Page 71 of His Tempting Duchess

Suppressing a smile, Cassian glanced at Emily, and a wave of affection washed over him, so intense that he blinked, a little taken aback.

Stop it, man. This is a marriage of convenience. You desire the woman—of course, you do—but that is all. Lust and love are two entirely different things, are they not?

“You’re willing to marry the duke, then?” Lady St. Maur asked.

Emily nodded, her gaze flicking to Cassian. He felt a rush of heat when their eyes met.

“I am, Mama. I think it’s for the best.”

Lady St. Maur clapped her hands together. “Then all that is left to do is organize the wedding ceremony and take care of the details. How long will that take? A week? Two?”

“Actually,” Cassian interjected, “the banns have already been read before the previous wedding. The notice has appeared in theGazette, and all the paperwork has been procured. As to the official wedding ceremony, it could take place as quickly as tomorrow. It’s all over but the vows.”

Emily flinched at that, and Lady St. Maur glanced at her, raising her eyebrows. “Well, Emmie? Do you wish to get married so quickly?”

Emily breathed in deeply, meeting Cassian’s gaze once again.

Abruptly, he found himself back in the library, with her pressed against him, her arms tight around his shoulders. He blinked, and they were tangled together on the chaisein that circular room in Clara’s house, a sketchbook lying forgotten on the floor. He swallowed thickly.

“Yes,” Emily responded, at last. “Yes, I would like that.”

CHAPTER22

Runaway Bride Attempts Marriage Once Again!

Dedicated readers of this paper will recall the shocking occasion of Miss Emily Belmont’s first wedding to the illustrious Duke of Clapton. Miss Emily, the youngest of the infamous Belmont tribe, is reported to have switched places with her twin sister—Miss Daphne Belmont, now wed to the Duke of Thornbridge—on her wedding day, resulting in chaos, a runaway bride, and humiliation all around.

Readers will be shocked and appalled to learn that His Grace and Miss Emily Belmont plan to attempt to tie the knot one more time. With a great rush of last-minute preparations, the couple allegedly intend to wed at the small Clapton chapel, with few guests and a belated wedding breakfast afterward.

This author is remarkably shocked to learn this, on account of the previous incident. One must wonder what the Duke of Clapton is doing, risking marriage to a woman who so publicly jilted him. And one must also consider Miss Emily, who previously was willing to sacrifice her twin sister to avoid marrying this very gentleman.

What has changed in the past weeks? What desperation has driven these two to the altar? One thing is certain: this author is determined to find out.

Anna reached over, plucking the paper from Emily’s hand. “You shouldn’t read that trash,” she scolded. “Certainly not on your wedding day.”

“Assuming it even takes place,” Emily muttered. “He might jilt me as revenge, don’t you think?”

A maid was pinning up Emily’s hair, and Anna stepped forward, holding out her hand for the pins. The maid blinked, a little surprised, but obediently handed them over and stepped back.

“Frankly, Emily, I do not know,” Anna said a little shortly, carefully pinning a curl in place. “What are you thinking, marrying a man you jilted at the altar only a few weeks ago?”

“Technically, she did not jilt him,” Daphne spoke up. “Iwas the one who jilted him at the altar.”

Her pregnancy left her ill most mornings, and today was no exception. She lay on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. Octavia had assured her that the intense morning sickness would recede after a few months. Still, poor Daphne.

Anna sighed. “That hardly matters, Daff. I suppose Emily could hardly have married anybody else.”

Emily bit her lip. “Thank you.”

“I don’t mean to be cruel—that’s simply the way it is.”

Emily stayed silent. Around her was a flutter of activity, everybody busy with something. She wore a simple gown of pale blue, trimmed in creamy lace. It was a gown she already had, as a new one could not be made on such short notice. Besides, it seemed like horrifically bad luck to wear the same gown she’d worn for their first wedding.

Not that she possessed the original wedding dress. Daphne had changed into it… and destroyed it when she made her mad dash from the church.

Octavia was downstairs, overseeing preparations for the wedding breakfast. The guest list was short, and everything had to be hastily thrown together, of course.

The whole business seemed surreal.

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