Page 3 of His Arranged Duchess
After that, Lucien had decided that if she was entering into a marriage of convenience anyway, she might as well choose one with him.
After all, I’m a duke, and duke trumps viscount in the social world.
He strode up the aisle towards the altar, where the poor rector looked as though he were about to faint.
“Sir, please!” the rector burbled. “This is a wedding! A sacred ceremony! You cannot interrupt.”
“I can and I must,” Lucien responded smoothly. “This is a legal matter. As I said, I am precontracted to this young woman. I came as soon as I could. My apologies for the late arrival.”
The groom, a red-faced young man who appeared to be puffing out his chest, spun around to face the bride.
“Do you know this man, Frances?” he hissed. “If you had a prior engagement…”
The young woman shrank back from him. “I don’t! I don’t know him! I never met him.”
Lord Easton narrowed his eyes.
He doesn’t believe her,Lucien thought, faintly amused.A fine start to a marriage.
He reached the front of the church and stopped. The rector melted away, clearly not looking forward to whatever confrontation was coming.
The whispering in the church was deafening. Countless pairs of eyes lingered on him, making his back itch. Lucien kept his head high and did not bother looking at the crowd.
“What is the meaning of this, sir?” came a woman’s voice. She had been sitting on the front pew, dressed like a widow, pale and remarkably beautiful, an older version of the bride. She had icy eyes that burned into Lucien’s face. “My daughter is about to be married. What are you thinking of? If you won’t leave, I’ll have you removed.”
Lucien smiled. “In God’s house? Shocking, Baroness Rawdon. Yes, I know who you are, and my father knew your husband well.”
Behind the Baroness, on the same pew, stood the Duke and Duchess of Clapton. That surprised Lucien a little. He knew theduke, of course, but why was he so close to the Baroness and Miss Knight? There was no relation there, as far as Lucien knew.
It does not matter,he reminded himself.Concentrate.
“Perhaps the congregation might leave while we discuss this matter,” Lucien said coolly.
Lord Easton’s eyes flashed. “I certainly think not. How dare…”
“Perhaps it is best,” the Baroness spoke up. “I don’t much want a scene. At least, not one worse than this. Rector, please help me. Cassian, Emily, would you go outside with the guests and try to manage that end of things?”
The Duke of Clapton—so informally calledCassian,to Lucien’s surprise—gave a silent nod, and began herding the congregation out of their seats. It was a slow-going process, as people did not seem to want to go.
Why would they? A fabulous scandal was unfolding right before their eyes, every bit as juicy as when the famous Belmont girls broke upon the London scene.
“What a pity,” hissed some gossipy old crone sitting near the front, speaking to her equally frail husband. “The poor girl is ruined now, of course. There’ll be no coming back from this. Imagine being pre-contracted to amurderer!”
The word seemed to have weight of its own, landing heavily in the room, louder than all the other words. It ran round and round in Lucien’s head.
Murderer.
Murderer.
Murderer.
“Of course,” Lord Easton gasped. He took a step forward, stabbing a finger towards Lucien’s chest. “I didn’t recognize you at first, but now I know exactly who you are. You are that wretch, Lord Lucien Russell. A cold-blooded murderer. It’s a miracle you never swung for what you did. I can’t believe you had the gall to show your face on these shores again.”
Lucien gave a sharp sort of smile, taking a step forward. Lord Easton had not expected it and took a reflexive step back.
“I am Lucien Russell,” he said softly. “But you’ll address me as your Grace, the Duke of Blackstone. Do you understand?”
He was about half a head taller than Lord Easton, and broader in the shoulders, too. The viscount was almost certainly a cosseted, pampered noble boy who’d never had to dorealwork to develop his muscled physique.
