aid my sister, you would have been on the top of that list.”
“And why is that, Duchess?”
“Oh, you are known to have a brooding temperament and a quick temper. Not to mention you lack the subtle charm that most gentlemen possess.”
“I have charm,” he muttered.
Holly was clearly smothering a smile. “I’m sure Warton regrets the curiosity that led him to stumble upon me,” she teased.
Willow glanced between the two. Warton only grunted in response, but the small pull of his lips told Willow he found their remarks amusing. But the smile her sister sent his way was more than mere gratefulness. Willow knew her sister well, had spent a lifetime learning the small expressions that gave away the beginning of an infatuation. This was one of them.
Willow’s brow puckered. She felt it her sisterly duty to advise against any infatuations for the time being. “Please do not accept another proposal before the dust has settled.”
The slight color of Holly’s cheeks turned molten. “Do not be silly; I have no wish to fall into the same trap again. And I doubt there’s a man in England who would ask for my hand after today,” she muttered in a hushed tone. “In any case, I’m practically betrothed to Lord Jonathan Griffin now, am I not?”
“You are not betrothed yet, and with any luck, you won’t be. Best not to provoke St. Ives further until this matter with his brother is resolved.”
“Do not worry; I sh
all not fall in love on a whim again.”
Willow stifled a snort. She hoped so. But mostly she hoped that if her sister did fall in love again, it would not be with the wrong man this time—and it would be lasting rather than fleeting.
“That is all I ask,” Willow murmured. “In any event, I can see that you are in capable hands. Come, I must be off.”
“So soon?”
Willow gave a reluctant nod in reply. She knew she’d already been absent long enough.
“Take care of my sister,” she told Warton. “The next time we meet, I hope it will be under better circumstances.”
Warton inclined his head.
That he was her sister’s reluctant champion was truly remarkable in itself, Willow thought once again. The Marquis was known for his low tolerance for silly antics, and the Middleton sisters were often synonymous with silly—at least in the past.
“Be well,” Holly murmured.
She planned on being just that. Beyond relieved her sister was safe and happy, Willow could now shift her attention toward her husband.
Anticipation rippled along her spine. She should be furious—and part of her still was—but she was thrilled, as well. She planned on peeling away the layers of the duke until she found the man beneath the mask.
Who would’ve guessed she loved sparing with her testy duke so much?
Chapter 8
A soft noise drew Willow from her slumber. She lifted her lashes slowly. Light blazed through the window. Hadn’t she closed the curtains upon her return? Groaning, she delved deeper into the covers, seeking sleep. But there it was again, a slight rustle that she couldn’t quite pinpoint. With a mental sigh, Willow poked her head from the covers, her eyes searching for the disturbance.
Her gaze moved to the window, which was open, a light breeze pushing at the curtains. That must be it. Willow’s head fell back on the pillows, her lashes resting once more on her cheeks. She could have sworn she’d closed the window last night. She must have been quite exhausted.
“I see you are awake.”
Willow’s eyes shot open.
The low drawl of her husband’s voice snapped her out of her drowsiness and she lurched upright, her eyes locking with the hard crystals of the duke’s.
He stood—too damn handsome for his own good—at the edge of the bed, looming over her. His dark eyes hot and furious.
How long has he been standing there, watching her sleep?
Willow blinked up at him, her hand lifting to pat her mass of tangled bed hair. She always looked a fright in the morning.
He arched a brow.
Someone was in a mood this morning!
“Is something amiss?” Willow murmured, pulling the covers up to her chin. She tried to ignore the thin line of his lips, the hard edge of his jaw.
Had she slept in too late? Had she broken one of his precious rules? Willow almost snorted. She would rise when she was right and ready—which wasn’t at this moment.
She arched a brow right back at him.
He continued to glare at her in silence.
How she wished he was less beautiful. At the very least, it would have made his deplorable disposition easier to ignore. She couldn’t very well ignore his moods if she couldn’t stop staring at his face. And she certainly did not want to stare at his face. She’d rather stare at his lips, truth be told.
So she did.
They were much better to stare at anyway. They did not glare. They were full and tempting. And probably tasted of coffee.
“Do you find something fascinating on my face?”
Willow’s lashes lifted to meet piercing eyes. “Have I broken one of your precious rules while sleeping?”
His eyes narrowed, flicking to the untouched set of papers on her desk. “You would know if you had bothered to read them.”
“I already told you, I’m not much of a reader.”
“Then I shall read them to you,” he ground out.
“I’m not much of a listener, either.”
His shoulders tensed, the veins in his neck were thick and visible. But Willow did not acknowledge his temper and instead, had to bite back a groan at the sight of him all furious. All it did was remind her of last night, of his hands and mouth all over her body, attacking her senses.
Oh dear Lord, was she lusting after her husband?
In her defense, she hadn’t expected their wedding night to be so marvelous. She wanted more of it. Lots more. But at the same time, she could not allow this man to rule her with a set of dictates. Not even for the pleasure that likely came with it.
She was a rule flaunter, after all.
Still, a tinge of fear hovered on the surface of that thought. Fear that she may fail to help her sister. Fear that he would succeed in making her miserable. Fear this war would last for the rest of her life and they’d find no common ground.
She dashed the thought from her mind. Defeat was not something Willow was willing to contemplate. Not ever.
“Not being much of a reader or listener, I suppose you excel at other things—like wandering off on midnight strolls?”
Ah.
Willow swore her chest cracked open, her heart beat so wildly. She rose to a seated position.
“I never took midnight strolling for a skill,” she murmured. Might as well go down in blazing sarcasm.
“Where the hell did you go last night?”
“To bed?”
The edges of his lips tightened. “Do not mock me. Last night after I left, you snuck out to see her.”
Willow squared her shoulders. The way he spat the word had her hackles rising. “This her you refer to—”
“Where is she?” he pressed.
“I cannot possibly know to whom you are referring. The her and the she you mention, it’s rather vague.”
“My betrothed,” he snapped.
“I was not aware a married man could have one of those.”
“You know very well I mean your sister,” he growled.
“And I rightly do not know where you have scared her off to.”
His eyes blazed with righteous indignation. “I did no such thing.”
“Of course you did. Let there be no illusions between us. My sister ran away at the prospect of eating only one slice of toast in the morning.” She ignored his arched brows. “Amongst other things.”
“And these other things, they are all about love and happily ever after, yes?” he mocked.
She shrugged. “We Middletons love our breakfast.”
“And you don’t share your sister’s view? That is why you married me?”
“I’m much more practical when it comes to matters of toast. But less so when it comes to starvation.”
He scoffed. “Those rules are in place to ensure blooming health.”
Blooming health? Who on earth was this man?
“It’s unhealthy to change my diet from hearty breakfast to a meager slice of toast,” Willow countered.
He sighed. A deep heavy exhale of breath. The hardness of his eyes, however, did not soften. “I will not argue the merits of my rules with you. However, it seems to me you are in need of a lesson as you have wittingly put your life in danger by slipping out last night. Do you have any idea how dangerous London is at night?”
In need of a lesson? From the stuffy Duke of St. Ives? Her temper exploded. I think not.
“I was perfectly safe last night and no, dear husband, it’s not I in need of a lesson but you.”
“And what lesson would that be?” he drawled.
“Respecting your wife’s privacy,” she declared. “From henceforth, you shall not set foot in my bedchambers without an invitation!”
Black eyes flashed.
Willow shut her mouth before she could take the words back. In hindsight, that might not have been the wisest declaration since her goal was to become with child. But then, she had no intention of accomplishing her goal on his terms—at least not as they were declared last night—and she refused to settle
for less. Even if it meant putting her plan on hold for the time being.
“And what of your duties toward your husband?”
Willow brushed a wayward strand of hair from her face, suddenly pleased the reckless declaration had flown from her lips.
“What about them?”
A vein ticked in his jaw.
Willow shrugged. “You have made your point clear, as have I. I shall not neglect my duty to produce you an heir but neither shall I endure your huffing and puffing.”
“I do not huff and puff!” Clearly offended, he dragged his hand through his hair.
“Once I have confirmed your seed has not taken root, I shall decide if I wish to endure another night of your . . .” she shot him A Look, “erratic breathing or not.”
His eyes darkened, if that was at all possible. “You did more than endure, dear wife, you cried out in pleasure. And may I remind you, regular intercourse ensures a faster result,” he pointed out. “And I can show you just how much you enjoyed it, again and again.”
Heat pooled in her belly at the reminder. She wasn’t about to let slip just how much last night had rocked her world. Not when he was still thinking to deny her that experience.
“Perhaps, but that was before you awakened me to the pleasures of the flesh and then threatened to deny me, most cruel of you. So if I am not to enjoy the siring of your heir, neither shall you.”
His lips thinned.
Willow almost cracked a grin. She had the devil there. She meant it, too. Either he would change his rule or she would stick to hers. No small part of her hoped for the former.
“Besides, if your seed is as disciplined as you are,” she said with the jut of her chin, “no further intercourse is required.”
His eyes rolled over her in a sensual way, indicating he did not agree. She quickly quelled the sudden well of unbidden desire. Willow would not be intimidated or seduced by him. No matter that his low drawl stirred her senses to arousing life. She would maintain her composure.
“You don’t mean that.”
“I mean every word,” Willow declared.
