Page 30 of The Duke’s Unwilling Bride

Closing my eyes, I conjure up that night, attempting to remember any little detail I might have forgotten. The terror in her eyes seemed all too real. The stench of fear and panic clung to her like a second skin. And in the end, I do feel as if I recall the faint scent of oil, like those from lamps.

However, the library is full of such lamps. How can one tell the scent of a person versus the scent of all the oil in the room? When she confided in me later, it still seemed so unlikely. It would be so easy for her to claim the attacker smelled of oil when it was found in abundance all around her.

Could she really be so calculating as to plant the notes, rip her own dress, then let everything cascade into the perfect marriage trap? Seeing as she is a woman, I’d hazard the guess of no; however, she’s no ordinary woman. She keeps herself in her room or surrounded by books all day. Who knows how her story-filled brain operates?

I would sooner believe she could come up with this ploy before anyone else. The other women are too concerned with their appearances and skills—of which she has none. Leaving her plenty of time to concoct scheme after scheme.

Deep in my gut, however, this still doesn’t feel like the correct answer. No matter what, I can’t get the sight of her tears or the stench of her fear out of my brain. Even if she did concoct it, it must have gone further than she planned. And as much as I want to name her cousin as an accomplice, he was nowhere near her when I discovered the scene.

A large sigh slips through my lips as I toss the notes down onto the table and wave over at one of the ladies for some more ale. “You rang for some libations, Your Grace?” The syrupy sweet voice, deep yet high-pitched, so unlike the whipping girls at the club, captures my attention.

There, with a big grin on his face, stands William Dowding, Earl of Hazlewhick, his green eyes twinkling in the lamp lights. In tow, my other friends, the Dukes Blackport, Whiteport, Redleigh, Portswell, and Norhaven stumble about feigning drunkenness. I know for a fact it’s a farce, seeing as Madame Douler would not have allowed any of them entrance in that state.

As Norhaven steps out from behind his brother, I spy the stupid vase from Whiteport’s home. Of all the crackbrained things. To bring that here when all I want to do is enjoy some drinks away from the harpy, who is no doubt costing me a fortune in wedding plans.

Norhaven sets it down on the table and turns a chair about so he can sit on it astride. “I wanted to ensure you kept your word regarding the bet you so generously established.”

“When I made that bet,” I grind out, “I was deep in my cups with no plans of marriage on the brain.”

“And yet,” Lord Hazlewhick chimes in, his lips split with a wide grin, “it seems as if a young chit has managed to turn your head.”

“Solicited the ire of the Ton is more like it.”

Whiteport steps over, his face sober. As the eldest of all of us, he takes such matters of propriety very seriously. “I’ve been hearing conflicting tales and was hoping you could set the record straight.”

I sneer, waving my glass in the air so that the proper attendant can handle it. “Have you ever known me to be anything less than proper?”

“Need I remind you of your antics at school? It’s a wonder you weren’t either kicked out or forced to marry earlier than now.”

Winking at the scantily clad omega as she fills up my cup, I take a deep drink and set it down. Memories flood my brain. Whiteport certainly had a point. If not for The Rose and Thorne, my proclivities would have been aired out for all to see.

“This is different. I have an outlet now. What transpired the other night is nothing short of a mystery.” Pushing the notes forward, I watch as they all gather around. “I certainly don’t know whom to trust.”

Redleigh comes over to the other side, his scarred eye narrowed as he peers closer at the writing. “There’s something familiar about this. I cannot place my finger on it, but I seem to have a vague memory. I will certainly keep you apprised. Unfortunately, I’ll have to travel back to my estate and look through my correspondence. I feel it won’t be in time to save you from this wedding.”

Sighing, I lean back in my chair. “It would be no use, anyway. We were caught. She, in her state of undress, and me, the fool that thought to aid her.” I slam my fist onto the table, startling the two scening in front of us.

Muttering my apologies, I go back to looking at the notes. If only I could bring myself to toss them away. As it is, it’s the only evidence right now that I’m not going insane.

“Cheer up, old chap,” Norhaven laughs, clapping me on the back. “Soon, she’ll be your wife, and you can bring her to heel, just as well as the girls here.”

“Is she at least pretty to look at?” Portswell pipes up after being silent this whole time.

“She’s… she’s far more slender than I’d like.”

Lord Hazlewick grabs one of the omegas milling about and places her on his lap. She squeals and bats his hands away, but her smile never falters. Grabbing her breasts, the earl holds them up to me. “How does she compare to this buxom beauty?”

I want to respond, to denigrate the woman who’s forcing me down the aisle, but I find I can’t. It’s not love that keeps my tongue behind my teeth. Instead, it’s the begrudging admiration for the fire and spirit she shows.

More than that, it’s the way she responded to my spanking. I half expected her to dissolve into a puddle of sobbing and wailing, but she didn’t. In fact, she took it with a grace that some of these whipping girls didn’t even have. And her scent…

Even now, my cock twitches as the phantom memory of her arousal floods my brain. No other scent has come even close to being so decadent, so maddening. Even now, I want to storm out of here and ride back home, so I may take her to my sexual chamber once more.

But it’s dangerous. If I let myself indulge any further, I will take her virtue before we are man and wife. Of that, I’m certain. For many, they probably wouldn’t care with the wedding being so close, but I am determined to make our union proper. That way, she can never cry foul, can never accuse me of being anything other than a gentleman.

The other night was an anomaly, and one that will not happen again until the wedding ring is securely around her finger. Slipping my hand into my pocket, I finger the simple rings. Though I could have just made do with the plain silver band for the wedding, I felt compelled to gift her this other ring for an engagement.

Why? I can’t even fathom. With all the money she’s already cost me, the fact I still wanted to get this ring for her speaks volumes about the undying desires that thread through me, winding me tighter than a drum. By all rights, I should be punishing her for putting me into this mess, and yet, all I want to do is get her alone in my dungeon again.