Page 8 of The Duke’s Caught Bride

Alice pursed her lips but ended up nodding. Although she was offended by the suggestion that her sister would do such a thing, she also understood that the Duke had faced humiliation today. And he had two sons to think of, on top of that.

Before she could speak again, the housekeeper returned. “Your chamber is ready, My Lady.”

The Duke nodded once, a gesture of dismissal that encompassed both women without quite addressing either. “I have estate matters to attend to. Dinner is at eight.”

With that, he left.

Alice felt her heart racing wildly in her chest. Heat rushed to her cheeks as she recalled the way he had looked at her décolletage. No man had ever looked at her that way before.

She swallowed as she followed the maid, whose name she learnt was Mary, upstairs.

The young woman in question was cheerful, and apparently under the impression that Alice’s sudden elevation to future Duchess was the most romantic development she had witnessed in her employment. She chattered through the process of unpinning Alice’s hair and helping her into a borrowed dressing gown with the bright, relentless enthusiasm of a woman determined to find joy in someone else’s circumstance.

“Such a fortunate match,” she gushed, brushing Alice’s hair with more vigor than strictly necessary. “And after all the trouble with the first bride! They’re saying it was meant to be, My Lady. That sometimes the wrong path leads to the right person.”

“Thank you,” Alice muttered. “I… wonder if there is any news from Peltbury House about my sister, Lady Rachel?”

The maid’s expression clouded. “Nothing yet, My Lady. But rest assured, he does not leave things unfinished.”

No, he does not.

The Duke of Bearmoor was clearly a man who finished what he started.

“I hope not,” Alice whispered regardless. “Right now, nothing is more important than her.”

The maid nodded silently and continued brushing her hair.

Alice’s heart ached. Rachel was missing. Somewhere in the gathering dark, her sister was gone, and Alice was in a stranger’s house, preparing to become a stranger’s wife.

She closed her eyes. Behind her lids, she saw the Duke’s face: the controlled set of his jaw, the dark intensity of his gaze, the way his eyes had held hers with a weight she could feel in her bones.

No, she chastised herself.

Finding Rachel was far more important. She had to focus on her missing sister, not on the strange feelings the thought of the Duke’s eyes evoked in her.

Chapter Three

“Wilt thou have this woman to thy wedded wife, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of Matrimony? Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honor, and keep her, in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all other, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?” the minister asked.

The parish was far quieter than it had been days ago.

Alice stood at the altar in a borrowed gown of pale blue silk that had been altered overnight by a seamstress whose fingers must surely ache still, and counted the assembled guests on one hand with fingers left over. She was hardly aware of anything happening.

Beside her, the Duke’s hand covered hers. His skin was warm. She had not anticipated the warmth. She kept staring ahead.

“I do,” the Duke responded.

The priest repeated the question, now directed at her. “Wilt thou have this man to be thy wedded husband, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony? Wilt thou love him, comfort him, honor, and keep him, in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all other, keep thee only unto him, so long as ye both shall live?”

“I will,” she said, keeping her voice steady.

The priest’s mouth moved through the closing words, though she was hardly aware of it. Somewhere behind her, Freddie’s boot scraped across the stone floor. A witness coughed.

“I now pronounce you husband and wife.”

Afterwards, the Duke offered his arm. Alice took it with a trembling hand, allowing him to lead her.

Outside, her father waited by the carriage step, his expression arranged into a careful neutrality.