The Duke's Stolen Bride

by Sophie Jordan

  She had no choice.

  Chapter 20

  “I just don’t understand. How can you marry him?” Nora paced up and down the parlor. She had been haranguing Marian for the last hour, ever since they returned together from town, where they had met with the vicar to see about the posting of the banns. When she informed them of her decision last night, they had been shocked into silence. Today they found their voices.

  Marian sat on the sofa beside Charlotte, hands laced tightly together in her lap.

  Marian had told her sisters they didn’t need to accompany her and Mr. Lawrence, but they had insisted.

  They had accompanied her, sulking silently, glaring at Marian and Mr. Lawrence as though they couldn’t decide who angered them more.

  “Marian,” Charlotte said in her gentle way. “You said you would never marry Mr. Lawrence. I don’t understand what has changed.”

  Everything. Everything had changed.

  Marian had been playing a game—a game for her life, her freedom.

  And she had lost it.

  Marian had allowed Mr. Lawrence to do all the talking today. She couldn’t summon much speech. She felt dazed, ill.

  Her future with Mr. Lawrence flashed through her mind and she had to fight down bile. The only thing that sustained her was the knowledge that her sisters would be cared for—her sisters could reclaim their lives at long last.

  “Marian! Say something.”

  She lifted her gaze from her lap to Nora. “I’m saving us.”

  Emotion rippled across Nora’s face. “You’re doing this for us?” She pounded her chest.

  “We don’t want you to do this for us. Phillip would never want that, either,” Charlotte whispered beside her, her voice small and choked with tears. “We will never be happy if we cost you this.”

  Nora nodded, the color bright in her face. “The price is too high!”

  “I’m not doing anything so unreasonable. Women marry for gain all the time.”

  “There has to be another way,” Charlotte insisted. “He’s . . . he’s Mr. Lawrence.”

  She said the name as if it was the most wretched thing, and even though she knew marrying him was horrible, Marian fixed her features into an expression of serenity.

  Her sisters were a different breed of female. Papa had raised them to believe they were destined to be more than a man’s wife, more than chattel. Never were they told they had to marry. Marriage was a choice, an option for them should they find a gentleman they desired.

  Now Marian realized this kind of idealism was reserved for only a privileged class of female. She did not belong to that class.

  “We’ve tried. For over a year.” She reached a hand to cover Charlotte’s. “He has agreed to reinstate your dowry. You can marry William now.”

  “You think the ol’ Pembroke will let his son marry Charlotte?” Nora asked. “You’re marrying a tradesman!”

  “A very wealthy tradesman,” Marian reminded. “I think Pembroke can be persuaded, especially as his son is still in love with Charlotte.”

  Charlotte was close to tears now. “You think I will be happy knowing I cost you—”

  “You cost me nothing,” Marian snapped. “If I blame you, then I might as well blame Papa for failing to provide for us beyond his death. But I don’t. I don’t blame him. This is simply our situation and I’m getting us out of it, and I’ll not hear another word on the matter.” She finished rather breathlessly, slicing a hand through the air.

  With a huff of breath, she rose to her feet and marched toward the small decanter of brandy Papa had kept in the parlor.

  Her sisters watched agape as she poured herself a glass and downed it.

  “I’m doing this and you two”—she wagged a finger at both of them in warning—“are going to be blasted happy. You’re not going to object or be rude. You will be supportive. Understood?”

  They exchanged uncertain glances.

  “Yes, Marian,” Charlotte dutifully agreed.

  Nora was slower to respond. “Fine.” She crossed her arms over her chest resentfully, hardly the image of compliance.

  Marian cocked her head in continued warning, sending her the same threatening glance she had used when Nora was a naughty child. “Eleanor.” It felt necessary to use her full name in this.

  “Oh, very well.” She dropped her arms in a motion of defeat. “I’ll be supportive.”

  Marian stared at her a moment longer and then returned to the decanter. Pushing aside her lingering suspicion that Nora was going to be anything but supportive, she poured herself another drink.

  Her sisters studied her like she was some manner of spectacle on Drury Lane as she drank from the glass.

  Charlotte tsked. “Marian. You don’t drink.”

  “There are a great many things you don’t know about me,” Marian muttered.

  Gathering up the decanter and glass, she marched past them and fled to her own bedchamber.

  She didn’t meet him that night.

  Nate waited for over an hour, pacing anxiously, peering into the night, waiting for her to emerge out of the ever-growing darkness.

  When it became clear to him she was not coming, he had to stop himself from riding to her house. He envisioned himself climbing his way up to her bedroom window. It was extreme . . . but then, so was his need for her.

  He talked himself out of it, of course. There had been enough rashness on his part when it came to Marian. She had asked for discretion. He’d promised to give her that. If she couldn’t meet him, there was a good reason. He’d wait.

  Even if he spent most of the night tossing and turning and suffering an aching cock.

  He exercised restraint.

  Upon waking, he took a morning ride through the brisk country air. Following that, he rang for a bath. He was in no hurry. He suspected he would not see her until tonight. That would be the way of it. They would only meet after dark. The nights would be theirs.

  He dressed himself for the day in his usual dark breeches, black vest and jacket.

  It was almost noon before he broke his fast. He did so overlooking the gardens, browsing the paper, sipping his coffee and eating with gusto.

  The rain had finally stopped and he lifted his head to admire the surfeit of green spread before him. Sometimes he found himself glancing to the empty chair across from him and wondering what it would be like if Marian was here with him. Would she read the paper, too? Was she a follower of the scandal rags? Or would she prefer conversation in the morning?

  He thought he would like that. Talking to her was always diverting. Never boring.

  He would have to see that they had a comfortable place to dine at the cottage. Their cottage. Of course, they could eat in bed. He imagined they would be doing most things there.

  Smiling to himself, he cut into another kipper, humming lightly.

  Pearson strode into the room. “Ah. There you are.” His gaze swept the table. “Looks to be a fine repast.” He bent and snatched a kipper for himself.

  “Help yourself,” he said as Pearson lowered himself into the seat across from him. “Any word yet from Holleman?” Nate asked. His solicitor should be here at any time.

  “I would expect him to arrive by the end of the day.” Pearson looked at him expectantly as though he would elaborate on why he had sent for his solicitor in the first place.

  But he didn’t. He held silent, biting into his jam-lathered toast. Pearson would likely find out eventually. As his man of affairs, it would come out.

  No matter how much he wished to keep this development to himself. Their arrangement was private. It was between him and Marian. He would involve his solicitor only for her protection, and he knew that Holleman was a professional. He would not share confidences. The man had been in his employ for some time. Nate knew he was too ethical to break his trust.

  For now he held silent beneath Pearson’s inquisitive gaze.

  “I should really stop eating these, but they are delicious.” Pearso
n selected another kipper from the platter between them. “I will be stuffed by the time I take tea with Allison.”

  “Ah, another afternoon in the village with your young lady.”

  “Actually I already ventured to the village this morning so one of the blacksmith’s apprentices could have a look at Balthazar. I might as well have stayed at home, however.”

  “Why is that?”

  “The man was hardly attentive. The entire village, in fact, was abuzz over the announcement of the blacksmith’s betrothal.”

  “Eh. And that is so very newsworthy?”

  “I think it is more the matter of who he is betrothed to.”

  “Oh?” Nate selected another piece of toast and began slathering it with jam.

  “Yes. It happens to be someone you are acquainted with.”

  He ceased chewing, freezing, slow dread spreading through his chest.

  Pearson continued, “I suppose it fortunate that your, er . . . association with her ended when it did, before anything really began. For the best. It prompted her to pursue a more traditional arrangement. Much better for her to be a wife to one man than a leman to another. Even if that man is you. Certainly you see that.”

  Nate very carefully leaned back in his chair and set his knife down upon the table. He sat composed even as a loud roar filled his ears.

  “Miss Langley? You speak of Miss Langley?” As obvious as it seemed, he needed clarification. He needed there to be no doubt.

  Pearson nodded, looking at him curiously.

  Nate knew he was behaving oddly. Reacting strangely to news that should not have had any impact on him at all.

  He didn’t know what he felt precisely, but he felt.

  He felt. Damn it.

  And that was the crux of the matter. Problematic indeed.

  He’d loved once. He had loved Mary Beth as a child and even as an adult. It had not been the grand passionate love he hoped for when he proposed at the tender age of twenty, but they could have lived all their lives together quite satisfactorily.

  They could have had she not died just three years into their marriage.

  Their relationship had never been very complicated. Mary Beth liked her clothes, her servants, iced biscuits, her cat. She liked Nate most of the time. Usually, she seemed to care for him. They never fought. As long as he did not place excessive demands on her, she was quite happy.

  Again, it was not the marriage he had envisioned, but it was fine. Simple. Uncomplicated. And he had resigned himself to it.

  This, with Marian, was complicated.

  What he felt right now was complicated. The churning in his gut should not be present. He should not care that she had reneged on their arrangement. The arrangement had barely begun. No papers had been signed.

  He’d had her. They had both enjoyed themselves. It was for the best.

  He would never have to end things with her. She was doing that for him—for them both.

  Chapter 21

  Marian escaped her sisters and their incessant haranguing into the quiet of her chamber.

  Nothing she said would satisfy them.

  They couldn’t fathom why she would agree to marry Lawrence, and the last thing she could do was admit the truth—to inform them that they were the reason. Her sisters and her brother. She was doing it expressly for them. Because of them. If she had only herself to worry about, she could have left Brambledon over a year ago and saw to her own well-being. However, she would not place that burden of responsibility and guilt on them.

  She hadn’t undressed yet—only taken the pins from her hair and shaken the long tresses free—when a sudden banging erupted downstairs.

  Voices and pounding feet soon added to the fray floating up from downstairs.

  She hurried to her door and yanked it open just as those voices drew nearer—on the stairs, advancing.

  “Marian!” Charlotte cried out, coming up the stairs. For once, it seemed, Nora, wherever she was, held silent.

  Charlotte came into sight, her panicked gaze landing on Marian as she waved wildly behind her. “He forced his way inside, Marian!”

  Her stomach sank.

  “He who?” Marian demanded, even though she feared she already knew. It was Lawrence returning to assert himself. A shudder racked her because she knew if he chose to, there would be no resisting him—there was nothing she could do except submit to him.

  Nate crested the second floor. His head emerged, followed by the rest of him. His dark eyes immediately found hers.

  “Nate,” she breathed.

  He passed up Charlotte in a few strides and came to a stop before Marian.

  His very solid chest lifted on an audible breath.

  From the periphery of her gaze, she spotted Nora arriving to join them, her hands balled into fists as though preparing for a battle.

  “Is it true?” he demanded, eyes still only for Marian.

  He did not look pleased. Hot emotion raged in those eyes.

  “What?” she asked even as she knew what he was asking.

  “You’re to marry. You’ve agreed to marry the blacksmith. Is that so? Is it true?” Something in his face urged her, compelled her, to refute this. He didn’t want it to be true.

  She didn’t want it to be true, either. She wished she could tell him it was all a lie. A horrible rumor.

  She longed for this not to be her life. Not her fate.

  She stared back at him, ensnared, pinned by those dark eyes.

  After some moments, she nodded. Her fate could not be denied. “It is true.”

  “You renege on our agreement, then?”

  She flinched at his hard tone, but nodded anew. “I fear I must.”

  “What agreement?” Nora demanded, but Marian couldn’t even bring herself to look at her. Not in this moment.

  Not in the awfulness of this moment.

  There would be unavoidable questions later. She would contend with them then. Later she would tell her sisters what she must. Not the full sordid truth. They didn’t need to know everything. She was entitled to some privacy.

  “You never even drew up those papers,” she reminded him.

  “A formality.”

  “What is happening?” Nora cried.

  Charlotte added her own bewildered voice to the uncomfortable situation. “Marian! Please explain.”

  Marian shifted uncomfortably, wishing this wasn’t so hard. Wishing he wasn’t here. Wishing she didn’t have to see him again. Lawrence was bad enough, but being face-to-face with Nate again made her eyes burn with the threat of tears.

  She shrugged and attempted to be dismissive—to get him to spare her and leave. “We scarcely began—”

  He moved quickly then, his hands seizing onto her arms, pulling her close, hauling her to him.

  “Don’t do that. Don’t act like we didn’t have anything.” He kissed her then. Deep and punishing, right in front of her sisters. Even over the sounds of their gasps, she melted into Nate like she did every time he touched her. Even as mortified as she was to have an audience, she was helpless to resist him.

  When he came up for air, she shoved him hard with both hands and fell back against the corridor wall. “We can’t do this. Lawrence knows about us. He will see me ruined unless I marry him.”

  He sprang closer, his face in hers, his hands flattening on the wall on either side of her head. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you come to me?”

  “Because you can’t fix this. Not even you can make it right.”

  “Don’t do this.” His deep voice vibrated through her.

  She drank in the beauty of his face and ached for it—for him. For what could never be. “He will destroy us. I have to do this,” she whispered.

  He bowed his head, his breathing ragged. When he lifted his gaze, his brightly dark eyes settled on her with frightening intensity. “Marry me.”

  She knew she heard him correctly because her sisters exclaimed excitedly. One of them even clapped.

  �
��You don’t mean that,” she said evenly. “You said you never wanted to marry again.”

  “It’s not something a man says lightly,” he quickly returned.

  She stared at him for a long moment, digesting this. It was tempting. Except she knew he didn’t mean it. It was momentary—this pity. This wild compulsion that stemmed from who knew what or why.

  He would regret it.

  Tomorrow he would wake and wonder how to get himself out of a vastly unsuitable marriage to the likes of her. She couldn’t bear that.

  She couldn’t do it.

  “No,” she said in a small voice, closing her eyes in a pained blink. “That would be a mistake we would both come to regret.”

  “Marian!” Charlotte’s tone rang with reprimand.

  “He’s better than Mr. Lawrence!” Nora added.

  Marian shuddered at the mention of Mr. Lawrence, and a weak part of her wished for Nate to say the right words, to persuade her—to make this something she could agree to. Something she could convince herself was right.

  “You’ll not do this,” he proclaimed, with a swift shake of his head. “I won’t let you.”

  Before she could speak to refute that, he grabbed her and flung her over his shoulder.

  “Nate!” Hanging upside down, she rained fists on his back.

  His deep voice rumbled through her. “Would one of you pack her some garments? Anything she might need for a few days?”

  She spied Nora rush past them into her room eagerly. “Nora!” she cried in reproach. The traitor!

  “He’s better than Lawrence!” Nora called again, apparently her newfound mantra and what she would cling to.

  Marian twisted around to glare at him. “What are you doing? Where are you taking me?”

  He ignored her and spoke to a gaping Charlotte. “Spread the word about the village. Let everyone know that your sister has eloped with the Duke of Warrington.”

  They journeyed north in silence. Not a word beyond the perfunctory: Are you hungry? Watch out for that puddle. This way to the carriage.

  Marian held silent their entire journey. Not a word passed between them in the carriage. Not when they stopped to change horses. Not when they stopped overnight halfway to Gretna Green. They shared a room and a bed but not one word passed between them.