Page 3 of The Duke and the Wrong Bride

“Yes, well…” She folded her arms and looked away. “Then it’s well overdue now, isn’t it? If your father finds out… You think you know anger? He’s likely to ship you off to a monastery and have you living with the nuns. Or worse.”

“This is the only way.”

“You could tell him,” Miss Forbes pressed. “Let him know your theory. Then he can?—”

“Can what? Hear from me that his eldest daughter used to sneak out at night, dressed as a man? I don’t think so. If this works, and I find Beatrice, I don’t want her to have to deal with that fallout also. One mistake is enough.”

“I don’t like this…” Miss Forbes shook her head. “I do not like it one bit.”

Charlotte ignored the housekeeper as she turned back to double-check her reflection. She might have liked to soothe her a little further, reassuring her that all would be well, and that this right here was just a means to an end. But she was feeling nowhere near as confident as she liked to pretend, and she needed every ounce of mental strength she had just to go through with this ridiculous plan.

The reflection was one that Charlotte hardly recognized, but that was also the point. Ordinarily, Charlotte was the picture of a lady in every sense of the word. Flowing chestnut brown hair that matched her dark eyes. Taller than she might have liked, but with curves that she knew made her the envy of a few of her friends. And soft features, big cheeks with dimples, a cute smile hidden behind pouty lips. That was who she ordinarily saw when she looked in the mirror. Right now, however, things couldn’t have been more different.

Her brown hair was tucked underneath a blonde wig—a men’s wig that belonged to Beatrice. Her curves were hidden beneath a jacket, a shirt, and baggy trousers. And her big cheeks and dimples… well, there wasn’t much she could do about them. But she’d applied dirt to her face, smudging it so that she would look worn and rugged in a way she knew her sister used to do. She was, for all intents and purposes, a man.

“So… how do I look?” Charlotte asked, holding her arms out for a final inspection. “Do you think anyone will notice?”

“For your sake, I hope they don’t.”

To that, all Charlotte could do was laugh. She was committed to this now, knowing that she had no real choice in the matter. Honestly, the things that she did for her sister…

Her destination was a small tavern located just a few miles down the road, sitting at a crossroad that led west to the ocean, south to London, and north to the great expanses of the English countryside. It was a tavern that she knew her sister had snuck to on more than one occasion, seeing as it was close to home, generally pretty tame by her sister’s description, and easy enough to slink into without being noticed.

The inside of the tavern was even worse than she had expected. Dimly lit. Smelling of smoke and body odor and liquor. Cramped and loud and raucous in a way she had never experienced before. She hovered by the door, bracing herself, knowing she had come too far to turn around now.

She fixed her gaze on the bar and dodged around many a drunk to get there. Unfortunately, after looking over the few lonely souls who sat at the bar, she realized her sister was not one of them. Her heart sank, and she readied to turn about and walk to the edges of the tavern when suddenly an arm threw itself over her shoulder and pulled her into a thick chest.

“There he is!” the voice barked in her ear. “Thought you could sneak out on me, huh?”

Charlotte froze. The arm was heavy about her shoulder. The smell of the man made her skin crawl. And the feel of him on her… it was as alarming as it was confronting.

“Oh!” he said suddenly, laughing loudly as he pulled his arm back. “I thought you were someone else.”

She forced herself to turn about but refused to meet his eyes. “That is quite all right,” she said in the deepest voice she could muster. Then, she went to move around him.

“Hold up!” The drunken buffoon blocked her path. “What’s that accent?”

“E-excuse me?” She coughed.

“Quite all right…” he drawled. “If I didn’t know any better…” He paused, and she could feel him studying her. A quick glance at her accuser, and she saw red hair, a big chin, and fine clothes compared to most of the others about. “I’d say you didn’t belong here.”

She could feel her cheeks flush. “I assure you?—”

“There it is! What are you?” He stood right before her, blocking her path. “Some lordling I don’t know of? Certainly not one of these scum—” He gestured around the tavern. “You don’t look familiar, however.”

Charlotte swallowed, kept her eyes down, and braced herself for what was to come. He might not have recognized her as a woman just yet, but it wouldn’t take long. At best, she could hope he’d be too drunk to realize. At worst… she didn’t want to imagine.

“I do not know what you mean,” she said deeply. “And I would appreciate it if?—”

“He’s not bothering you, is he?” Another swept in beside the drunken redhead. He threw an arm around his companion and pulled him back, out of her way. “Ignore my cousin. He’s had a few too many. Makes him rowdy.”

“Think nothing of it,” she said, still looking down at her feet. “And I was just going.” She went to walk past him, but whoever he was, he stepped in front of her.

“Let me buy you a drink,” the man offered, holding out a hand to stop her. “For the trouble.”

“It’s fine.” She went to move past him.

“No bother.” He chuckled. “It’s the least I can do. Lord knows you can’t be worse company that my friend here.”

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