No doubt the other dragons in society would be eager to sink their claws into a lady with such a stellar reputation and impressive family ties.
There was no hope for it now. The game was over. It was straight to checkmate.
He called for his butler and scrawled two letters. One was sent to the Duke of Cranbrook, and the other was sent to Genevieve’s father, Daniel St. Giles, the Marquess of Hollibrook, at his country estate. If he wished to be present for the marriage of his eldest child, then he would have to arrive by the following day. In light of an impending scandal that might besmirch the family name, it was imperative that they wed at the earliest opportunity to lessen any possible damage, rather than wait three weeks for the banns to be read.
He snatched his jacket from the back of a chair and shrugged into it as he waited for his horse to be saddled and made ready. It was time to pay a visit to the archbishop for that special license.
As he rode to the diocese, he finally thought of his mother, sequestered as she was in Scotland. He wavered whether he should even announce his nuptials but decided that she would read about it soon enough. He wasn’t going to bother offering an olive branch, when he didn’t care to mend that damaged relationship. As far as he was concerned, it would never be altered. He was content with never seeing her again.
He clenched his jaw. And yet, he was willingly on his way to get a legal document that would bind him to one woman for what remained of his days. He was taking that risk to be a cuckold when he’d promised himself he would never marry for just that reason.
Thus, he decided to pretend that he was doing this to spare the Duke of Cranbrook and his family any dismay that might arise. He was still a member of the Wayward Dukes, after all. He wanted to be an honorable member of the alliance. If that meant he had to give up his freedom to prove his loyalty, then that was what he would do.
Genevieve stared at the ceiling in her room. Her hair was styled and her gown perfectly pressed. Or rather, they had been, before she’d plopped down on the bed to await the arrival of her future husband.
She was going to be sick.
This was not the best way to win the duke’s affections. In fact, it was the worst possible way. Not only would he despise her for trapping him into a marriage that she had tried to her best to avoid, but no doubt he would make her suffer the consequences from it.
She put a hand over her eyes. She had never heard anything bad about the duke’s behavior, but what if he was the kind of man who raised a hand? She would never be able to tolerate that, and English law would certainly prohibit her from obtaining a divorce. A woman who married was her husband’s property, as surely as his estate and his horse. The only way she could manage a legal separation was if he was found to be incompetent in the bedchamber, but his previous history with women would prove that invalid by several degrees.
No, she was well and truly trapped.
All you have to do is say yes…
Not for the first time, his dark promise flitted through her mind with all the delicious torment she had started to associate with him. They hadn’t kissed properly, and yet, she was yearning for the night they would finally lay together as man and wife. While there might be a touch of maidenly reserve, it was eclipsed by that whispered taunt in her ear. Something told her that the Duke of Argyle would be a very generous lover.
But it was what sort of husband he might be that worried her.
She didn’t open her eyes when the door opened and closed. Not until the maid said, “These just arrived for you, my lady,” did she reluctantly crack open one of her lids slightly.
She quickly sat up when she caught sight of what the maid held.
Genevieve followed the elaborate bouquet with her gaze. It was so massive that she couldn’t see the maid’s face when she carried it over to her bedside table and placed it down gently. “Those are… breathtaking.”
“Yes, my lady. I would agree.” The maid glanced toward the small square in the midst of all the various hothouse blooms. “Perhaps you should read the card.”
Genevieve reached out and plucked out the small paper and read the confident, masculine scrawl.
To my future bride.
I can’t wait until you say yes.
Yours,
Cortland
It took Genevieve a moment to realize that he’d signed it with his given name rather than his ducal title. Had she bothered to think of what it was? She’d always just called him by his title or Your Grace, as was proper. It would be so strange to call him something so intimate, but she supposed she should get used to it. She would soon be his wife, after all.
She put a hand to her stomach, sure that she would retch.
“Oh, my lady, you look rather peaked. Are you feeling well?”
No. “Yes, I’m fine.”
The maid smiled kindly. “No doubt it’s just those bridal nerves. They hit every lady before they take their vows. I’ll go down to the kitchens to see if cook has anything that might settle your stomach.”
She bobbed a curtsy and left before Genevieve could tell her not to bother. Then again, perhaps it wouldn’t be such a terrible idea.
