Page 2 of His Tempting Duchess

Cassian did not look back.

“I will not let him steal my life from me out of spite,” he responded sharply. “I shall do whatever is necessary.”

CHAPTER2

ONE WEEK LATER

“Yours has blue eyes, don’t forget,” Richard prompted. “She wears spectacles.”

Cassian fought not to roll his eyes. He was in a church, after all. A little respect was likely in order.

“Why does it matter? I don’t care which woman I marry, only that Idomarry.”

It had been two weeks since the disastrous will had been read out, during which Cassian had scoured London for a suitable bride. He had never thought to marry—hadn’t Matthew’s final words to him been a warning not to lose his heart?—but neither would he let their vengeful father take away his inheritance.

It ought to have been Matthew’s, of course, but by God, I shall let it be mine at the very least.

Cassian was generally bothered by ladies, not unlike how one would be bothered by wasps if one ventured outside with a pot of jam on a summer day. He was a duke, of course.And,as far as they knew, he was a wealthy one. He was also considered rather handsome.

He was tall, muscular without the need of padding, possessed of even features, clear skin, a headful of thick brown hair, and large eyes of a rather singularly dark shade of green. Apparently, these qualities, which were entirely the result of luck, made him very marriageable in the eyes of Society.

Privately, he believed that his cousin, Richard St. John, was a much better choice and that those ladies ought to aim forhiminstead.

Richard was half a head shorter than Cassian—although still over six feet tall—slimmer, milder, rounder of face, with expressive hazel eyes and flaxen curls that refused the taming of either brush or pomade.

Cassian did not have many friends, but he considered himself lucky to have Richard.

Richard snorted at his last comment, then cast an apologetic glance at the rector.

“I knowyoudon’t care,” he responded, “but you should. You’re marrying the woman, even if I did broker it for you.”

Cassian glanced over his shoulder. “Yes, whydidyou do that? If I fail to produce an heir by my thirtieth birthday, then you might well inherit everything.”

Richard pursed his lips. “Perhaps that’s exactly why I was so keen for you to marry. Managing a sprawling ducal estate is not a good way to spend my life—in my humble opinion. I’d rather sponge off you, dear cousin, than have the responsibility myself.”

“Delightfully put.”

“Thank you. I was rather pleased. Anyway, I think your choice of Miss Emily Belmont was a wise one. Miss Daphne is said to be a hellion.”

Cassian knew of the St. Maur girls, of course. Anna Belmont, daughter of the late Viscount St. Maur, had married none other than the formidable Duke of Langdon. The twins were about twenty-two if his information was correct—and it always was—and were wreaking havoc on Society. He couldn’t say what had made him choose Miss Emily, as he’d only ever seen her from a distance. Perhaps there was something intriguing about her.

“So long as she saysI do, I’ll be content,” he responded.

Richard looked somewhat uncomfortable, fiddling with his too-tight brocaded waistcoat. “I wish you’d spoken with her more before the wedding. You ought to have.”

“Why? It’s not a love match—we both knew that. This is a marriage of convenience, to benefit us both.” Cassian paused, a flicker of unease tugging at the back of his mind. He twisted around to look at his cousin. “Unless there’s something you aren’t telling me, of course. You did handle matters the way I instructed you, didn’t you? Richard?”

There was no time for further conversation. Abruptly, the doors at the back of the church opened, and the congregation got to their feet, all craning their necks eagerly to get a look at the bride.

The maid of honor came striding down first, her head held high, her gaze somewhat unfocused. The other Belmont twin, apparently. She shot Cassian a look of pure hatred as she passed by, so intense that he almost shuffled backward, sure that he had misunderstood something.

The bride herself came next, hanging on her mother’s arm. Octavia Belmont, the Dowager Viscountess St. Maur, was said to be terrifying and rather redoubtable. She pointedly did not look at Cassian at all.

Well, something is clearly wrong.

The bride was heavily veiled, her head ducked under the heavy layer of translucent chiffon. She kissed her mother, who then retreated to a pew, and turned to face him.

He couldn’t catch even a glimpse of her features beneath the veil.

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