Chapter 12

CHAPTER 12

… a nd I simply cannot understand why you would not tell me, Stephen! I understand your reservations about sending me an invitation, but really, you have behaved very badly in all of this. And why must our friendship change because of your marriage? Does your little wife object? I wager you have not even told her. In fact, I…

Sighing, Stephen crumpled the letter and tossed it into the fire. The rest of it went on in a similar vein. She was clearly furious, and perhaps he could have handled matters better.

Cornelia never liked hearing the word ‘no’ . Still, it is my wedding day, and I suppose if there is any day I can be excused from managing the tempers of others, it is today.

Odd to think that it was his wedding day. The day had crept up, seeming to take forever to arrive but also coming all at once. Stephen would never have admitted to any frisson of nerves, but he was hoping that things would go well.

They would, naturally. Mouse was in charge of the preparations for the wedding breakfast, so doubtless that would go without a single hitch. Stephen’s valet had ensured that he was immaculately dressed, and it was Theo’s business to get him to the church and produce the rings.

Really, all Stephen had to do was wake up and say I do when it was appropriate.

He wondered whether his bride-to-be was feeling nervous. Most likely. Ladies always seemed to feel the anxiety of a situation more than gentlemen, in his experience, and people tended to look more critically at a bride than a groom. Still, she would have her mother and Anna to help her, and they would likely be most supportive.

Stephen could not say that he was having the same experience.

“It’s not too late to call it off,” Theodore said, cutting into his thoughts.

“Are you sure Miss Haversham and her family would be pleased with that?” Stephen asked wryly, leaning back in his seat. “I’m not sure it would do the lady’s reputation much good.”

“No, but in the long run, it may be for the best.”

“Because I’m a blackhearted wretch?”

Theodore heaved an exasperated sigh. “You are , Stephen. You know you are. There is no sense in pretending otherwise. You are my friend, and I love you, but I know your flaws very well. Does Miss Haversham know them?”

Stephen pursed his lips. “I think she might have an inkling.”

“Be serious.”

“I am always serious. Shall I remind you what your reasons were for marrying Anna?”

Theodore flushed. “That was different.”

“Was it? How so?”

“I adore Anna with all my heart.”

“And so you do. But my point is that your marriage hardly had a fairytale’s beginning, was it? So, who are you to judge my reasons when yours were so poor?”

Was that too much? Perhaps it was.

For a moment, Theodore looked thunderous. But then the anger faded from his face. He rubbed a hand over his head, sighing heavily.

“I despair of you sometimes, Stephen. Really, I do.”

The door creaked open behind them. Stephen did not look up, imagining it was his valet or perhaps Mouse.

But then Theodore bounced to his feet. “Your Grace! Lady Walford, I was not expecting you.”

Stephen flinched. “Mother?”

He was on his feet in an instant too, spinning around.

Theodosia stood there, resplendent in wedding finery, her gray-streaked black hair piled into a knot on top of her head.

“You seem surprised,” she said smoothly. “My son is getting married. Where else should I be today?”

Stephen smiled wryly and glanced at Theodore. “Would you mind if I had a few minutes alone with my mother?”

Theodore nodded. “Of course. I’ll meet you in the carriage, shall I?”

“Yes, please.”

He waited until Theodore was gone before he spoke.

“I’m glad to see you, Mother,” he said. “I… I would have invited you to the wedding, only I thought you were in Spain. Or France.”

“I was,” she responded, not bothering to clarify which. “I barely made it back in time, as you can see. Don’t worry, I am not offended. I know you seldom think these things through, Stephen. I do have some questions, though. Such as, why the rush? Why are you racing down the aisle as if you are being chased? Are you being chased? Is the young woman in a sticky situation?”

He sighed. “No, Mother, she is not. I simply decided that it was time to marry, and I thought it best to broker a marriage of convenience, with no emotional connection. Before you ask, the lady in question feels the same. Under those circumstances, why bother waiting? Why not simply get it over with?”

She pursed her lips. “ Get it over with . You are a bottomless pit of romance, my dear.”

“I am not offering romance. She knows this.”

Theodosia eyed him for a long moment, her gaze intent, until Stephen began to feel uncomfortable.

“I did not mean to exclude you, Mother,” he said, at last. “Truly, I didn’t.”

“For the last time,” Theodosia said, flinging herself down on a chaise with a sigh, “I am not offended . I am only surprised. I thought you were dead set against marriage. I don’t know if you recall, but when your father… passed away, you swore you would never marry and sire children.”

“Marriage does not mean siring children,” Stephen muttered.

“Not necessarily,” she acknowledged. “But the two do follow each other.”

He didn’t respond. No need to explain the rules to his mother. She might take it upon herself to do something shocking, like go and tell Miss Haversham’s family about them.

Beatrice, he told himself. I should probably get used to calling her Beatrice.

Abruptly, Theodosia leaned forward. “ Do you love her, Stephen? I am your mother, you can be honest with me.”

He bit back a sigh. “No, Mother, I do not. If I loved her, I would never risk marrying her. They call me Blackheart for a reason.”

Because I ruined a man’s life simply because he was in my way, and I exposed him in public knowing that it would ruin Miss Haversham’s reputation too, all but forcing her to accept my proposal.

I made her agree to a vague favor in exchange for my help, knowing full well that she would not have agreed if she had known I would request her hand in marriage.

I have orchestrated all of this from the very beginning because I am willing to do whatever is necessary to get what I want.

And at this moment, what I want is Beatrice Haversham.

Not in that way, of course.

He shifted, clearing his throat and plucking at his neatly-tied cravat.

His mother was staring at him, her eyes narrowed. She dropped her gaze to his cravat and sighed heavily.

“Stop fiddling with it, Stephen, it will only come undone and you’ll have to tie it again. Well, I am disappointed to learn that you are not in love at last. I always thought it would be good for you to be in love a little. Nothing shakes up the soul quite so thoroughly.”

He sighed. “If you say so, Mother. Was there anything else? Because—and I hate to say it—I have a wedding to get to. It’s generally bad form to arrive late, but even more frowned upon if the latecomer is the groom.”

Theodosia pouted. “Well, if you insist. Now, can a seat be found in the church and at the wedding breakfast for your poor, old mama?”

He chuckled, leaning forward to kiss his mother on the cheek. “Of course, Mother, of course! I’m so glad you’re here. Really, I should have waited for you to return. I’m sorry I was too impatient. I suppose I was afraid she would change her mind.”

Where had that thought come from?

Theodosia’s expression shifted, surprised and a little sad. She reached up to cup his face, her palms warm against his cheeks.

“Any woman worth her salt would see what a fine catch you are,” she said firmly. “You are handsome, clever, charming…”

“Mother, I hate to tell you this, but you have the highest opinion of me out of the whole ton. I imagine that, while some ladies would like to see themselves as the Duchess of Blackwood, most of the audience today will simply pity poor Miss Haversham.”

Theodosia chuckled. “Well, I would like a proper introduction to Miss Haversham before the day is out, do you hear? I want to meet her properly, and take her measure.”

“And what if you don’t like her? After the wedding, it will be too late.”

Theodosia only smiled to herself, as if she knew something that Stephen did not.

“Do you know, I think I am going to like her. Now, come, let’s get you into that carriage—you cannot be late to your own wedding!”

As anticipated, the church was full. Stephen only recognized half of the guests. Not that it mattered, of course.

The bride was late. Only by a few moments, of course, but enough to make him shift uneasily.

She had better not humiliate me in front of the whole world. She’ll regret it if she does.

Beside him, Theodore nudged his shoulder. “I hope you know what you’re doing,” he murmured.

“It’s a little too late if I don’t, don’t you think?”

“I’m just saying. Beatrice is Anna’s friend, and Anna is concerned…”

Stephen’s temper, already frayed, flared a little further. “Perhaps you should tell your wife that her little friend, who she guards like a child, is more than capable of taking care of herself. More than capable, let me assure you.”

Before Theodore could respond to this, the doors of the church creaked open, and the whole congregation twisted eagerly.

Anna came first, wearing a plain pink silk gown and clutching a posy of flowers, looking a little preoccupied and not entirely happy. Stephen noticed that she did not meet his eyes.

And then came Beatrice.

Stephen’s chest constricted, and the feeling filled him with absolute horror.

Oh, no. No, no, no.

The dress he had carefully picked out for her looked perfect . It hugged her curvaceous figure, emphasizing her form, and the pale pink color suited her hair and her skin down to the ground. The dress looked expensive, which was exactly what he wanted—a woman could not become a duchess in a gown that made her look like she was wearing a sack, after all—and every eye was trained on her.

The pearls and silver trimming on the dress glittered and shone when she moved, catching the light. The scandalously low neckline—which he had deliberated on—showed an expanse of smooth white skin, simply inviting a caress.

Stephen realized with horror that his mouth had dried up, and his chest continued to tighten, the familiar sensation of arousal coiling in his gut.

Beatrice was looking around the church a trifle nervously, her eyes blinking rapidly behind her spectacles. He suddenly found himself glad that she hadn’t removed them. She suited the spectacles, in his opinion.

At long last, almost with a tangible effort, she met his gaze and held it.

He blinked, hoping that his customary composure had not deserted him. As far as he could tell, it had not. She eyed him anxiously, clearly trying to search for some emotion on his face, but she did not find it.

They reached the top of the aisle, and her father—misty-eyed, the old fool—unwound his arm from hers and kissed her on the cheek. Then he limped to the front pew, where his wife sat waiting for him.

Then it was just Stephen and Beatrice, side by side at the altar, staring at each other.

“You look very pretty,” Stephen heard himself say. Perhaps the greatest understatement of the year.

Beatrice bit her lip. “People are staring like they did when I wore the other gown.”

He allowed himself a tight smile. “I think they are staring for a different reason, this time.”

She didn’t believe him, he could see it in her eyes. Still, that was not his problem.

The vicar suddenly cleared his throat and launched into the usual spiel.

Stephen was vaguely aware of people whispering and shifting in the pews, clearly wondering if some drama would break out and end this wedding, just like before. He had a brief vision of Cornelia storming in, rouge smeared on her cheeks and tears streaming down her face, but he dismissed it immediately. She would never dare to do that.

“Beatrice Haversham, do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

He flinched, suddenly aware that the vows were taking place.

“I do,” Beatrice responded, her voice admirably even.

“And do you, Stephen Walford, Duke of Blackwood, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

He cleared his throat. “Yes. I do.”

The vicar let out what might have been a tiny sigh of relief. “Then I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”

With an irritated flinch, Stephen recollected that he had not mentioned to the vicar that he did not want to have the call to kiss his new bride at the end of the vows. Kissing a woman—any woman—in front of a crowd was not his idea of romance.

Still, it was happening now, and he was going to have to go along with it.

Turning to face Beatrice, Stephen flashed what he hoped was a reassuring smile. Her face was tilted up to him, trepidation and anxiety written all over it.

I will make it quick, he promised himself and her and then bent down to fit his lips to hers.

It felt… it felt different from any kiss he had ever shared.

Stephen had shared plenty of kisses in his time, some pleasant, some less so, but this one was something else.

For one thing, he could have sworn that fireworks shot across his skin from where Beatrice’s soft lips touched his—which was not a comfortable sensation, but also not a terrible one. She gave a little surprised gasp, which was muffled by his mouth, sending a shiver down his spine.

What was more, the arousal that had stirred deep in his gut at the sight of her in that frankly marvelous dress suddenly woke up with a roar, hungry—no, ravenous—and filling him with wanting . Desire stabbed at him, urging him to take , to make her his truly and undeniably.

Her. He wanted her, more powerfully than he could ever remember wanting anyone, with her snide remarks and her fearless stare and her cool, logical mind, and those fascinating curves of hers. He tilted his head just a little, deepening the kiss.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, a tiny voice reminded him that he was in a church, with half of London watching.

With an effort, he abruptly pulled back, careful not to look down at Beatrice’s bewildered face.

The congregation broke into applause, and he tried in vain to catch his breath.