Page 7 of The Duke and the Wrong Bride

“And why shouldn’t I?”

“Because… because…” Her mind raced to come up with an excuse. Anything! In the end, she realized the truth was all she had. “I was there looking for my sister is why. My father has no idea.”

“I’ll say.” He grinned.

“It’s not something I do often,” she responded coldly, not at all enjoying the mocking tone. “But I love my sister, and my family. I did what I had to do.”

“And I take it you didn’t find her.”

“What do you think.”

He chuckled at that. “One daughter who’s a runaway, another who spends her nights dressed as a man. What have I married into?”

“You haven’t married into anything yet… Your Grace,” she finished acidly, a response which seemed to excite him.

The Duke opened his mouth to reply, only for her parents to come hurrying back into the room. They looked excited by whatever they had discussed and were quick to take up their previous positions across from the Duke.

“It is a marriage you are after, yes?”

The Duke sighed. “What is it we’ve been talking about this entire time?”

“I must emphasize that we are certain of our daughter's return. It’s still two weeks until the wedding date, and during that time?—”

“What did I say about repeating yourself?” the Duke cut him off.

Her father’s expression tightened. No doubt he was not used to being interrupted like that. “Yes, well, assuming that our eldest daughter has not returned to us, is there a chance that we might be able to…” His eyes flicked to Charlotte, and her stomach twisted further, so much that she felt herself grab it as if trying to keep it from tangling. “… come to another arrangement?”

The Duke tilted his head as he understood the meaning. “Your second daughter?”

“I don’t see why not.”

“Father!” Charlotte blurted out before she could stop herself. Her eyes widened, and her cheeks flushed as she realized what she had done, but now that all eyes were on her, she figured that she best carry on. “You… there is no need… Beatrice will return.”

Her father rolled his eyes. “Never mind her,” he said to the Duke. “But what do you think? Do we have a deal?”

“Please, Father,” Charlotte pressed a final time, careful not to step too far out of line, but knowing she had little choice. “His Grace didn’t—I was not His Grace’s first choice. And I think it would be improper t-to ask such a thing of him.” She looked pleadingly from her father to her mother, neither of whom seemed to care one whit for what she’d said.

“I think His Grace can make that decision on his own,” her father said coolly, fixing the Duke with a look, smiling slightly to himself because he seemed to understand the Duke better than he had a few moments ago.

The Duke didn’t care who he married. That much was clear now. Charlotte’s only hope was that after last night, with the Duke having seen her dressed up like a man in that tavern, he might not want a wife who he thought to be too much of a handful. Subservient wives didn’t dress as men and go drinking, and everything about the Duke’s presence, the aura of the man, suggested he liked control and expected a wife willing to kowtow to his needs.

“Your Grace,” Charlotte tried next. “Surely, you’re not… you’re not considering this. I am not my sister. She’s the one you want.”

She tried to meet the Duke’s eyes. She tried to make him see that she wasn’t what he desired. A second choice. A real troublemaker… or so she hoped he thought. She looked right at him, eyes wide and pleading, praying that he met them.

But the Duke simply frowned and stroked his chin in thought. Considered. Looked her father and mother over, glanced at her quickly, and then smiled to himself. “I don’t see why not.”

Five words. That was all it took. Five words laced with apathy and dispassion and a lack of concern that spoke volumes about what awaited Charlotte once she was married. Oh, she could hope that her sister might be found. Or that she might return of her own volition. But she might as well wish to sprout wings, so she could fly away. In two weeks’ time, she would marry the Duke, and now, she knew, there was nothing she could do to stop it.

ChapterThree

“Iwould request that you at least pretend to appear happy about this,” the Duke whispered over Charlotte’s shoulder. “People are beginning to stare.”

“I—” Charlotte meant to say something along the lines of “I am surprised you even care,” but she caught her tongue just in time, certain that such a comment would only earn her a rebuke from her new husband. “Of course,” she said instead, straightening up and forcing a smile. “Is that better?”

“Perfect.” The Duke rested a hand on her shoulder, even giving it a light squeeze. She stiffened at his touch, wishing it repulsed her, despising that it did no such thing. “And try to have fun, will you?” he added. “It’s your wedding day.”

Another gentle squeeze and the Duke walked away, back through the room, his back to her without so much as a glance or a reassuring smile. A stranger was who he was, unconcerned about her feelings because this marriage had nothing to do with her or her feelings. Or so it seemed.

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