Chapter 7

CHAPTER 7

C hristian stood at the head of the aisle, surprised by the nerves clawing at his gut.

He glanced around the church, taking in the beautiful space where he had stood many times before for the weddings of his peers.

The congregation before him, although hastily assembled, was larger than he had expected. Scanning the rows, he spotted his close friend, Isaac Cecil, at the end of a pew. As he watched, Arkley’s sister, Sybella, emerged from the back of the church and came to sit beside her brother.

To Christian’s left stood Gabriel, serving as groomsman. His jaw was set in stubborn defiance as they waited for the bride to arrive. He had barely spoken all day, and his disapproving silence said more than any words ever could.

The low hum of conversation ceased as the organist began to play. Christian’s spine stiffened, his breath catching as two figures appeared at the foot of the aisle. The guests rose, murmurs of surprise rippling through them.

It wasn’t Lord Northbridge beside his daughter—it was his wife.

Christian’s fingers flexed behind his back as he watched them approach. The absence of her father was a deliberate snub that reflected upon him as well. His gaze darted to the balcony above the entrance. Had she barred her father from attending the ceremony?

Is this her final act of defiance?

But when his gaze finally met hers, everything else fell away. Her coppery hair had been pinned back with a line of pearl pins that shimmered in the light streaming through the windows.

The defiance in her bright eyes pierced his soul such that it had his blood thrumming in seconds.

All that fire, just for me.

When she finally reached him and bid a soft farewell to her mother, he found that his breath was coming more quickly than he would have liked.

Louise Dawson was magnificent. Exquisite in a way that many ladies of the ton could only dream of. The paleness of her skin, contrasted with her hair, was something that he would never grow tired of looking at.

He took her hand and slowly led her toward the priest, who was standing at the altar. He was a squat little man, barely an inch taller than Lady Louise. His small spectacles perched precariously on the tip of his nose.

“You look very different from the Ice Queen I met before,” Christian said softly as they approached the altar.

“You look the same,” she shot back.

He smiled at her tone. “Tell me, do you intend to blame me for your father’s mistakes for the entirety of our marriage?”

“That depends, Your Grace. Will you continue to punish me for them?”

They stopped before the priest, and Christian gave her a sideways glance, a strange sensation building in his chest that he could not name.

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to join this man and this woman in holy matrimony…”

Christian tried to concentrate on what was taking place around him, but it was damn difficult. He could feel her soft hand in his, the pale beauty of it contrasted by his darker tones. Somehow, that image made what he was about to do all the more real.

What would Marcus say if he were here? Would he approve of what you have done to his closest friend?

Christian swallowed, shifting his weight and keeping his eyes focused on the priest, trying to ignore the whirlwind of thoughts spinning around in his head.

They turned to face one another, and his stomach churned as he met her gaze. It reminded him of their first encounter in Northbridge Manor.

I have finally won. Her father has no power over me any longer. So why do I feel so guilty?

“Repeat after me…”

Christian spoke his vows as he was expected to, keeping his back straight, his gaze fixed on his bride, ensuring that no one in the congregation would see his inner turmoil.

But by the time Louise had spoken her vows and the priest pronounced them man and wife, Christian was struggling to keep his composure.

They turned to face the congregation, every eye on them as they each raised a hand to tumultuous cheers. Christian could not help but notice that Lady Northbridge had tears in her eyes—for good or ill, he did not know.

The Earl of Northbridge now stood beside his wife, clapping along with the rest of the crowd as though he had a right to be there.

In order to distract himself from the many pieces he had in play, Christian turned to look at Lady Louise.

Or rather, the new Duchess of Egerton.

She looked up at him, her expression guarded. Christian let his eyes rove over her lovely face for a few seconds before he leaned down, intending to claim her mouth with his. However, he paused when he saw her hesitate and kissed her reverently on the cheek instead.

The brief contact sent a spark of unexpected desire through him, startling in its intensity. He quickly straightened, shaken by the sensation and unsure what it meant.

As they began the walk back down the aisle, the cheers of the congregation filling the church, a surreal numbness spread through him. The weight of what had just happened settled on his shoulders like a heavy cloak, the faces of the crowd becoming a blur as his thoughts spun.

What have I done?

The wedding breakfast was held at the Duke’s townhouse. Louise could barely believe she was standing here as a newly married woman.

How quickly a life can change.

Her father had barely acknowledged her. As soon as her parents had taken their seats, and before the rest of the guests had even arrived, her father had a full glass of wine in his hand.

Louise tried to ignore the betrayal she felt deep within her, but she was unsuccessful. She longed to be alone, to escape all of these people, but there was little chance of that.

The Duke led her to their seats at the center of the table, and she sat down beside a beautiful olive-skinned woman whose gaze was kind and warm.

“It is strange to meet you for the first time at the wedding breakfast, my dear,” she said warmly.

The Duke loudly cleared his throat. “Duchess,” he said to Louise. “May I introduce my mother, the Dowager Duchess of Egerton?”

Louise looked up at him, utterly taken aback by his use of her new title. She had not been prepared for that, and the title was foreign and somewhat unsettling to hear.

“It is an honor to meet you, Your Grace,” she offered quickly, giving the Dowager Duchess a weak smile.

The Dowager Duchess returned it warmly, but the Duke’s manner toward his mother was cold and rather stiff. Louise found herself wondering why that might be. But the Dowager Duchess was very pleasant to her—she did not seem to object to her son’s choice of wife, at least.

Looking around the room and hearing the excited chatter of the guests, Louise felt as though she were having a strange dream.

Surely she couldn’t be married to a man who talked to her so little on their wedding day, could she?

“I would dance with my wife,” the Duke said, pulling her out of her thoughts, before he extended his hand toward her.

He pulled her out of her seat and led her around the table toward the dance floor. Louise was sorely tempted to snatch her hand away, irritated at being manhandled. But she resisted, aware that every eye in the room was on her.

My new husband is an arrogant arse.

The Duke clicked his fingers, and the musicians in the corner of the room leaped into action and began to play. The opening bars of a waltz floated through the room, and he wasted no time in pulling Louise against him.

She tried to remain calm as his hand found the small of her back, but she had not been prepared for how his proximity would affect her. Their time in the study loomed large in her mind, and she kept her gaze fixed on a point just to the left of his right ear.

“I wondered if you would try to escape,” he mused softly as they moved around the dance floor.

Other couples had come to join them now, and Louise glowered at him as he moved her effortlessly between the others.

“I considered it, believe me,” she muttered.

He chuckled, and the sound reverberated through her like low, rolling thunder, leaving her breathless and aware of every inch of space between them.

“Must you stand so close to me?” she asked irritably.

He raised his eyebrows at her and gave her an arrogant smirk. She scowled as he pulled her even closer to him. She could feel the heat of his body through his immaculate clothes.

“I am sorry, I did not think I could affect you.”

“You cannot,” she stated tightly. “It is difficult to dance with you on top of my feet.”

“You insult me, Madam. I am a wonderful dancer.”

“And so humble.”

The smirk remained in place as he spun her around. Louise was annoyed to find that he was quite right—the Duke had the best poise and the smoothest movements out of every person on the dance floor.

“Your mother seems kind,” she murmured.

His back stiffened, although the mask remained firmly in place. “You think so?”

“I do. On first acquaintance. Are you close?”

“We are mother and son,” he said curtly, and she frowned at the pain that flitted across his face. “She is likely happy that you went through with the wedding. I am sure she is as invested in finding Marcus as I am.”

Louise tried to pull away from him, but his hand tensed, pinning her to him. The Duke was tall, and she felt his body grow hotter as she noted a hardness pressing against her belly.

She looked up at him, only to find him smirking yet again.

“My apologies, Duchess, but you are quite extraordinarily beautiful. I am only a man.”

“You are despicable.”

But to her dismay, her body was melting against his, enjoying the contact despite all her efforts.

“I believe it will soon be time for us to withdraw.”

As he said those words, the music came to an end, and they twirled to a stop in the center of the dance floor. Louise looked about her as the other couples returned to their seats. Her heart hammered in her chest as the Duke’s gaze met hers, his green eyes filled with want and an infuriating need that her heart echoed.

“Sybella needs me,” she blurted out, panic rising in her throat at the thought that he might take her away and lay claim to her.

What if he ignores my rules and simply takes what he sees as rightfully his?

She needed air. She needed space. Seeing Sybella’s worried face at the table behind her, she motioned to her and ran out of the room, leaving Christian standing alone in the center of the dance floor, calling after her to no avail.

“You’re losing your touch, it seems,” Gabriel drawled as Christian returned to his seat.

The Duke of Stonewell had somehow procured a glass of whiskey despite wine being the only drink at the table.

“Where did you get that from?” Christian asked irritably.

“I asked your butler. He was most obliging. I demanded the highest quality. I do hope it’s expensive and you’re running out of it.” Christian glared at him, but Gabriel only raised his glass in a toast. “To your bride. May she make you as miserable as you seem to make her.”

“Are you trying to be insufferable?”

“Of course. I did say I would gloat if things did not turn out in your favor.”

Christian sighed, aware of his mother’s eyes on him. He did not wish to talk to her, and he suddenly felt exhausted. The day had necessitated a great many fake smiles and endless idle chatter with acquaintances. He just wanted to be alone with his thoughts and digest what had taken place.

He looked around at the assembled guests and stood up.

“Thank you all for coming,” he said as loudly as possible, as many faces turned toward him. “The hour is getting late, and my bride and I need to rest. We are grateful for your kind words this day, and I wish you a safe journey home.”

He knew many would see it as a snub, but he couldn’t pretend to be the perfect host for another second. He longed for silence and a bit of peace. Most of all, he wanted to find his bride and ask her what she meant by humiliating him in such a way.

I said this marriage would not be boring. It seems I was more right than I thought.

When the guests eventually began to disperse, Christian bid a brief farewell to Louise’s parents. Lady Northbridge gave him a stiff smile, but there was warmth in her eyes. Lord Northbridge looked ready to hit him, and Christian felt a deep sense of satisfaction at having beaten him at his own game.

As the guests began to file out, he saw Sybella leaving the room and swiftly turned around, spotting Louise trying to slip out of a rear door beside a confused-looking footman.

He crossed the room before she could do so and caught her wrist. It was humiliating enough to chase down his wife in front of the entire wedding party, and he was losing the small amount of patience he had left.

“Enough of your games—it is time I spent some time alone with my wife.”

He pulled her through the door and dragged her down the narrow corridor. It was flanked by family portraits dating back hundreds of years, and their eyes seemed to follow him as the steady sound of his footsteps echoed off the walls, followed by her protests.

“You will unhand me, Sir,” she hissed viciously, yanking back her hand to try to loosen his grip.

Christian’s fingers wrapped around her entire wrist without difficulty, and she had the strength of a kitten. She barely managed to slow him down.

He pushed her into a side room, a small parlor rarely used by him or his mother. He shut the door and turned around to find her breathing heavily. The same lock of hair had come loose, and his fingers itched to tuck it behind her ear.

“May I remind you,” she said angrily, “that I set a rule you must abide by. I do not want a child for the first year of our marriage. If you want a woman in your bed, you can take a lover and be done with it.”

She moved to slip past him, but the fragile thread of his patience snapped. Whether it was her insinuation that he was no better than the other men of his class or the suggestion that he might desire another woman, he could no longer tolerate her provocations.

He gripped her upper arms and pushed her back against the door. She let out a small gasp of shock but, to his surprise, went pliant beneath him almost instantly, her eyes fluttering shut as though overtaken by her desire.

He shuddered at the thought of how he might be with her in bed—running his fingers through her hair, watching as her body melted against his. He was hard in seconds. He wanted to rut against her and claim her right then and there, her rules be damned.

“We have been married three hours, and you have already insulted me twice, Your Grace.”

“Stop calling me that,” she spat, then closed her mouth.

He smirked down at her. “If you do me the same courtesy, I shall. I am not going to take a lover when I have a wife to take my pleasure from. I am not like all the other men of the ton who use women and disrespect their wives as quickly as they are joined with them.”

“Do you expect me to thank you for the courtesy?”

He lost the battle with himself. He ground his hips against hers, knowing she could feel his hard length between her legs when she let out a low moan.

“You can set all the rules you like, Louise. But by the end of this week, you will beg me to take you.” His hand moved slowly down her waist as he spoke, and her breath came harsh and jagged in his ears. “You’ll long for my touch. You’ll crawl and beg me to take you.” He moved his lips to her ear, grazing the shell, barely able to contain his lust. “Get ready for me, Duchess, because in seven days, I’ll come to claim what’s mine.”

He ran his tongue along the line of her jaw and groaned as she let out that addictive, little moan again. He ground his hips against hers for the final time before stepping away and putting his hand on the door handle.

He held back a smile as she shot him a withering look with all the fury he had come to expect from his Iron Harridan.

“Try to resist me until then, Your Grace. I look forward to your surrender.”