Page 6 of The Duke and the Wrong Bride

“Oh! Your Grace.” She offered her hand, and the Duke kissed the back of it, holding her eyes the entire time. “Charmed.”

“I’m afraid that my eldest daughter…” Her father bit his lip. “Perhaps it’s best if we discuss this inside?”

The Duke continued to look at Charlotte, unblinking, that smirk of his as smug a smile as she had ever seen. “Your second daughter? How… interesting.”

“Please…” Her father hurried beside the Duke and gestured toward the manor. “If we might…?”

“Yes, please, lead the way.” The Duke tore his eyes away from Charlotte finally and allowed himself to be led. But as he did, he glanced once more at her, shaking his head in amusement with a wry smile that she didn’t have to guess its meaning.

And Charlotte? Well, she might have liked to have buried her head in the earth and screamed until her lungs gave out. But her mother was already leading her, and despite the calamity that was sure to come once the Duke revealed what had happened last night, she had no choice but to follow.

* * *

The mood in the drawing room was tense. Awkward. Heavy, as if the air had weight and was doing its best to suffocate those present. Charlotte had never seen her father look so flustered, and he hurried to appease the Duke the best he could while assuring him that everything was fine, and there was no need to worry. Her mother, too, ordinarily the picture of calm, was unable to steer the conversation the way she usually could, even seeming happy to stand back and let her husband dig himself a hole that got deeper by the moment.

While her father and mother occupied the couch by the hearth, Charlotte stood back a ways, out of their line of sight, doing her best to be invisible because this was the last place she wished to be. Further to that point, she made sure not to stand in a position where the Duke might notice her.

The Duke was the only one in the room who seemed in control. He sat on a single couch across from her parents, one leg folded over the other, expression calm and stern and not at all confused. Nor was he concerned by what he’d just been told, or even upset. He might have been amused if it wasn’t for the dispassionate look on his face. Almost bored was Charlotte’s best guess. But that was impossible.

“Enough.” The Duke held up a hand, silencing Charlotte’s father, who was in the middle of explaining why Beatrice’s running away wasn’t as big of a deal as it sounded. “You’re repeating yourself, Lord Ramsbury.”

“I’m sorry, Your Grace,” her father blustered. “I just wanted to stress that this isn’t what it seems. And you should not take offense?—”

“It sounds to me like it’s exactly what it seems,” the Duke spoke calmly. “And I fail to see how I can’t take offense when what has happened is the literal definition of giving it.”

Her father’s eyes shot open. “It was not intended! And as we said, we believe our daughter to be?—”

“At your sister’s house, in the country, yes.” The Duke sighed. “You’ve said that already. You’ve also explained that you’ve sent word for her to be returned here post-haste, assuming that’s where she’s gotten off to. You’ve also told me not to worry because she will be found, and that the wedding will take place. You seem quite adamant about that, in fact. The only thing you haven’t told me, what you seem so insistent on ignoring, is what will happen if your daughter can’t be found. The wedding is two weeks away, and if she isn’t where you think she is, and nothing you have told me suggests that she will be, what then?” He raised an eyebrow at Charlotte’s father, who grimaced. “I intend to marry, Lord Ramsbury. I didn’t come all this way to be made a fool of.”

“And nor do we intend it,” her father hurried to assure him. “And when our daughter is returned to us, the wedding will take place. You have my word.”

“Do not make promises that you can’t keep. And while I don’t mean to insult you, Lord Ramsbury, nothing I’ve seen or heard so far suggests that your word can be counted on for much of anything.” A slight smirk rose up the side of the Duke’s face. “No offense, of course.”

Charlotte watched the conversation unfold in a state of awe. She’d never heard someone speak to her father like that, as she’d always imagined him to be the most powerful, strong-willed, able man in all of London. But in the presence of a duke, there was little he could do but beg and plead and pray for understanding.

Even more interesting was the way that the Duke was behaving. He didn’t sound angry so much as annoyed. Not insulted that his bride had run away. Not peeved that he might be made to look like a fool. Simply frustrated because the wedding he had come here to sign off on might not happen. This was, by all accounts, a true wedding of convenience, one without love or companionship or even attraction. The man didn’t care about the woman he was marrying, but rather the fact that she wouldn’t be here to marry when she ought to be.

“Our daughter will return.”

“Why don’t I believe that?” the Duke asked, sounding annoyed now for the first time. “I came here for a bride, Lord Ramsbury, and I don’t intend to leave without one.” His eyes flicked to Charlotte suddenly. “So, unless you can magically produce your daughter before me, I suggest you come up with something.”

Charlotte’s father’s mouth dropped open, and his cheeks burned red. She could see the anger behind his eyes, and his efforts to contain it. He took a deep breath. “Yes, of course. If you don’t mind… I would like a word with my wife.”

The Duke nodded but didn’t make to move. Her father hesitated, clearly expecting him to leave the room, but he simply sat there, glaring at her father until it was her father who rose and took her mother by the hand, leading her out of the room.

Charlotte watched on in fascination, the sight of her father cowed so easily a true sight to behold. So shocked was she that it wasn’t until they had left the room that she even realized what had happened. That she was now alone with the Duke.

“Are you going to tell me what you were doing at that tavern last night, or do I have to ask your father?” the Duke asked without bothering to so much as look at her.

“E-excuse me?” she stammered.

“You heard me.” He turned in his chair to look at her, smiling curiously to himself. “Don’t think I don’t recognize you.” His eyes flicked over her. “You made a rather ugly man, truth be told. Far more suited to a woman.” Again, his eyes glanced over her body.

“I don’t know what you’re—that wasn’t me.”

He rolled his eyes. “And I thought your sister was supposed to be the troublemaker. But I can always check with your father.”

“No!” Charlotte half moved as if to stop him. “That won’t be—please don’t tell him.”

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