The Perks of being a Duchess (Middleton Novel Book 2)

by Tanya Wilde

Willow sucked in a breath, her eyes glued to his. The lines of his face were cut deep, but the hard edge to his features was gone. Lord, had he just told her he loved her? The brandy and sleeping draught must still be in effect. That’s it. He couldn’t possibly have said that.

  “Then why did you not call off your henchman?” Willow demanded.

  “I was too late.”

  “And when you learned they found Holly? Why not let her go then?”

  “I planned on releasing her, but Warton ruined the surprise.”

  “Surprise?”

  Ambrose nodded. “I planned on letting her go that very morning. You were supposed to enter the dining room, feast spread out, your sister smiling at the table.”

  Willow swore she felt her heart melt there and then. “Why did you not tell me then?”

  He took a step forward. “I froze, love, and behaved like an ass. I truly never meant for it to go this far.”

  “You still could have told me,” Willow said in a small whisper, her heart pumping madly.

  “Would you have believed my sincerity? That I had decided to let go of any grievance before my men found her? Before Warton barged in and yelled bloody murder?”

  “I . . .” Would she have? Perhaps not. No, definitely not. She’d never have believed him, not in that moment—for why hold Holly without telling her if he decided not to go through with his plan?

  As if sensing her thoughts, he added, “It all happened so fast, much faster than I expected, and before I knew it, I had your sister tucked away and no damn clue what to do with her. Then Warton ruined my plan. It was supposed to be romantic.”

  “So you sat back and did nothing?” Poppy asked, looking more fascinated by their conversation than she ought to.

  Honestly.

  Ambrose nodded. “I knew, for me to convince Willow of my sincerity, I had to give up the reins and let her do what she does best. Which, in this case, would mean rallying the troops and liberating your sister.”

  “Which happened,” Willow murmured, inhaling the earthy scent of her husband—he smelled of tobacco and rain. She allowed it to fill her senses, to wash away the doubt that clenched around her bones. But first, she had to make sure . . . “So you were not planning on forcing a match between my sister and your brother?”

  He shook his head, staring at her with those dark, intense eyes. “I’ve recently come to appreciate the word more.”

  More.

  She knew the feeling tied to that word well.

  Willow felt a smile spreading across her face. “You shall have to tell me about this word and how you have come to appreciate it.”

  The corners of his mouth lifted. “I am looking forward to doing just that.”

  “Wait a minute,” Poppy interrupted their spell. “Can we please revisit the part where a husband falls in love with his wife and all that?”

  “Oh!” Willow exclaimed. “I’d like to revisit that too.”

  “Was I not clear enough?” Ambrose asked. A grin broke out on his face.

  “Not nearly clear enough,” Willow proclaimed.

  “Then I shall be clearer,” he murmured and dropped his head to take her mouth in an achingly sweet kiss. A kiss that conveyed much more than words.

  He lifted his head slowly, his eyes burning into hers. “I love you.”

  Willow sighed, content. “I might have gathered as much.”

  He arched a brow. “You did?”

  “Your set of rules, I read them. But honestly, Ambrose,” Willow teased. “I haven’t a clue how to read blank pages.”

  “I’ll help you. They read: My heart belongs to you, and always will.”

  Suddenly, it was hard to breathe. It felt like her heart would simply explode right there on the stairs. Sweet Mary. Her husband truly loved her. He had given up his rules for her.

  How was she supposed to respond to that? This was no small thing. Of course she loved him back. And now that he’d told her the truth of what happened with Holly, now that he’d given up his rules, there was nothing to hold her back from flying into his arms.

  “Do you love me, Willow?” he asked when she only stared at him, at a loss for words.

  “Of course she does!” Poppy exclaimed with exaggeration. “It’s the most obvious thing in the world.”

  “Botheration, Poppy! Must you be so forward!” Willow chastised, though she nevertheless found herself grinning up at Ambrose. “But she might be right.”

  “What the hell is going on here?” Dashwood thundered, filing into the hall, along with the rest of her family.

  Another botheration!

  A low growl deep in Ambrose’s chest was the only warning she received before she was swung up in her husband’s arms, him ascending the stairs two at a time.

  “Where the hell is the bride and groom?” Dashwood snapped behind them. “And where are those two rushing off to in such a hurry?”

  “Take the third room to the left,” Poppy called out after them, her laughter following them up the stairs.

  Epilogue

  “Shouldn’t we go down? Everyone must be wondering what happened to us,” Willow murmured.

  Ambrose twisted a golden lock of his wife’s hair around his finger, kissing the tip of her nose. He loved her so much it damned hurt his heart. The emotion flooded him, wholly consumed every part of him.

  “Everyone knows what we are up to,” he drawled, rolling onto his back so that she sprawled over his chest.

  “They cannot possibly suspect!”

  “That your husband ravaged you after confessing his undying love, hauling your pretty behind up the stairs, and disappearing for hours?”

  “It hardly happened that way.”

  “I recall it happening exactly that way.”

  “Except for the confession of undying love part.”

  His hands moved over her back, cupping her buttocks. He whispered into her ear, “Did I not use the word undying?”

  She shook her head. “You mentioned something about falling in love, and affections, that is all.”

  He rolled her over so that she was beneath him, his mouth crashing down on hers in a deep, stirring kiss before he said, “I told you there is no place where you could go that I could not find you, but the truth is there is no place where you could go that I would not follow. I’m at your mercy Willow, and I love you, un-bloody-dyingly.”

  She giggled. “That’s not a word.” There was a short pause. “But I’d rather stay right here in your arms than go anywhere on earth without you.”

  Emotion clogged his throat. “Are you going to answer my damn question or not?”

  “And what question would that be?”

  “The one where you tell me that you love me back, that I am the most irresistible man on earth, and that you cannot possibly live without me.”

  “Oh, that question.” She traced a finger over his lips, and he shuddered. “I do.”

  “You do what?”

  “Find you irresistible.” Her lashes fluttered provocatively.

  “Willow,” he growled.

  “Oh, fine!” She stretched her mouth into a half-smile. “I cannot possibly live without you—I’ve grown quite fond of Cook.”

  “Damnation, woman! Do you love me or not?”

  Laughter poured from her lips. “I confess, I confess! I do. I love you, quite madly, in fact.”

  The breath left his body. “You make me the bloody happiest man ever.”

  Her hands skimmed over his chest, lowering until her fingers curled around his throbbing erection. “I can make you even happier.” She squeezed.

  Ambrose dropped his head to her neck in a low groan, his lips already trailing kisses along the slope of her breast. “If we keep this up, we might as well take up residence.”

  “And fill my cousin’s hall with babies.”

  He rose up to lightly drop a soft kiss on her lips before grinning down at her. “Fair-haired little creatures with sky blue eyes.”

  She blinked, stunned
that he’d imagined their family, that he was of same mind as she. At last, his mask had fallen away and in his eyes Willow found nothing but love. Joy swelled inside her. All of her dreams were coming true.

  “I’m rather partial to dark eyes.” There was an odd tremble in her voice.

  “Are you now?” he murmured and brushed his lips across hers. This time, he didn’t come up for air, not for a very long while.

  They entered the drawing room a while later, just in time to witness the bride and groom exchanging vows, surrounded by their families who stood in a half circle along the edges of the room. It was far from a grand setting of a church but it was much more romantic. The couple stood before the hearth, eyes locked onto one another, the glow of the fire illuminating them in soft light. Clothing rumpled and hair tousled beyond repair, the couple made quite a sight.

  It was the perfect Middleton wedding.

  “You two look no better than them,” Poppy leaned close to whisper into Willow’s ear.

  Willow hid a smile, sparing a glance at her thoroughly disheveled husband. He looked rather wild. Untamed.

  She loved it.

  As if he sensed her regard, he glanced down at her, fire flashing in his gaze. “Woman, you have thoroughly corrupted me.”

  “Well,” Willow murmured teasingly, “it was about time someone took it upon themselves to do so.”

  “I am in your debt,” he murmured in reply. Then, after a moment, in a low, hoarse voice, he added, “We should go in search of the wedding cake. I can think of a few things we can do with the icing.”

  “For Christ’s sake, have some mercy,” Poppy groaned from her other side. “Unmarried lone woman over here.”

  Willow stifled a laugh. “You are not a lone woman.”

  “I certainly feel like one listening to you two and watching those two practically devouring each other with their eyes.”

  “Jonathan is eligible, you know,” Willow said with a mischievous smile. “You might consider him—”

  “Do not start, I beg of you. I prefer men with impossibly arrogant swaggers, if you recall.”

  Willow chuckled just as the ceremony ended with Warton sweeping his new bride into a passionate kiss, eliciting another groan from Poppy. No sooner had the family congratulated the couple then Holly rushed over to them, Warton in tow.

  Willow cast a nervous glance to her husband. “Please behave,” she murmured sweetly through her smile.

  Warton’s dark countenance, on the other hand, did not bode well, nor did Ambrose’s cool stare.

  Holly cast an uncertain glance at Ambrose.

  “Ambrose,” Willow warned.

  He sighed. Heavily. “I believe felicitations are in order,” he said to no one in particular.

  Willow cleared her throat. Honestly, men could be so high handed at times.

  “And please accept my apology,” he continued begrudgingly.

  Warton’s brow shot up.

  “Lord, they are like dogs sniffing each other,” Poppy muttered. “And to think I was envious.”

  This time Holly jabbed an elbow into her husband’s ribs.

  “Bloody hell, fine!” Warton glowered at Ambrose. He nearly choked on the word. “Accepted.”

  Holly clapped her hands together and beamed at the two men. “Smashing!” She turned to Willow, eyeing the duke’s arm around her waist. “We have some catching up to do, it seems.”

  Warton made a protesting sound.

  Ambrose growled low in his throat.

  It appeared there was only so much the men would tolerate.

  Willow blushed under her sister’s curious scrutiny, but not before her husband swooped her into his arms and carried her from the room. “You can catch up later, Lady Warton,” he said over his shoulder. “At the moment, we have babies to make.”

  Thanks for reading!

  I hope you enjoyed reading The Perks of Being a Duchess!

  If you’d like to learn more about my books or about me, please visit www.authortanyawilde.com or sign up for my newsletter. You can also find me on Twitter, Instagram, BookBub, Goodreads and Facebook.

  Romances by Tanya Wilde

  An Earl’s Guide to Catch a Lady

  A Lady’s Guide to Kiss a Rake

  A Gentleman’s Guide to Save a Lady

  The Devil Meets Lady Veronica Pebblesworth

  (A NOVELLA)

  Give Your Heart a Rake

  Swept Away by a Wild Lord

  (A NOVELLA)

  Swept Away by a Wicked Rogue

  (A NOVELLA)

  An Invitation to Marriage

  The Perks of being a Duchess

  About the Author

  Tanya Wilde developed a passion for reading when she had nothing better to do than lurk in the library during her lunch breaks. Her love affair with pen and paper followed soon after she had devoured all of the library’s historical romance books!

  When she’s not meddling in the lives of her characters or drinking copious amounts of coffee, she’s off on adventures with her partner in crime.

  Wilde lives in a town at the foot of the Outeniqua Mountains, South Africa.

  Please visit her at www.authortanyawilde.com.

  Excerpt: An Invitation to Marriage

  Chapter 1

  Present day

  The day started out like any other ordinary day. No, wait, that was not entirely true, or else this wouldn’t have been a day in Holly Middleton’s life, because no day in her life ever turned out as one would expect. In fact, most days often led to trouble—or at least to getting one of her siblings out of trouble—but needless to say, it ultimately meant her life was never dull. It was also why it came as no surprise that even this day would not turn out as expected.

  This day was her wedding day.

  A wedding was meant to be a day of joyous celebration, one where two souls vowed to share their lives together, usually after having fallen deeply in love. If not a love match, then it could be an arranged marriage or a required one. And yet, Holly’s marriage belonged to none of the above categories. Now, if there had been an option for “accepting wedding proposals out of pure madness,” she ought to have fit perfectly into that group.

  She drew out a long-suffering sigh. Angling her head to the side, Holly studied herself in the mirror. She ought to have been thrilled, swathed in a short-sleeved gown of soft pink silk with lace trimmings and matching slippers, beautifully designed to enhance every aspect of her lean frame.

  What an utter nightmare.

  She didn’t mean the dress, which was the height of fashion—in perhaps a too extravagant way—but her impending wedding, the wedding of doom.

  Now that was a nightmare.

  She was minutes away from walking down the aisle, and all Holly wished to do was run in the opposite direction.

  How had she gotten herself into this mess?

  With too much enthusiasm, that’s how. But then, she needn’t ask such questions, for she knew exactly how: her romantic ideals.

  Honestly, how could she not get drawn into the notion of a fairy-tale wedding, however sudden, when a gentleman—no, a duke—proposed? It was inescapable. Even if Holly had known the duke for only a day before he asked for her hand in marriage.

  What hadn’t occurred to her at the time was that a fairy-tale wedding did not make for a fairy-tale marriage.

  It occurred to her now.

  And much to her chagrin, her sisters had warned her from the start. But had she listened?

  “One does not fall in love the moment a man shows interest, Holly. One must think about his motives.”

  “You’ve only known him a day, how can you be in love? How can he propose?”

  All fair questions.

  What a pity Holly had always been an incurable romantic. She had merely refused to listen to reason.

  She thought back to that day when the duke had dropped to his knee in her cousin’s drawing room and had declared, quite earnestly, that he’d known from the moment he’d
caught sight of her in Hyde Park that she was perfect for him. His words had been low and urgent, so much so that her heart had melted like soft butter on a warm day.

  Pure madness!

  But she had no reason to believe his words insincere or his intentions suspect, what with her being the third daughter of the second son of an earl. A duke, especially one as handsome as this one, could have his pick of the litter, and he had chosen her, Holly Middleton.

  He must be in love!

  What ulterior motive could the man possibly possess? He had nothing to gain from their marriage but her heart. At least, that was what Holly had told herself up until two days ago. On that day the hinges that held her world together gave a decided pop when a thought entered her mind and refused to leave.

  I cannot do this.

  Four unshakable little words.

  But, once again, like countless times before, she ignored her inner voice. Because when the eighth Duke of St. Ives, stately, wealthy and utterly devil-may-care, had asked her to marry him, Holly had, quite exuberantly, exclaimed yes, when she might have benefited more from saying no.

  It was not an exclamation a lady could take back with the drop of a hat.

  And as for his mother . . . Holly had never met a more self-absorbed harridan in her life. The Dragon Duchess, as she had come to call her in private, had all but commandeered her wedding. No thought was given to the bride or her wishes. The Dragon Duchess had taken care of everything from the flowers, cake, and guest list down to the wedding gown, in the astonishing span of seven days.

  All this left Holly with no choice but to go through with the wedding. One did not call off one’s nuptials days beforehand, especially when said union involved a duke. And one did not run away on the day of the wedding.

  It would be the worst sort of social ruin.

  That was why Holly had not called it off when she discovered the true nature of her future husband two days ago.

  A sense of despair churned in her belly. She recalled how she’d wanted nothing more than to stomp on the duke’s well-polished boot and dash off in anger, but what then? St. Ives was not a man that would let her out of their betrothal.