Page 42 of Wedded to the Ruthless Duke

“Embroidery? You should see my attempts.” She rolled her eyes. It was another point of upset for her mother. Althea wanted a daughter who could embroider as beautifully as Tabitha could. “Anything I make ends up looking like a cat has got hold of the needle and thread.”

“But you have scissors in your sewing box, yes?” Celia said.

“Oh, yes.” She pointed to where she had unceremoniously stuffed the box under her bed, out of sight. Celia retrieved it with Eleanor at her side, and the two began to retrieve the scissors and various bits of thread.

“What are you doing to do?” Grace asked as Celia moved back toward her.

“We can’t do anything about this skirt,” Violet murmured. “We haven’t got enough time. Though we could make it into a bustle.” She caught the long train and gathered it behind Grace’s rear. “That’s better.”

“Ideal. Pin it, and we’ll do that next,” Celia said with a wave of her hand. Eleanor offered up a tin of pins to Violet who promptly got to work. “I’ll start with all these frills.” Celia came somewhat dangerously toward Grace with the scissors.

“Careful what you’re doing with those things,” Grace murmured with humor. “I’d like my head intact for the wedding.”

“Ha! Not to worry. I’m simply going to make sure that groom of yours knows exactly what he’s getting in his bride. Let’s allow him to see a little more of you, shall we?” Celia took the scissors to the high neckline and the frills. It took three cuts before the oversized neck fell away, revealing a deep neckline which hugged the fitted bodice of the dress.

“Well, I know one good thing that will come from this day,” Eleanor said with satisfaction as she stood beside Celia who continued to cut other frills away.

“What’s that?” Grace asked as Eleanor adjusted the bodice a little, so the top curves of Grace’s breasts were now even more prominent than before.

“We might give your mother a heart attack when you walk down that aisle.”

Grace and the others burst into a fit of giggles.

Turning her head back to the mirror, Grace watched as her friends worked, and a new gown slowly began to appear. In truth, she didn’t care what her mother would think of the dress. Her mind was plagued with other thoughts entirely.

I wonder what the Duke of Berkley will make of it.

CHAPTER14

Philip pushed both doors open and marched into the church. Aaron scrambled to catch up with him as those that had already gathered in the chapel looked around in alarm at the sudden sound.

“Philip, this is a wedding, not a military drill.” Aaron’s curt voice made Philip slow his pace but only a little.

He reached the altar fast, turning on the spot as he took in every inch of the chapel.

They hadn’t even bothered with the official rehearsal the day before. Grace had come separately to talk to the priest, as he had done, for Philip didn’t want the temptation of being with Grace again before this day.

I’ve scandalized her enough as it is. Next time I touch her, we’ll be married.

In his absence from the church the day before, he was pleased to see that many of the arrangements he’d put in place had been seen to. The flowers had been placed at the ends of the pews, and the organ player sat ready at the front of the church.

Xander and Dorian stood by the doorway, ushering people to their right seats though Xander clearly took no pleasure in acting as page boy.

“Are you ready for this?” Aaron asked calmly, taking his place at Philip’s side. “Because if you are, might I suggest you stop pacing up and down?”

“Wouldn’t you pace if our roles were reversed?” Philip hissed as more people entered the chapel and made their way to their seats. He was angered to see there were more people invited to this wedding than he had hoped for. Somehow, he knew this wouldn’t have been Grace’s doing nor the Marquess of Garton’s. He fully expected, from what little he knew of Grace’s family, that it was all her mother’s doing.

“I hope never to be marched to the altar quite like this, no,” Aaron said through gritted teeth. “Need I remind you, though, that you are here out of your choice? And your doing.”

“Thank you, but I do not need reminding of what I did.” He pulled at his hair, an old habit of stress that had the habit of ruffling it when everything else in his countenance was neat and tidy.

I’ve not stopped thinking about what I have done since.

Every night this last week, he had either woken up with dreams of Grace and him in that garden or the pair of them in that carriage. The carriage dreams in particular were torturing him mostly.

The way she had pleaded with him, begged him for his touch, had been his undoing. He had a feeling that if there had been longer left on their journey, he might have given it and given her a taste of the pleasure she wanted.

She wants pleasure. She needs it.

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