“Son of a bastard,” Cedric swore.
“Greymont?” Silas called out as he trotted to his side. “What is—” his keen eyes took in the scene, and Cedric knew his friend would see what had happened. “Good god. Is he gone?”
“Yes,” Cedric swore again. “This was my fault. I should have known the untrustworthy cur would have done something like this. I should have been watching him like a hawk instead of trusting his word.”
Shaking his head, Silas said, “You cannot blame yourself for this. It just goes to show you how much of a coward he is.”
“When I find him, I am going to wring his neck,” Cedric swore as they headed back to church.
He entered to see Ariadne seated at a front pew with her mother rubbing her hand, comfortingly, before giving him a pleading look. One of her sisters, the one with the spectacles, looked ripped in two; she must have put two and two together instantly.
He turned away to go to the priest, who looked solemn. “Your Grace?”
“The groom is gone,” he said plainly.
To his credit, the priest replied, “Should I cancel the proceedings, Your Grace?”
Turning, his eyes landed on Ariadne, and something carved through his chest with a ragged edge. She didn't deserve any of this; being forced to marry a rakehell and, on the day of the wedding, be jilted at the altar. Pity cracked his galvanized chest open, and his heart bled for her.
“Sir?” The priest asked
I am in need of a wife, if only to stave off the incessant offers for marriage from ladies and their marriage-minded mamas…and if she stays out of the way…
Ignoring him, Cedric went to Ariadne, and she looked up at him with luminous blue eyes, misted with unshed tears. “He’s gone, isn’t he?”
“Yes,” he replied frankly.
She pulled her bottom lip in, and her chest shuddered with a held-in cry. Forget getting caught with a rake in bed; when word got around that her prospective husband had jilted her at the altar, she would be ripped apart by all the harpies in the ton. Matrons would use her name as a cautionary tale to young ladies.
Did he want to see her be ruined by his careless brother? After all, he could annul this marriage soon and save her name.
“But—” Leaning closer, her cupped her chin in the palm of his hand and forced her to meet his gaze. “Now, will you allow me to rescue you from this situation?” He ran his thumb over her jawline, causing heat to fill her cheeks.
She swallowed. “What do you mean, Your Grace?”
“There is only one way to ensure that your family is not completely destroyed.” He paused. “Marry me, Lady Ariadne.”
A faint stir rippled through the pews behind them—a rustle, a sharp intake of breath, someone’s muffled exclamation cut short.
“Cedric Graymont, Duke of Holloway,” the vicar said at last, “will you have this woman to be your wedded wife?” His eyes met Ariadne through the veil; her gaze had lost the lost and defeated look from moments ago.
“I will,” I said. The vicar turned to her. “Will you have this man to be your wedded husband?”
There was a pause, and her tone wobbled, “I will,” she said.
After the priest pounced on them, man and wife, Cedric had given the priest a tight shake of the head before he asked them to kiss. Ariadne was grateful for it because she was not sure she could survive his lips on hers.
Not for my first kiss.
“By all that is vested in me, I pronounced you man and wife,” the priest said. “It is my honor to present Mr. and Mrs. Greymont, Duke and Duchess of Holloway.”
“Gadzooks,” Isolde murmured as she helped Ariadne disrobe in the same vestibule that she had dressed in. “He married you! He really married you.”
“It was for pity,” Ariadne replied numbly, as she donned her flounced deep green gown; she loved it because it complemented her dark curls and skin, but at the moment, with all the shock jolting through her system, she couldn’t muster the admiration from before. She took care not to jostle the delicate ruby ring on her finger.
She was a duchess.
The Duchess of Holloway.
