What a Duke Dares (19 page)

Fentonwyck, Derbyshire, late March 1828

T
he baroque glories of the Rothermere family chapel overwhelmed the small wedding party. On this rainy morning, the gilt and marble interior was icy and full of eerie reverberation. The housekeeper had done her best, lighting candles and arranging what flowers she could find. But even the famous Fentonwyck greenhouses had only produced a few straggly dahlias and half a dozen pots of hyacinths.

Before the altar, Pen shivered in the most suitable dress she’d discovered among the late duchess’s effects. The high-waisted style left her bosom looking as flat as Lincolnshire; the silk was too light for the nasty weather; the pink that had flattered the duchess’s Nordic fairness made Pen look pasty. Although perhaps she should blame her poor complexion on a run of sleepless nights and the elephants waltzing in her belly. The only good thing Pen could say about her
dress was that it covered the bruises from drifting around the seabed.

The sound of Cam’s voice speaking a steady “I will” wrenched her back to the moment. She braced to make the vows that condemned her to a lifetime with a man who would never love her. Her gloved hand closed hard around the snowdrops she held, releasing a burst of sickly scent.

Her churning stomach revolted as the vicar addressed her. She swallowed, praying she wouldn’t be sick. Vomiting over one’s bridegroom wasn’t done, especially if one wished to avoid gossip. Losing the cup of tea which was all she’d managed to choke down this morning would stir speculation that the bride increased disgracefully early.

A charged silence extended and the elderly vicar regarded her with concern. She swallowed again. She could do this. She’d made the decision three days ago. The decision that had been inevitable from the moment Cam found her in Italy. She was as trapped now as she’d have been if she’d married him nine years ago.

The vicar coughed. Bile jammed Pen’s throat. She glanced wildly at Cam, who had barely looked her way since she’d walked up the aisle. Beside her, her brother Elias jabbed her with his elbow. With Peter so recently gone, it was difficult to think of him as Lord Wilmott.

“Pen,” he prompted.

Behind her, the sparse congregation of a few senior household staff and county gentry shuffled in their seats. The wind rattled the stained glass windows, demanding her response.

She clenched her bouquet so hard that she broke the stems. Then Cam’s hand bridged the small distance between them. His fingers curled around hers, grounding her.

She inhaled and realized that she hadn’t taken a breath in far too long. Cam’s grip firmed in silent encouragement.

As if fearing that the new duchess was slow of understanding, the vicar repeated his questions, his reedy tenor resounding around the stone chapel. “Wilt thou have this man to thy wedded husband, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony? Wilt thou obey him and serve him, love, honor, and keep him, in sickness and in health? And forsaking all others, keep thee only to him, so long as you both shall live?”

At last she found her voice. She was grimly aware that what she promised would drain her soul before she was done.

“I will.”

“Congratulations, sis.” Harry hugged Pen hard. “Although you could have chosen a more flattering gown.”

They were in the drawing room before sitting down for the wedding breakfast. After the meal, the staff would spend the rest of the day celebrating the duke’s nuptials. Pen was sure that the servants’ party would prove more festive than this subdued gathering.

“It’s lovely to see you too,” she said drily, hugging him back. “I wouldn’t have recognized you.”

Last time she’d seen Harry, he’d been a gangly adolescent inclined to communicate in grunts. He’d shown little sign of growing into this handsome giant. Of her three brothers, he was the one who looked most like her, with his black hair and eyes, and tall, lean build.

“Best wishes, Pen.” Elias turned from his conversation with Cam. “May I kiss the bride?”

“Of course.” She presented her cheek. Elias felt like a stranger. She’d always been closer to Peter and Harry.

Vulnerable and unhappy as she was, she welcomed her family’s presence. But she wasn’t a fool and she could count. For Elias to reach Derbyshire for the ceremony, Cam must have sent the invitation before she’d accepted his proposal. How galling that His Grace, the Duke of Sedgemoor, had been so remarkably sure of himself.

She pasted a smile onto her face for the sake of her brothers and the local landowners. Pen wished desperately that Cam’s sister was here. A sympathetic woman would dilute this overbearing masculinity. But Lydia lived far south in Devon with her husband Simon. Not even Cam’s powers could waft her to Fentonwyck in time for the service.

“This scapegrace showed up at Houghton Park the day before yesterday, claiming he tired of London,” Elias said. “When he discovered I was bound for your wedding, he wouldn’t stay behind.”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Harry said with the wicked smile that she didn’t remember in his younger self.

She’d heard that he cut a swathe through society’s ladies. Right now she believed it. “I’ll need time to get used to seeing my unpromising lout of a brother with so much town bronze. You’re almost presentable these days, Harry.”

“Too kind. If you ask nicely, I’ll take you round the modistes and show you the latest rigs.”

She cast him an annoyed glance. “I’m sure you heard about the shipwreck. I only reached Fentonwyck yesterday. There wasn’t time to have a gown made.”

“I’d take her in her petticoat.” Cam’s smile looked almost natural. She was impressed. Nobody seeing this superb man in his elegant clothing and with his easy manner would guess that this marriage wasn’t his choice.

“You almost did,” she said.

“It might be an improvement,” Harry remarked.

She scowled at him. “Now I’m a duchess, I’ll thank you to show some respect. There’s a dungeon at Fentonwyck, young man.”

Cam snagged two glasses of champagne from a footman and passed her one. As she accepted, she summoned another smile. Her brothers needed to believe that she was happy. She was bleakly aware that a lifetime of pretense awaited.

“The dungeons are now wine cellars, Pen. Tomorrow I’ll take you on a tour of your new home.”

“I’d readily commit the occasional
faux pas
, if it means you’ll lock me away with your claret, Cam,” Harry said.

Cam’s arm slipped around her waist. Shock made her stiffen and withdraw before she recalled that they were in public. He caught her hand and gently rubbed his thumb over her wedding ring. The new ring felt alien, almost oppressive. She’d become accustomed to the weight of his signet, now on his hand where it belonged.

“Pen,” he warned under his breath, releasing her.

She blushed at the reprimand, however deserved. And at the touch of his hand. She’d spent the last days bracing herself to share Cam’s bed when he’d do much more than put his arm around her. How could she pretend that she didn’t love him when he took her body? If he discovered she loved him, this current awkwardness would fade to nothing in comparison.

“Are you and Elias staying?” she asked Harry.

“No, we leave after the breakfast,” Harry said.

“It’s a long way to come just for the ceremony.”

How cowardly she was, but her brothers offered refuge against Cam and what would happen in his bed tonight. Except that nothing would stop him possessing her. She’d spent her life trying to strangle her painful, unwelcome love. If he took her, that dependence would worsen. And now she
couldn’t run away to the Continent to avoid the constant reminder that he’d never love her.

She gulped a mouthful of champagne to dislodge the familiar lump in her throat.

“Steady on, old girl. You don’t want to be tipsy on your wedding day. Cam doesn’t need to know all the family foibles at once.”

“Ha ha,” she said sarcastically, although Harry’s teasing stemmed rising panic. She’d hoped she’d accepted her lot. Apparently she hadn’t.

“One of the nice things about marrying someone you met in their cradle is that there are few surprises,” Cam said drily, sliding his hand around her waist once more. This time she made herself stand rigidly still.

“Elias doesn’t wish to intrude on your honeymoon,” Harry said.

They’d told her brothers the lie about the European ceremony. “We’re an old married couple now.”

Cam sent her a sardonic glance. “Hardly, my love.”

The world stuttered to a stop. She only just saved herself from wrenching free. Those two words—“my love”—threatened to drag the whole façade around their ears. Those two words hurt. Dear God, they hurt. And she’d just signed up for fifty years or so of more hurt. Someone should shoot her now.

“Credit us with some tact, Pen,” Elias said.

“I haven’t seen you in so long,” she said with a trace of desperation.

“Come and stay at Houghton Park once you’ve settled.” Sadness shadowed Elias’s expression. “It’s shabbier than you remember. Old Peter wasn’t much of a manager.”

“He had a big heart and a generous spirit,” Pen said quietly. “I’ll miss him.”

“I’ll miss him too,” Cam said softly, a reminder of the bonds linking her to this man. “There was nobody like Peter.”

A somber silence extended as a benevolent ghost briefly hovered. A man who had been careless with money but never with people’s feelings.

“He’d be happy today,” Elias eventually said, smiling his approval at Pen and Cam. “He always considered you a brother, Cam.”

“Thank you.” When the butler appeared at the dining room door, Cam’s grip on Pen firmed. “Breakfast is served.”

With such a small and almost exclusively male gathering, social rules hardly counted. Still, Cam clearly meant to escort Pen. Through his glove and her dress, she felt the burning possession in his touch. The heat seared her, made her tremble with nerves. How on earth could she become his lover without revealing her feelings? The night loomed like a monster.

Harry touched her arm. “Pen, can I have a word?”

“Of course.” She turned to Cam. “I won’t be long.”

She hung back while Cam ushered the guests away. Once they were alone, she faced Harry. However different he looked, something in her soul insisted that he was the same: impulsive, generous, sweet-tempered, surprisingly steady in his loyalties.

He fixed his black eyes upon her. “I need your help.”

Oh, no. This didn’t sound good. She could barely hold herself together, let alone take on Harry’s problems. “Are you in trouble?”

“Not exactly.” His tone didn’t convince.

“Well, what, exactly?” She glanced behind to see if Cam returned for her.

“There’s this girl—”

A grim premonition settled in Pen’s stomach, souring the champagne. “You haven’t done something dishonorable, have you?”

Harry drew himself to his full height and surveyed her down his straight Thorne nose. “Not yet.”

Hardly reassuring. “Who is she?”

“Lady Sophie Fairbrother.”

He paused as if Pen should immediately understand, but she’d been out of England too long. “I don’t know her. Is she related to Lord Leath?”

“She’s his sister,” Harry said glumly.

“Harry, you can’t make a marquess’s sister your mistress.”

Anger flashed in his face and she realized with a sinking heart that this situation was much more serious. If she recognized the signs—and how could she not?—Harry was in love.

“I don’t want to make her my mistress. I want to make her my wife.”

“That’s aiming high for a third son with no prospects, Harry.”

“I love her and she loves me.”

Pen saw it was pointless saying that a young girl’s fancy changed with the wind. There was even less point in saying that a young man’s fancy was just as fickle. When Harry fell in love, he’d love forever. Just like she loved Cam. “If that’s true, let’s hope that Leath wants his sister’s happiness. You’ll have to offer for her.”

Harry’s mouth turned down. “I did. He showed me the door. Damned rudely.”

“He must think you’re a fortune hunter.” A reasonable assumption. Leath’s sister would be an heiress and Harry had little to recommend him, apart from his steadfast heart.

“He’s picked a husband for her. A dry old stick with political connections called Lord Desborough.”

“Do you want Cam to speak to Leath?”

Harry’s laugh held no amusement. “No, that would completely scupper my hopes. You’re out of touch with the tattle. Sedgemoor and Leath are at daggers drawn. Cam exposed Leath’s uncle as an out and out villain. Leath’s doing his best to stymie Cam’s business ventures. Surprised nobody wrote and told you. The scandal has put paid to Leath’s political ambitions. At least for the moment.”

“Oh dear.” She’d been right to worry. Harry was in a mess. “I do remember the news about Leath’s uncle, now you mention it. In Italy, it hardly seemed important.”

“Well, it’s important now. At least to me.”

“With your sister married to Cam, Leath will place you in the enemy camp.”

Harry nodded gloomily. “And I was less welcome than a flea at a feast anyway.”

“What can I do?” Today she’d signed up to a lifetime without love. How could she bear to condemn her brother to a similar fate? And perhaps her involvement might temper Harry’s recklessness.

Harry smiled with a relief she couldn’t feel she deserved. “You always were a great sport.”

She had an ominous feeling that being a great sport in this instance was likely to incur her husband’s wrath. “All I can advise is wait. It’s not the Middle Ages. Leath can’t haul his sister kicking and screaming to the altar. Once he understands that her feelings are real, he may relent.”

“But he won’t let me see her,” Harry said on a despairing outburst. “He’s sent her to Northumberland. Even when she comes back, he’ll keep us apart.”

“You want my help arranging a rendezvous?” Pen asked without enthusiasm.

Harry looked brighter. “Would you?”

She stared at him in frustration. “I’m in Derbyshire. What do you think?”

“I think you won’t be in Derbyshire for long. Cam will go down for parliament and to introduce you to society.”