by Tanya Wilde
Like now, when she was seated on the ground, captured, was he perhaps sleeping in? Or was he seated behind his desk in his study, attending estate matters, a scowl darkening his brow? Did he spare her any thought?
Holly had been so confident he was The One.
There had been a connection between them, she was sure of it. There had been a spark of passion, too, which she had thought could lead to more—to love.
If only the storm hadn’t let up so soon. Perhaps then . . . But such ruminations were neither here nor there. It would not save her from her current problem.
The sudden heavy fall of footsteps alerted her that she was about to have a visitor. The duke? She would like to box his ears if he so much as came close to her this time. It seemed she was capable of some violence, after all.
She clutched the tray tighter.
A moment later, a key turned in the lock and the door swung open.
A tall, lean figure with a mop of brown hair and brown eyes appeared in the doorway. His gaze searched the room before it settled on her, where she sat on the floor. Then his lips stretched into a wide grin.
Her eyes narrowed on the man. “And who might you be?”
She had her suspicions.
“Ah, yes, that’s right. We have never been properly introduced. Allow me the pleasure. I am Lord Jonathan Griffin,” he made a sweeping bow, “and I am delighted to meet the woman my brother has captured for my wife.”
I knew it.
So this was Lord Jonathan Griffin.
The duke’s wayward brother.
Spare to the heir.
Her intended fiancé.
“Come to inspect the merchandise?”
If anything, his smile broadened. “In a manner of speaking . . . I have come to see whether you are just as defiant as the new duchess.” He gave her a crooked grin. “I see that you are.”
“I’m glad I can amuse you.”
Holly watched as he leaned back against the wall, his arms crossing over his chest as he studied her. He was young but powerfully built. Quick wit shown out from his eyes, as did good humor.
Overall, though, her largest impression was simply how unlike his sibling he was. In fact, had Holly met him first, say in a few years’ time, he might very well have been a man she might have come to admire.
Well, if she’d never spent time with Brahm, that is. Now all she could think about was that he hadn’t shut the door.
“The entirety of the situation amuses me,” Lord Jonathan began. “I came as soon as I received word of my brother’s upcoming nuptials. Unfortunately, the weather in Scotland took a turn for the worse, and I was delayed. I did, however, arrive in the nick of time to discover my brother wedded to the wrong woman.”
“Wrong is a poor choice of word,” Holly snapped.
“But correct, isn’t it? Nonetheless, I was shocked to discover my brother planned retribution—to marry off his former betrothed to me.”
“Not keen for second helpings, I take it?”
“Not keen to marry—not yet.”
Holly’s head perked up at that, and a seed of light sprouted in her chest. Not hope, precisely, but something else, like a bud, which might yet blossom into hope. “I suppose this is where you stand aside and tell me to run for it?”
His laughter rang through the room. “Would you trust me if I said yes?” He motioned to the tray clutched in her hands. “Whack me over the head for good measure, heh?”
Holly’s face flamed.
He chuckled. “Thought so.”
“I may be a prisoner of your brother, Lord Jonathan, and so far my attempts to escape have been futile, but I refuse to lie down and await my fate like some docile creature.”
He shifted on his legs, his nose wrinkling. “Fate. I have always despised that word. It suggests I have no control over my future.”
“Then you and your brother are more alike than I first thought.”
He gave her a wolfish grin. “On the contrary, my dear, I have never enjoyed captive birds. I find beautiful creatures should not be caged. It is why I am here—to set you free.”
Holly’s eyes widened in disbelief. That tiny bud was blossoming in her chest when another thought struck her. What if this was a trick to test her? Yes, that must be it. For when something sounded too good to be true, it usually was—and it often came along with a harsh lesson. The bud closed again.
“I see you do not believe me.”
Holly rose to her feet. “Of course I do not. With your family, one never knows quite where you stand or what motives are behind your actions. For you to set me free from the mad clutches of your brother would mean you go against his wishes. I find it hard to believe that you, knowing him your entire life, would defy him.”
Lord Jonathan nodded in thought, pushing back from the wall. “Here is the thing, Miss Middleton. My brother does not scare me as much as your sister does.”
“Willow?” Holly asked, confused.
He nodded. “My lovely sister-in-law is quite the force to be reckoned with. I believe Ambrose will have a hard time controlling his new wife. In fact, for that very reason, I have decided to stick around.”
Holly arched a brow. “That gives me more pleasure than you can know.”
He winked at her. “And just so you know, Miss Middleton, if I were up for marrying at present or if someone else had not already staked his claim in a rather adamant fashion, I would have been happy to court you. I find you Middletons bold, and it’s terribly engaging, I must say.”
Holly scrunched her brows together. “I’m afraid I do not understand. Who staked a claim on me?”
“That surly beast of yours—Warton, I believe?—is on the warpath.”
Brahm knew the duke had her? How?
“The marquis staked no claim,” she denied.
“No? He quite boldly declared his intentions, and let’s not forget the part where he threatened to disembowel me if I married you. I rather enjoy my private parts intact.” He shuddered.
Holly blinked and then choked back a laugh. Brahm had threatened Lord Jonathan?
A thrill of pleasure shot through her. A man would not defend a woman in such a way if he did not care for her. He must carry some affection for her, then.
“He has a temper,” Holly agreed.
Lord Jonathan snorted. “A temper results in fisticuffs, not threats to castrate.”
All the more reason to love Brahm more.
“But what of your brother, the duke? Surely his wrath is not worth the betrayal.”
“My brother has lost his mind. In any case, I believe Ambrose is about to discover just how inconvenient it is to continually meddle in the lives of others.”
“Would he harm my sister?”
“I would not worry about your sister; she’s quite the hellcat if she doesn’t get want she wants.”
Holly laughed. “I’m sure she would enjoy that reference immensely,” she murmured with wry amusement. But with his words came relief. She had been so worried that she had ruined her sister’s life, but this was confirmation rather than just hope that Willow had her marriage well enough in hand. “Are you not mad at me for jilting your brother?”
He shrugged. “On the contrary, it gives me great delight. The day he ventured into Middleton domain was a great day indeed. Though, had it transpired differently . . . well, I might feel otherwise.”
Holly nodded. Willow had well and truly saved their family by marrying the duke in her place. No one was jilted, and it appeared, if Lord Jonathan was to be understood, that his brother had met his match.
“You are a rogue, are you not?”
Lord Jonathan leaned forward, as if to impart a great secret, his eyes sparkling with mirth. “The secret to being a rogue is to not admit one is a rogue, for that would defeat the entire purpose of being a rogue.”
Holly shook her head. The lord had charm, for certain, but she had come to prefer the brooding sort.
“Do you believe your brother will forg
ive us in time?” she murmured after a moment.
“I believe,” he said, considering his words before he continued, “given that Warton threatened to disembowel him and me, Ambrose will come to see the light eventually. Warton is not an enemy you want at your back.”
“He threatened the duke as well?”
Lord Jonathan nodded. “I thought that Warton was full of bluster, but then I saw a powerful group of individuals at his back.”
This time hope did not blossom, it soared. The man she loved had not abandoned her. He was fighting for her.
“Surely your brother has powerful friends as well?” she asked.
“Oh, yes, though it is curious why he hasn’t rallied them to his side.”
Curious, indeed.
“Wait, so everyone knows about my relationship with Warton?”
“It would appear so.” Amusement sparked in his gaze.
Dear Lord. She did not know whether that was a nightmare or a relief.
A sudden idea occurred to her.
“Lord Jonathan, perhaps I can prevail upon you to aid me with something.”
“I’m all ears, Miss Middleton.”
“Please, call me Holly; we are family now, after all.”
“No need to remind me. I shall be the uncle that regales my nephews and nieces with the tale of how the duke once attempted to marry me, his brother, to his sister-in-law,” he teased. “Tell me what you require, Holly.”
“I need to pin a card.”
“Might I inquire as to the nature of this card?” Jonathan asked, his eyes flashing with good humor.
Holly’s lips stretched into a brilliant smile. “Why, indeed—it’s an invitation to marriage.”
Chapter 20
The following morning
“Shush, stop complaining. The gown will fit you if you keep still.”
Holly shot Willow a dark look in the mirror. After Jonathan had freed her, she’d asked him to take her directly to her father, who had demanded a detailed account of every moment, from the day of the wedding till the moment his brother had deposited her on their doorstep. She had then sent word to Willow, who had, to their surprise, arrived that evening.
Now Holly, Willow, and Poppy stood in her bedroom fitting a gown that they had spent all night altering. Years of tedious embroidery and sewing lessons had finally come in handy.
“It is not the keeping still I am afraid of, it’s the moving around.”
“It will be fine,” Willow said.
“We shall find out soon enough. At this rate, I doubt I will be able to manage a step—my lungs will give out,” Holly muttered.
“So take smaller steps,” Willow murmured.
“There is no time to alter the dress further,” Poppy said.
Holly maintained a stiff posture as her sister tugged at the laces at her lower back. This was not the dress she had envisioned for her wedding—it was even better. A soft muslin gown of forest green with gold lace trimmings. It had taken most of the night to embroider tiny leaves into the lining, and the result was a far cry from a “new breed of bird” look, as Brahm had put it.
Her hair had been expertly pinned together, and to complete the look, Poppy had stuck a twig of ivory in her hair. But the corset was much too tight. Holly had always thought the purpose of the garment was to uplift one’s charms in a comfortable manner. Nothing about this bodice was comfortable.
“Can we not forgo the corset?”
Willow’s affronted gaze met hers. “That shall be scandalous, Holly!”
“I don’t care about scandalous, I care about breathing,” Holly pointed out. “And I am sure no one will notice I’m not wearing one.”
Willow sighed. “If you insist,” she said after a moment. “But you shall not forgo your chemise.”
“I would never dream of such a thing,” Holly teased, her hand settling over her heart.
Willow rolled her eyes, but she and Poppy quickly dispensed of the corset.
Holly inhaled deeply as she fought for breath. Ah, that is much better.
“You will look like a goddess of the earth,” Poppy gushed, pinning away a stray curl.
She hoped so. Her nerves were taxed with tension. Though Brahm had declared their betrothal to the entire land, she didn’t know precisely why he had. Did he love her, or did he feel a sense of duty to her? Was he saving her or choosing her? She felt exposed, like a soldier in the line of fire.
Then, to add a layer of complexity, she knew that Brahm must feel rather uncertain himself. He had risked a great deal in declaring that they were betrothed and had no idea how she would respond to such a bold declaration. So an invitation to spend their lives together seemed a fitting way to show Brahm just how much she loved him—to let him know that she would happily marry him even though he hadn’t actually asked her.
Remarkably, it felt as though her entire life had been in preparation to this day. Not her wedding, mind you, but wedding Brahm Tremont. He had not only stolen her heart—because, quite frankly, her heart had been willing enough to pounce on him—but he made her feel like more than the girl everyone else saw as just silly.
“Tell me again. Did Brahm truly threaten St. Ives?” Holly asked her sister. Until the day her hair turned silver, she would not tire of hearing that story.
Willow let out an exasperated breath. “Honestly, Holly, must you exhaust the subject?”
“The man did declare their betrothal to the entire world,” Poppy said with a shrug. “It must have come as quite the shock.”
“To us all,” Willow agreed, pulling away from her. “Are you certain this is what you want? The last time, things did not go as you had hoped.”
“And I,” Poppy piped up, “would rather not be shackled to that big beast.”
“Do not fear, dear sister, I am quite committed to this one.” Holly grinned.
“Do not jest over such things!” Willow admonished. “But declaration or not, that still doesn’t mean you must marry him,” she pointed out.
“I love him, Willow.”
“You loved the last one, too,” Poppy muttered beneath her breath.
They both shot her an aggrieved look.
“He left you, alone, in the country,” Willow argued.
“True, but Jonathan said he looked like a man possessed.”
“That only confirms he has a conscience,” Willow said.
“Is Lord Jonathan on Warton’s side now? Did the marquis not threaten him?” Poppy asked. “And when did you become such good friends?”
“In all likelihood he fears disembowelment more than he does his brother,” Willow suggested.
The girls snickered.
“Or you,” Holly pointed out.
“Did you threaten him as well, Willow?” Poppy chirped. “I do believe you are my new idol.”
Willow blushed. “I did no such thing.”
Holly’s smile turned sly. “Jonathan called you a hellcat.”
“I am no such thing!” Willow exclaimed, her eyes wide.
Holly lifted her shoulders in a shrug. “He said he is going to stick around London for a while. He believes your marriage to his brother will provide endless entertainment.”
“The scoundrel!”
“Just where is your beloved husband?” Poppy asked Willow.
“Oh . . . well, Jonathan helped me to secure him last night.”
Poppy rolled her eyes heavenward at the mention of the duke’s rascal brother. “Am I the only one he did not befriend?”
Holly ignored her and instead asked, “Secured him how?”
Willow looked slightly abashed. “Jonathan supplied him with drink, and I tied him to a chair and locked him in his room. The servants have strict orders to stay clear of that wing.”
Holly’s jaw dropped.
“He has been tied up since last night?” Poppy asked, shocked.
Willow nodded.
“I cannot believe you did that,” Holly murmured. “St. Ives will be furious with you.”
<
br /> “If he even remembers my part in his imprisonment.”
“Oh, he will,” Poppy said in an ominous tone. “That man does not strike me as one who forgets anything.”
“You should be careful, Willow,” Holly agreed, “not to push him too far. What if he thinks to punish you?”
Willow shook her head. “Ambrose knows better.”
But Holly caught the slight line of worry in her features. St. Ives might not take it out on her, but it would not be a pleasant rant to witness.
“Are you certain?” Holly had to ask.
“Do not worry so. Ambrose and I understand one another. In any case, let us not go on about me; today is about you.”
Holly sighed, letting it go. She trusted Willow. And it was true; today was about her. Although, in some ways, it was not. Every event that had led to this day had started with her accepting a proposal from a duke. So, in part, it wasn’t just her day. It was Willow’s day as well. It was St. Ives’s day. It was Brahm’s day. It was Poppy’s and her father’s day. It marked not only the beginning of her future with a remarkable man but also the end of the events that had unfolded prior to it.
Suddenly nervous, Holly glanced around the room. “Do you think he really wants to marry me?”
“The man declared his intentions publicly. He wants to marry you, all right,” Willow said earnestly.
“After his passionate display at the Eldridge ball, you are all but already married.” Poppy smiled with amusement. “On a further note, who is that delicious-looking man guarding the doors at the front?” Poppy asked.
“Marcus Hunt,” Willow said and eyed her sister with a raised brow. “He is a Bow Street Runner.”
“A damn fine one.”
“Poppy!” Willow admonished.
Holly grinned. “Marcus Hunt has been loitering about all morning. He wishes to ask me some questions, but I haven’t had the time to see to him. Jonathan said he would see to it.”
“Why do I feel every sentence either starts or ends with Jonathan?” Poppy gave an exaggerated sigh.
“He is family,” Willow pointed out.
“Yes, well, I’d much rather talk about the scrumptious Bow Street Runner,” Poppy drawled with dreamy eyes.