by Tanya Wilde
To force this marriage was the quickest way to make his wife loathe him. And it suddenly became important that his wife not loathe him.
“The men I had searching for her found her.”
“And now you don’t know what to do?” Jonathan guessed.
Ambrose glanced to the ceiling. “I know exactly what to do.”
“A role of an eye. Have the heavens fallen? Or has your wife already rubbed off on you?”
“She is my wife; there was bound to be some rubbing.”
Jonathan’s eyes flew wide. “More humor? It cannot be!”
“I’m not a complete bore.”
“You were.” Jonathan continued before Ambrose could object. “But that is not my point. My point is that you do care for your wife. Maybe even love her. I can see it, old chap. So consider adhering to my warning and abandon those rules of yours.”
Love?
Ambrose cared for Willow a great deal. But love?
“I can see you are bowled over by the revelation.”
“Sod off.”
Jonathan held up hands in surrender. “Only if you promise not to do anything remarkably foolish to scare off your lovely wife,” he cracked a grin, “at least not without me to bear witness.”
Ambrose had always admired his brother’s carefree, passionate nature, but at that moment, he wanted to bash his skull in. But he didn’t have time for that just now.
His eyes dropped back to the letter on his desk. At the moment, he had to figure out how to convince his wife that, though he’d kidnapped her sister, he was letting go of his grievance in order to keep hold of something else altogether more important.
Namely, her.
“Your cheeks are bright.”
“What?” Willow asked, her eyes flicking to Poppy. She’d been staring off into the distance, fingering the rim of her teacup in thought.
“Your cheeks are bright,” Poppy repeated.
Willow lifted her hand to cup her cheeks. “They are not.”
“How would you know? Can you feel how bright they are?” Poppy said dryly.
“Don’t be ridiculous. But I’m sure they aren’t bright.”
“They are practically glowing,” Poppy said, her blonde brow knitting in a frown. “Also, you look airy.”
“Airy?” Willow laughed. “One does not look airy. What does that even mean?”
“It means,” Poppy said in mild aggravation, “You have the appearance of someone walking on clouds.”
“I do not!” Willow exclaimed, almost spilling tea all over her pink muslin dress. Or perhaps she did. It certainly felt as though she was walking on air. Her eyes skittered to the sofa on which her sister was seated. She and Ambrose had thoroughly enjoyed that sofa. More than once.
This time she felt her cheeks pinkening.
Poppy quirked a brow. “And I am sitting in your drawing room.”
“I don’t see how that’s related. I invited you for tea.”
“Well, it’s just another interesting observation. Have you forgotten whom you married? I keep expecting St. Ives to barge into the room and drag me off. Though how it is that you look so,” she waved her hand in the air, “airy when your husband is hunting our sister and plans to marry her off to his brother, I’ll never know.”
“That’s not going to happen,” Willow said with absolute confidence.
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because . . . things are different.”
Steamy different. Doting different. Airy different.
“I’d certainly say so,” Poppy’s voice was laced with skepticism. “Starting with that swooping kiss at Gunter’s.”
Willow opened her mouth to reply, but Poppy waved a hand at her. “No, no, you cannot tell me that was nothing. I’m still astonished Scotland Yard did not haul you away for indecent behavior.”
“It was just a kiss,” Willow defended, her face flaming.
“It’s never just a kiss, and that, dear sister, was no mere kiss, that was a burst of fireworks and stars all at once.”
Willow’s hand lifted to cover her heart, and she forced herself to say, “It was a spur of the moment kiss, between husband and wife. Nothing to be so concerned with.”
Liar.
If only Poppy knew what that kiss had led to and what Ambrose and she had been doing at every opportunity since. And that sofa she was seated upon . . .
Poppy made a disbelieving sound. “I’d have found it romantic had it not nearly killed two ladies craning their necks so much they nearly got trampled by a vegetable cart.”
“That was hardly the case, and back to the matter at hand. Lord Jonathan has also assured me he has no intention of wedding Holly. He is on our side. All will be well.”
Poppy snorted, but her eyes took on a renewed interest. “I cannot believe I missed him at the ball. Is he handsome? Tall? Muscular? Does he have a wicked reputation?”
“Honestly.”
“Give me some morsel, a tiny scrap even. I’m starving over here.” Her lips pulled into a pout. “With you romping in public and Holly off on a scandalous adventure, I’m bored out of my mind!”
“Oh, very well,” Willow said with a laugh. “He is handsome, but not as handsome as his brother. He’s tall, and I cannot speak for his muscles, but he does seem to be a charming rogue.”
“Not as handsome as his brother?” Poppy said with glowing eyes. “I knew it! You have fallen under the duke’s spell!”
Willow rolled her eyes.
“Yes! Do not deny it! I knew there was something different about you and that’s it. You’re in love.”
“First doting and now in love? Honestly, Poppy.”
But Willow could not help but be jolted by the thought. Poppy had been right before. Was she right this time? Willow was certainly doting on her husband and may even be considered in lust, but love?
“You must be imagining things,” Willow offered, not ready to confirm or deny the claim.
“Well, you haven’t put on any weight, so your glow must be love,” Poppy murmured with a ponderous expression.
“Goodness! Why would I put on weight?”
“Well, when a woman is with child, she gains weight. You haven’t gained any, but you’re glowing. Must be love,” she paused, then asked, “You haven’t missed your courses, have you?”
“Would you shush?” Willow hissed, glancing at the door. “One does not speak of courses at tea.”
Poppy snorted. “I don’t see why not. Where else would we speak of them? It’s the natural course of a marriage.”
“Well my courses are just fine.”
Speaking of which, when had motherhood become the furthest thing from her mind? A doting mama was all she’d ever wanted to be. Instead she was doting on her husband.
A startling thought.
Children were the very reason she had married Ambrose. And yet, at the moment, the longing, the constant yearning had subsided. She still wanted to be a mother, but she was enjoying the intimacy she shared with her husband. Which might very likely lead to her being enceinte.
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 would 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 f
amily! 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.”
