Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

“ A re you nervous, Madeleine?”

Colin’s voice was the anchor Madeleine needed, her arm linked through his as he led her down the aisle—barely a week after the Duke’s promise.

My second time meeting a man I do not love at an altar , she thought miserably. How am I so unlucky ?

“I am not,” she told her friend but he only gave a small, low laugh.

At the end of the aisle, the Duke of Silverton stood stiffly, his shoulder rigid, his black wedding jacket casting him almost as one with the shadows, as if he wished to be part of them.

“I do not believe you. Your life has turned upside down. Surely that has an effect somewhere.”

Madeleine swallowed every truth that rose. “I am faring just fine.”

Colin only gave another quiet chuckle as though he was not convinced. Madeleine had a firm tongue, and could lie well enough, but her eyes always betrayed her. It was something she had been teased about by Tessa and Colin for some time.

With being on bad terms with Benjamin, the new Lord Kinsfeld, and her brother John being away with the army, Colin was the one who walked her to her future husband.

When they finally approached, and Madeleine looked at the Duke’s side profile, her stomach flipped.

His beard had been groomed, spreading over a finely cut jaw that was clenched.

“Your Grace,” she said quietly in greeting.

“My lady.”

Soon to be the Duchess of Silverton , she told herself.

Colin squeezed Madeleine’s hand once before he retreated to stand beside Tessa. On the other side of the aisle, a man who seemed vaguely familiar to her stood as a witness for the Duke.

Am I ready for this? She thought, keeping her eyes downcast.

Am I ready to be forced into another marriage?

Why must it come to this always ?

She ought to be grateful—the Duke of Silverton had given her a way out of Donald’s crippling debt, Benjamin’s threats, and secured her future.

So why did dread harden her heart now?

The ceremony was swift and stoic, their vows clipped— the dream of every young debutante , she thought sarcastically.

Yet she was no young debutante anymore. She was a twenty-year-old widow, who had just now become a duchess. Out of pure necessity.

The moment the Duke’s eyes met hers at the end of it had her jolting.

“I will be in the carriage,” he told her. “Make your goodbyes swift.”

She nodded, understanding. This was to be an arrangement devoid of emotion, as if everything they had done together in the search for her late husband, every look they had shared, every step closer to one another, was gone.

And so it should be , she reminded herself.

Madeleine tugged herself away from her thoughts when a soft hand grasped hers. Tessa’s face entered her vision.

“Thank you,” Madeleine whispered, flinging herself at the woman, her dearest friend, her anchor among such outrageous events. “Thank you for everything, Tessa. You and Colin both—you have been the very best of friends.”

“We will always be by your side,” Tessa swore, clasping her right back. “ Always . I am always a letter away, Madeleine. Besides, I am sure you will visit us soon enough.”

Colin laughed softly. “I hardly believe His Grace will allow anybody into Silverton Hall without him deciding first and foremost. Therefore you must visit us, otherwise I fear we might not see you at all.”

Madeleine’s chest tightened. “Of course you will see me.”

Tessa gave her a withering smile before hugging her once more. Her lips were close to Madeleine’s ear, and even though the Duke had left the church, her whisper was no more than a breath.

“Be wary of your husband, Madeleine, and remember that you are never, ever alone.”

Madeleine trembled but nodded. Her mind flashed with the reminder of how he had acted in front of those he had interrogated. He had handled them all so effortlessly, intimidating easily.

She steadied her heart before bidding them a last goodbye.

But as she turned, she found the eyes of a gray-haired man on her. He gave her a curious look before he nodded in a silent greeting. Madeleine lifted her chin, smiled back, and strode out of the church.

Silence wrapped itself coldly through the carriage on the way to Silverton after the ceremony.

Madeleine kept waiting for the Duke to say something— anything . The silence unnerved her; it made her think too hard, and she wished to not endure the weight of her thoughts.

The journey stretched on, no matter how hard she tried to focus on the landscape rolling past, the streets of London fading into countryside.

I am being carried away from everything , she thought. Focus on that.

But that unbearable silence grew heavier until she could endure it no longer. Her thoughts lingered on the man who had been a witness.

“The man you had as your witness,” she began, “who was he?”

The Duke startled, as if he had been lost in the silence, as she had, not expecting her to break it.

“He is an associate.”

“Who is he, though?” she pressed, curious. “His name, I mean. And an associate of what, exactly?”

“His name should not be important to you.”

His curt answer shut down her further questions about the man, but she only sighed. “Will you make me linger in this awful silence for the whole carriage ride, then?”

“It is not so long a journey.”

Madeleine glared at the side of his face. “Very well. Have you informed my brother of our—our marriage?”

The word got stuck in her throat, and part of her still was so unsure of how it had happened.

“Of course I have.” The Duke gave her a curt nod, his eyes flicking to glance at her from the corner of his eye. “I sent him a letter.”

“And did you detail the whole story?”

“The gist of it,” he answered shortly.

Madeleine gave another heavy sigh, pressing her fingers to her temple. “He will be livid.”

“I will deal with your brother.”

The assurance came but it was hard-toned, as if doing so would bother him. As if caring for her in such a way—in any way—exasperated him.

Regardless, she had the strange urge to thank him but tampered it down.

“The whole ton will whisper about it,” she said, almost to herself. A small, incredulous laugh escaped her. “I am married mere days after my husband was found dead. They will say it was only for the money. They will say?—”

“Do not worry what they will say,” the Duke’s voice came as a reprimand. “You should not concern yourself with such things. Let them talk—it means nothing. Not when you know the truth. You and I, we both know the truth.”

“It does mean something, Your Grace,” Madeleine countered, annoyed.

He does not have to worry about such things.

“You may be able to turn your attention from such things, but it is not so easy for a woman like me. It is all anyone will talk about—they will look at me like?—”

Suddenly, the Duke—her new husband, she reminded herself—leaned into her space. Madeleine’s breath caught.

“What do you want me to say?” He cocked his head. “That I care what others think?” A small snarl curled his lip. “That I should have let you suffer in that pit of a marriage to that scum of a lord? You are mine now, Madeleine, and I will protect you—whatever the cost.”

His promise weighed in the carriage, her name on his tongue hanging between them. She could only gape at him, his intensity taking her by surprise after all his silence. Alexander’s eyes burned into her, his gaze peeling her away, every layer.

The surprise had her words clipped, had her anger unexpectedly curled through her. “I am not your possession, Your Grace. You cannot just claim me in such a way.”

“I do not need to claim you, Duchess .” The title said enough—but his tone said more. That it was not merely a claiming in titles. His voice was quieter yet sharper. “You are mine already, whether you like it or not.”

Madeleine raised an eyebrow, refusing to let the comment go unanswered.

“I think you’ll find, Your Grace, that I am not so easily claimed.”

“Oh, I know,” he said with a smirk, stepping a fraction closer, his eyes scanning her with that predatory intensity. “That’s what makes it all the more fun.”

She tilted her head, meeting his gaze with an equal measure of challenge. “Fun? Is that what this is to you? A game?”

His lips twitched at the corner, but his voice remained steady. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you like the idea of being a challenge.”

“I am not some prize to be won, Your Grace,” she said, though she wasn’t sure who she was trying to convince—him or herself.

His laugh was low, full of dark amusement. “You’re right. You’re far more intriguing than any prize. But you’re also more than a little tempting.”

His gaze flicked to her lips, and the shift in the air was palpable.

Madeleine swallowed, heart racing as she fought the tug of desire she couldn’t quite ignore.

“You do not tempt me, Duke. Not in the way you think.”

He leaned in just a little, his breath warm against her ear as he whispered, “I don’t? So if I draw closer, this control of yours will remain intact?”

She opened her mouth to argue, but the words died on her lips as his fingers grazed her arm, the touch light yet electrifying.

“What are you doing, Your Grace?” she asked, her voice lower now, tension thick in her words.

The Duke didn’t answer immediately, his eyes locking onto hers with a look that made her pulse quicken.

Then, with deliberate slowness, he closed the distance between them, his lips curling into a confident smile.

“Simply proving a point.”

She couldn’t answer, for his mouth closed over hers in a bruising, claiming kiss.

It felt like every moment she had spent waiting for news from him during these past days, and every held breath sat next to him in the carriage, every glance, collided between their mouths.

And Madeleine…

She could finally accept how much she wanted him.

Her fingers curled into her palms, keeping her hands at her sides, but Alexander’s wandered. His palms slid up her arms, up her neck, and there was a pause where she thought he might keep his hand resting there.

He cupped her jaw, breathing in her gasp as he deepened the kiss.

“Mine,” he muttered, pressing a kiss to her cheek, the corner of her mouth, and Madeleine could only gaze out at him.

Then her fingers were wrapped in his hair as she drew him back to kiss him passionately.

Heavens above , she had never been thoroughly kissed, never in such a way.

A small, needy noise left her as she felt the scratch of Alexander’s beard against the softness of her jaw, her chin. He moved his body over hers, not quite pressing himself against her, but keeping himself braced either side of her.

Madeleine’s body was utter flames, and Alexander only added more when his hands began to wander southward?—

Until the carriage came to a stop.

“Silverton Hall, Your Graces,” she heard a call to announce their arrival.