Page 6 of His Arranged Duchess
It couldn’t be real, could it? Frances had no idea what a special license was meant to look like. But Mama would, of course. She could verify its authenticity.
Somehow, though, she felt as though this man was telling the truth. She glanced up at him, clear, gray eyes meeting hers, and felt a shiver run down her spine.
She’d felt that shiver before, when he first strode down the aisle towards her. At the time, she’d assumed that it was simply foreboding, but now she was beginning to worry that it might be something else.
He was, after all, annoyingly attractive. He was tall, powerfully built, and had the sort of olive skin that one didn’t see often in English gentlemen. Dark hair swept back from a high forehead, drawing attention to sharp and striking features.
Yes, hewashandsome, and hewasa duke, but really, that was not important in the least.
Keep your head, Frances,she warned herself. She wished Uncle Cassian could be here, with his cool good sense. He’d frightened away several unsuitable suitors during her Season, but unfortunately, he had also frightened away the rest of them, too.
Don’t blame Uncle Cass. It was your fault that your Season was so terrible. You were a weak, pathetic thing, too timid to raise your eyes. A wallflower. It isn’t his fault you didn’t receive a single proposal.
Or that you trod on Sir William’s toes during the quadrille and made him fall over. He knocked over several other ladies on the way down, too.
Or how you accidentally spilled red wine on Miss Briggs’ white dress during her own coming-out party.
She had never been forgiven for that one.
Not relevant,she warned herself, clearing her throat. The man—his Grace, as she should be calling him—had tucked away the special license, watching her with a wry, curious smile.
“It seems a shame to waste a wedding, don’t you think?” he remarked. “The church is reserved, the breakfast taken care of.You’re wearing such a splendid gown; it seems a pity for you to be without a groom.”
She recoiled. “Are youtrulysuggesting that we get married now? Today?”
So much for my newfound freedom. I was so happy when I thought that Icouldn’tmarry Nicholas.
The duke tilted his head, grinning. “Well, why not? I imagine you know as much about me as you do about your dear Nicholas.”
Frances flushed. “That isn’t true.”
“No? Then why did you call himLord Easton,only to correct yourself? A doting betrothed would have no trouble calling her groom-to-be by his name, and here you can’t even bring yourself to look him in the eye.”
“That’s irrelevant,” she shot back hotly. “I have difficulty lookinganyonein the eye.”
He paused, the grin widening. “Really? You have managed to glare at me quite intensely enough.”
This was a point with which Frances could not argue. She had, in fact, been staring the wretched man full in the face, almost without thinking.
Perhaps Aunt Emily is right, and I am bolder than I realize.
Bold enough to ask another question.
She took a careful step forward and immediately wished she had not. This gentleman, it seemed, was not like the others she had met so far. He didn’t step back politely when ladies stepped towards him. And now she was entirely too close to him.
He smells of fresh-cut grass. How odd.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Uncle Cassian taking a step forward, his face grim.Ever the protective uncle.
Determined not to be cowed, Frances spoke.
“I haven’t seen you in London before, Your Grace. And Lord Easton said that he couldn’t believe you had the gall to show your face on these shores again. So, I can assume that you haven’t been in England for quite some time. Why not? Why did you leave? And, perhaps more importantly, why did you return?”
And why did somebody in the crowd call you a murderer?
That cold word echoed in Frances’s mind. Of course, she knew what gossip could be like in London. Rumors started anywhere and everywhere. Surely it did not mean that this man reallywasa murderer.
His wide smile had faded a little, replaced by a polite and entirely insincere curl of the lips.
