Chapter 1

Chapter One

"I object to this wedding!" Hugh Ashcombe's voice thundered in the small church as he strode down the aisle of St. George's chapel.

Directly ahead of him at the altar was Miss Trevillian, who was watching him with horrified blue eyes. And by her side, Lord Sandhurst. George Merritt.

The blackguard who had ruined his sister.

Lord Bramwell, Miss Trevillian's father, rose to his feet. "What is the meaning of this?" he demanded.

Hugh only had eyes for George Sandhurst, whose face had paled at the sight of him.

"I object," he repeated. "This marriage is a farce in every respect and cannot go ahead."

Silence followed his words, and whispering broke out. The priest put his hands against the pages of his Bible as though that could somehow prevent this from taking place.

Lord Bramwell shook his head, jowls shaking. "Your Grace," he said in a quavering voice.

Hugh was not often in London—he could not remember the last time he had graced the metropolis with his presence. Even so, his name was known the country over.

One did not become the most powerful duke in the north by being idle.

Hugh let his gaze fall on the man. "Well?"

"What are the grounds for your objection?" the priest asked.

It sounded as though he had intended his voice to be level, but when Hugh swung his gaze around, the man stepped back.

The only person in the church who did not seem to feel the full force of his wrath was Miss Trevillian, the unfortunate lady whom Lord Sandhurst had convinced to marry him.

Poor girl.

Hugh almost pitied her, or at least he would have done if not for the martial light in her eye.

So she opposed his interrupting her wedding, did she?

No matter. It would be over soon enough.

Still, he noted the particular shade of blue in her eyes and the way she tilted her chin when she looked at him. A pretty girl, average height, with flushed cheeks and brown hair tucked neatly away.

This was the girl Sandhurst had broken his sister's heart for.

Still, it was not her fault.

"It's nothing," Sandhurst said with a flare of fear. "Please leave, Your Grace."

"I shall do no such thing," Hugh said dangerously. Miss Trevillian, the little fool, stood before Sandhurst as though she could protect him. "Stand aside," he told her. "I will have my satisfaction."

The old chapel was silent, shock ricocheting from the old walls. Sandhurst's chin jutted stubbornly, but Hugh noted he made no attempt to stand in front of the girl and protect her.

"I won't meet you," he said, a quiver in his voice. "You won't have your satisfaction with me."

The precise reason Hugh was here was to have his satisfaction, but it would not be in the dawn mists with a pistol. They had come further than that, and if he killed Sandhurst there, he would only have to flee the country.

No, his revenge would take a different turn.

"Does your future bride know the truth?" he demanded.

Sandhurst's face paled to the color of stale porridge. "There's nothing to tell."

Miss Trevillian stepped away from her betrothed, her chin high. "On what grounds is your objection, Your Grace?" she asked, her voice traveling.

"Merely that he is already married."

Whispers rippled around him down the church. It was not well-filled, but there were enough present that word of this would get around London, although that was not strictly Hugh's intention.

He wanted revenge, and he would have it, but he had no intention of bringing another family down with him.

"To my sister, as it happens," Hugh said, and turned his attention from Miss Trevillian to Sandhurst. "Are you going to confess to your crimes, or would you like me to do the honor?"

"My crimes? Do you think yourself a magistrate, Your Grace?" Sandhurst's laugh was high, then he came closer, lowering his voice again. "This is beneath you, Eldermoor. Leave before you drag us both into scandal."

Hugh merely raised a brow, though disgust sat thick and pungent on his tongue. "After what you did to my sister, sir , there is no chance I will allow you to get away with this."

He turned to her father. "I see he is disinclined to confess. Here, let me set the matter to rights." He withdrew a sheaf of papers from the inner pocket of his coat. "I have proof of his marriage to my sister, conducted on our estate in Northumberland. Would anyone care to take a look?"

Sandhurst made a choking sound as Bramwell accepted the papers and began to flick through. There was little enough to see, but it contained all the proof needed that Sandhurst was indeed married.

"Ridiculous," Sandhurst hissed, his face now reddening.

Hugh gave the man a cold smile. "Did you think I would not have come prepared?"

Miss Trevillian stepped further away from Sandhurst. "George," she said, her voice cracking slightly. "Is this true? Are you truly already married?"

Sandhurst opened his mouth as though to speak, then closed it again.

"It is true," Hugh said and addressed the church at large. "My sister was ruined in every conceivable way by this man. When she fell with child, I compelled him to marry her—he would not have done the honorable thing if I had not forced it—and before the child was even born, he returned to London to court Miss Trevillian, here."

He glanced at her, noting the way her cheeks were now pale.

Poor girl. He almost felt sorry for her.

"Shocking," someone amongst the guests muttered. "Outrageous."

"Married," someone else said. All from Bramwell's side of the church, he noticed; Sandhurst's side said nothing. Perhaps they were unaware of the first marriage—there had been few enough witnesses. Or perhaps they had imagined his sister had died.

"This is nonsense," Sandhurst blustered from behind him. "Really, Eldermoor, you can hardly expect these good people to believe the word from a man who has been so rarely seen in London."

"Do not address me as though you know me," he said coldly. "You may refer to me as Your Grace or keep quiet." He turned to Lord Bramwell. "Understand that I cannot and will not allow this marriage to take place."

Lord Bramwell's red face turned purple, but no words escaped his lips. This was not how he had envisaged the wedding going, no doubt. After all, Sandhurst was a good match, under any other circumstances, and he understood that the two families had been close for a long time. Evidently, this arrangement was one that Bramwell had welcomed.

Hugh resisted the urge to curl his lip as he watched the man struggle with his immediate desire—to see the marriage go ahead—with his knowledge that if the marriage were to go ahead, it would be smothered in scandal.

Hugh himself would ensure it.

"I apologize," he said after a few moments. "This is undoubtedly a shock."

Sandhurst came forward, his face pale and sweaty, but his eyes alight with challenge.

"Don't be so hasty, Your Grace ." He left a sneer on the words. "I would not have betrayed Lord Bramwell like that or his daughter."

"No?" If Hugh could have struck him, he would have done. "You would have seduced my sister and left her to bear your child alone if I had not dragged her to the altar."

Sandhurst's face was totally white now. "You exaggerate."

"Not in the slightest." Hugh made his bow to Lord Bramwell, who was still silent. "I assure you I am telling the truth, sir. When my sister fell ill, he abandoned her to return to London. No doubt to court Miss Trevillian with no mention of his bride in the north. The first either of us knew of his intentions was when the engagement was announced. The shock of it brought the babe on prematurely, killing both her and the child."

Hugh had not been in the room for the birth, but he had paced outside, listening to the way his sister's screams had turned into weakened whimpers. The very memory made him hot with rage.

Lord Bramwell finally stirred, and his eyes narrowed on George Sandhurst. "I suppose there is little point asking if you are telling the truth because you would hardly admit it if you were." His lip curled, and George's shoulders tightened. "You would do well to leave now, Lord Sandhurst, if you don't wish me to spread the news of precisely why and how this marriage came to an end."

"You would believe his word over mine?" Sandhurst demanded of his fiancée. "This duke, whom you have never seen before?"

"I—" She hesitated, clearly shaken. "I hardly know what to believe, but you must know in the face of these claims—in the light of this information—I cannot marry you."

"You see?" Hugh gave a cold smile that he hoped iced Sandhurst's veins. "Even your bride seems disinclined to take you now."

"Leave," Lord Bramwell commanded. His voice rang out across the church overheard by all of the guests.

Sandhurst turned to Miss Trevillian. "Evangeline," he said under his breath, his words spilling over themselves. "Miss Trevillian, Evangeline, please listen to me. I adore you and I want nothing more for the rest of my life than to be your husband."

Her eyes narrowed. Hugh would have intervened, save for the fact that by the way her nostrils flared, she was perfectly capable of putting him in his place. "Is that why you embarked on an affair with that girl?" she demanded. "Is that why you ruined her, so you were forced to marry her? Your negligence, and your pursuit of me, killed her." Her voice rose. "How could you do such a thing? How could you court me knowing that you had been the cause of her death?"

"I never knew she died until this moment, and I never loved her!"

"Is that supposed to endear me to you?" She pulled her hands from his. "Am I supposed to feel as though I am fortunate to be the recipient of your love?" Her chin rose as she swallowed. "Leave, George. And if you value your pride, never come back."

George stumbled back as though she had struck him in the chest, and Hugh reflected that he could hardly have done a better job of verbally wounding the man.

This was going better than he could ever have hoped. Not only was the lady furious, but he had all the assurance he needed that Sandhurst had truly loved her—unlike Lily, his sister.

There could be no more fitting revenge than to deny Sandhurst the woman he loved.

"Go," Hugh said, his voice icy. "And for your sake, you had better hope you do not have reason to encounter me again."

His face pale and set, Sandhurst strode down the aisle for the door, swinging it wide.

Sunlight streamed in, and the man's silhouette was present for a moment before it vanished. The few members of his family shuffled after him, their heads low.

The silence they left in their wake was ringing.

Miss Trevillian looked as though she was on the cusp of fainting, her face pale and her hands clasped together. She looked at her parents as though hoping they would comfort her, but neither made a move to go to her side.

"This is all very irregular," the priest complained. "Extremely irregular."

"My apologies," Lord Bramwell said eventually, bringing out a large white handkerchief and mopping his face. "I had no knowledge of the truth—I would never have encouraged the match if all the facts were presented to me. You must believe that."

"Of course," Hugh said smoothly. "All this happened in the north, and I doubt you have ever been there in your life."

The jab sailed straight over Bramwell's head. "Quite," he said, evidently relieved to find the duke so understanding. "It's so far away. And of course, Sandhurst said nothing to us about this matter when he returned to London. How could we have known?"

Miss Trevillian came down the steps to where they were standing. Her large blue eyes were somber, and although she was not crying—a relief, as Hugh could not stand females who resorted to tears every time things did not go their way—her lips were not wholly steady.

"Papa," she said softly, her hand on her sleeve. "I would like to go home."

He shook her off without looking at her. "Your Grace, I understand this is a delicate situation for us both. No doubt you would not like your sister's misfortune to be bandied around London, and we would prefer, ah… discretion." He licked his lips, looking distinctly uncomfortable. "Did you want something from us? Is there something we might do to help us alleviate your difficulties?"

The man infuriated him, but Hugh bit his tongue. Now was not the time to lose his temper.

After a second or two of contemplation, and another glance at Miss Trevillian, who met his gaze boldly and without even a hint of fear, he took Bramwell's arm and led him to a quieter corner of the church.

All around them, whispers erupted.

"I understand your concerns," Hugh said. "Allow me to alleviate them. I would like to make amends by marrying your daughter."