The Duke's Shotgun Wedding (Entangled Scandalous) (4 page)

With a gasp of distress, she leapt to sit beside him and clasped his hands. “You have not failed me, Father. Please do not say such a thing.”

“You are obviously unaware of the reputation of the Duke of Calydon. He is very powerful, and Sherring Cross is one of the richest estates in the realm. But there were rumors that circulated about him years ago. Rumors of stunning depravity, of a duel, and of him killing his mistress.”

Jocelyn recoiled in shock, withdrawing her hands from his. “What utter rubbish! The duke has never been embroiled in a scandal. Even so removed in the country, we would have heard about it.”

She surged to her feet with sudden restless energy. She stalked to the windows and stared down at the flowers dotted with fine flakes of snow, trying to find some comfort from the uncertainty that flooded through her. She did not turn as he draped his hands over her shoulders.

“Think, my dear. He did not marry you because you waved a derringer at him. We’re talking about the powerful Duke of Calydon, with direct familial connection to the prince regent. He is known to me, even here. If he hadn’t wanted to wed, he wouldn’t have done so.”

“But—”

He squeezed her shoulders. “I say I have failed you because of my unwise investments and choices. I am ashamed because you felt you had to lie and deceive in order to wed. You are only twenty-one. You could still have had a season. With your charm and beauty, you would have received many offers. My foolish ways denied you the opportunity every young girl of society should have.”

She twisted to face him. “No, Father. I have no regrets over something I have never experienced. There is more to life than balls and soirees, and I have attended many here in the country and in Devonshire.”

He gave a wan smile. “Hardly the same thing.”

She placed a finger on his lips, silencing him. “As Duchess of Calydon—” She inhaled as the words resounded in her. She continued shakily, “As the duchess, I will have many opportunities to take London and the glittering throng by storm, as you would say. I did not start out my rash scheme to entrap the duke, but Lord Anthony. Never did I imagine that Anthony would already be married, nor that the duke would respond favorably to my impetuous demand.”

He gently brushed a stray lock of her hair that fell forward, and tucked it behind her ear. “But how could he resist such a catch?”

She gave a soft laugh. “I must admit that I, too, am at a loss as to why he wed me. I felt the entire time that he was the one in control and he was directing me toward his own agenda. But that could not be. We had never met until I entered his library.”

“Perhaps Lord Anthony spoke about you?”

“I doubt it. I now realize that the few weeks Anthony spent here in Lincolnshire was merely to gain perspective on Miss Peppiwell. There was a problem he often talked about, one that clouded his eyes with doubt. It must have been her.”

“Were you hurt by Lord Anthony’s defection?”

She considered. “No I am not. I had a grand time with him. He was witty and charming, and he danced beautifully. He did kiss me a few times, too, which was nice.”

“Jocelyn!”

She laughed at the indignation on his face. “I now know they were very chaste kisses, Papa. But I was not so much angry that he made promises then broke them, as I was in despair. Because I had hung all my hopes for my family on marrying him. Not because I loved him.”

“How do you know they were chaste kisses, Jocelyn?” The frost in his voice did not escape her. Heat blossomed in her cheeks, and she turned away.

Too late
. He scowled as embarrassment swept through her. “Jocelyn?”

“Calydon— He kissed me. More than once.”

Her father’s jaw worked. “And you did not think
they
were chaste?”

She cleared her throat. “No, Father.”

Something swept through his gray eyes that she could not decipher. “Did he kiss you before or after the wedding?”

“Before and after.”

“Ah.”

She did not understand his soft chuckle. “What, Papa?”

“Did you enjoy his attentions, child?”

“Father!” Her eyes widened. She swallowed as he patiently waited for her response. “I— I have never felt anything like it. Not even while racing Wind Dancer or dancing a waltz. I burned, yet I felt so alive,” she whispered.

This time it was his eyes that widened, then he fussed with his tea cup. “You are deplorably honest, my dear. I pray you are not quite as guileless with the duke.” He straightened and met her eyes. “You will, however, make him an excellent duchess. Your mother, bless her heart, ensured that you possess all the social grace and polish to walk beside him. I have no doubts you will succeed brilliantly at your new station in life.”

Jocelyn smiled at her father. Thank goodness he did not condemn her for her actions. Her heart beat with enough trepidation already—that the duke would hold her in contempt after their wedding night. After all, if she had been seduced as she’d sworn, the matter of her virginity should not be a problem anymore. She wondered if he would be able to tell. She frowned thoughtfully. Could men tell? They must be able to. It would be foolhardy for the men of society to value a thing so greatly, and have no way of proving if the value is still intact. She could not ask her father, she was already mortified by discussing a simple kiss with him.

“I worry for you, my dear. I do not believe the duke is a man to trifle with. He has the power to crush you if you are not careful. His reputation may just be a rumor…it has been years since I’ve heard him spoken of, other than regarding his miraculous touch with investments.”

“What have you heard, father? Back when the scandal happened.” At his hesitation, she implored, “I return to him tonight. Please do not let me go in doubt.”

After the deepest of sighs, he answered, “Rumors circulated of a duel, of a mistress that he strangled with his bare hands, and of the duke himself being murdered. The fact that he is clearly still alive could well mean they were all just foul rumors.”

The room spun around her as a sick feeling roiled in her stomach. “Oh.”

“It is an uncertain future that you have bound yourself to, my child,” he said, his gaze filled with concern. “Just be careful.”

“I will.” She eased out the breath that had backed up in her lungs. “To know that Victoria, Emily, and Emma will all have seasons and dowries, that Stonehaven will be made solvent for William…” Her smile wobbled as her father tenderly cupped her cheeks with his hands.

“You take too much upon yourself.”

“Oh, Papa , to know that my little loves and you will now be safe and happy, that all makes it much more palatable to have married a man who may or may not have been involved in murder.” She gripped his hands so fiercely that her father laughed, pulled her close, and hugged her tightly.

“My sweet child.”

“What’s done is done. You mustn’t worry. I will not let rumors of the past affect me, and I will resolve to be as happy as I can be with my new husband.”

A sharp pang went through her heart. She could only hope the man she married would feel the same about her when he learned the truth.

Chapter Four

Snow crunched beneath Jocelyn’s boot heels as she alighted from the chaise.

Only a few lamps were lit in the courtyard, and they barely pierced the gray fog that blanketed the night. She almost stumbled at the line of servants that had assembled on the steps to greet her. The wind howled, and even through her winter coat, the cold bit at her bones. She shivered and pulled the cloak tighter, warding off the icy chill. She knew it was customary for the servants to be introduced to their new mistress, now the lady of the house, but she thought it unnecessary that they were lined up in the cold waiting for her.

Calydon appeared like a specter from the mist and stalked toward her. Images of a murdered mistress floated suddenly in her mind, and she tried to banish her dark thoughts. Without success.

A strange kind of dread gripped her, and she was barely aware when he introduced her to his staff as his new duchess. Her smile was wooden, and she went through the motions with a loud thundering in her head. It was only when she was swept through the massive hall that she realized it was her heartbeat pounding in her ears.

“Have you dined?” Sebastian asked politely.

She jumped, betraying her nervousness. “I did, Your Grace.”

“Ah.”

She felt compelled to fill the silence that pressed on so ominously. “I am sorry I’m a bit late in arriving…home. I needed to spend some time with my family preparing them for my sudden absence. My sisters are quite attached to me, even though I must admit they vibrated with excitement over the happy circumstances.”

His only response was a grunt.

Her knees weakened as they started to climb the winding staircase. She glanced wildly behind her, but nary a servant was in sight. Did he mean to escort her straight to the bedding chamber? It was impossible to slow her racing heart. She was not sure what emotion filled her most at the thought of being ravished—dread or curiosity.

I am looking forward to our wedding night.

Since she hoped that meant he was prepared to enjoy it, she decided on curiosity.

She would not believe a gentleman would lead her straight to the event after travelling for hours in the chaise. Not without time to ready herself.

But then, he was not a gentleman, as proclaimed by his own words.

She was nervous, even though she had nearly convinced herself there was nothing to be afraid about.

Nearly.

She gulped as heat rushed through her at the memory of her father’s talk. He had tried to tell her what to expect. She had been amazed, then stupefied as he had taken a seat before her, his complexion florid, and wheezing like a bellows. She had thought he was on the verge of a heart attack. Unfortunately, the only words he managed to utter did not reveal much about the act itself.

“Be brave,” he’d said. “Be brave.”

Then Mrs. Winthrop had not helped at all by telling her that she must not gainsay her husband, even if he wanted to do wicked and immoral things to her. Jocelyn could not imagine what could go on in a bed chamber that was wicked and immoral. She had rolled her eyes and said as much.

Mrs. Winthrop had then warned her in the most ominous voice, “Beware the devil’s trap, girl.”

She hadn’t known that Mrs. Winthrop had it in her to be so dark and gloomy.

She and Sebastian reached the landing without him speaking. He seemed lost in thought…possibly plotting the wicked and immoral things he would do to her. The idea sent an unbidden curl of excitement through her body.

He stopped at a massive oak door carved with an intricate design of a dragon. “Your lady’s maid will be here shortly to assist you.”

Without another word he spun around to leave.

“Wait!”

“Yes, Jocelyn?”

“Will you…um— Will we…?”

The sensual smile that creased his handsome face was her answer.

She inhaled shakily, wrenched open the door, and stumbled hastily into the room.

Immediately, her gaze zeroed in on the bed. Good lord. She had never seen a bed so massive. Fashioned of the finest exotic woods, it was raised on a dais, and surrounded by dark blue and silver drapes hung from a high wooden frame and gathered at the corners with silver cords.

She blinked as she studied the room. The sheer size of it was boggling, but the design exquisite. Persian carpets covered the floor and all the furniture was oak with the strange dragon motif emblazoned on them. The colors of the decor, from the carpet, the billowing drapes, and sofas, were shades of deep blue with silver. The elegance of the room awed her.

But— Surely this was not her chamber. She walked over to the bed and flushed at the garment splayed in its center. She lifted the pale blue chiffon peignoir and swallowed at its sheerness. She dropped it and stepped away from the bed.

She spun as the door opened and a maid swept in with a curtsy. “Yer Grace, I am Rose, your lady’s maid.”

“Hello Rose.” She smiled warmly, and started to unpin her hair as Rose hurried over to start unpacking her valise, which had somehow appeared.

“Would ye like a bath, Yer Grace?”

She gave her a tired nod, and sank into one of the sofas in the room. A moan slipped from her lips at the wonderful feel of the deep, soft cushions. Rose bustled with a jaunty kind of efficiency, disappearing several times into the adjoining room to prepare her bath.

“Are all the rooms this large, Rose?” Jocelyn called.

“No, Yer Grace, Mrs. Dudley says His Grace had this room specially designed.”

“Oh? Is the duke’s room just as large?”

She paused in rubbing the tightness from her neck at the bird-like look of inquiry that Rose threw her way.

“This is His Grace’s room, Yer Grace.”

Jocelyn surged to her feet, nervously searching the walls around her. “I do not see a connecting door to my own chamber.”

“There is no duchess’s chamber, Yer Grace.”

“I beg your pardon?” The look on Jocelyn’s face must have betrayed her shock.

Rose rushed to explain. “Mrs. Dudley says on account o’ His Grace’s parents’ cold marriage with lots o’ closed doors, he tore down the wall separatin’ the duchess chambers from this one, so they made one big room. Mrs. Dudley says it must be on account o’ the duke not wantin’ such a cold marriage.”

Trepidation surged through Jocelyn at this bit of information. “I see.” She remained quiet as Rose undressed her and led her to the bath chamber. “Oh, my!”

“It’s a beauty ain’t it? His Grace had it fixed up with the latest modern plumbin’ a few years ago.”

Jocelyn hastily stripped off her dressing gown, stepped into the marble Grecian bathtub, and sank into the welcome heat of the water. She rubbed the scented jasmine soap over her arms, neck, and chest, her mind swirling with the idea that Sebastian did not want a cold marriage with separate chambers from his wife. Still, it was never prudent to listen to servants’ gossip. For all she knew, he’d removed the walls and connecting door for some completely unrelated reason.

She sank deep into the tub, all but purring in enjoyment as the heat of the water soothed the tenseness from her body, and she savored the luxurious bath to its fullest.

She refused to dwell with fear on the coming night, when her new husband would return to the chamber…to do wicked and immoral things to her.

…

He’d acquired a duchess.

Standing at the open library window, Sebastian dipped his hand in his trouser pocket, touching the locket that Anthony had given her. A wry smile twisted his lips and he raised his glass in a mock toast to his mother and drank.

His mother had given Sebastian the locket several years ago, telling him to bequeath it to his duchess for a future daughter, as it had belonged to the first born females in her family for several generations. As turned off by the notion of marriage as he was, he had gifted it to a reluctant Anthony for his first born daughter, instead.

When the locket had clattered across his desk to him, Sebastian had been stunned to realize the feeling that powered through him at the sight of it was relief. The necklace was back in his possession. It had never occurred that the heirloom meant so much to him.

He had sworn never to marry, comfortable to pass his several entailments to Anthony, even though Sebastian knew that wasn’t a burden his brother wanted. Anthony wanted to live free, sail the oceans, and visit the Americas and the Caribbean with his Miss Peppiwell. He continually expounded to Sebastian that he wanted to be unencumbered, to live his life as he wished, not be shackled to a handful of family piles containing only bad memories.

Unfortunately, Sebastian shared the sentiment.

The clock in the library chimed, signaling the midnight hour. He wondered if Jocelyn had fallen into slumber. He had secluded himself in the room where he felt most comfortable, to give her time to prepare, and had become lost in his thoughts for at least an hour. Was she waiting on him with virginal anxiety clothed in the provocative peignoir he’d had his lawyer acquire for him in London? Or had she fallen asleep, too exhausted from the day’s events to care about her wedding night?

His mouth curled in disdain.

A virgin
.

He took a healthy swallow of the whisky that burned all the way down, filling him with the warmth that was desperately needed in the library. He stood with the tall windows open, the chilly air whistling in, deep and biting. He could never understand why he liked the cold so much. The fireplace that roared behind him did little to dull the ache that filled his bones, its only purpose to shed light into the room. The wind howled, and flecks of snow blew in, stinging his face and neck.

Jocelyn had lied about Anthony seducing her. Sebastian detested liars. He took some comfort from the fact that she was completely transparent with her emotions. Indeed, he did not doubt that Anthony had teased and flirted with her, and even made promises of marriage. The necklace being in her possession showed that his brother had, at least momentarily, questioned the depth of his affections for Miss Peppiwell. But he had not bedded Jocelyn.

He might well have gone far enough for her to be deemed wholly compromised by society. But clearly, he had not even kissed her properly.

Sebastian muttered a curse as his cock came to life, and his grip on the whiskey glass tightened at the memory of the taste of her lips and her passionate response.

He understood Anthony’s slight defection from Miss Peppiwell. Jocelyn’s dark beauty was astonishing. Her skin was smooth and flawless, though her cheeks had been kissed by the sun, showing him she spent a lot of time outdoors. Her luxurious mane of raven hair with her storm-cloud eyes had a stunning effect on his senses. Yet, it was not her beauty that intrigued him. There were too many beauties in London, eager to been seen with him at balls and operas and desperate to be in his bed, for him to be enchanted by appearance. Beauty alone had never piqued his interest.

Jocelyn fascinated him. It was her fiery temperament that drew him most. He already knew she wasn’t a simpering fool. He had no time for the vain and frivolous women of society. He viewed the sweet-tempered, pliable young misses straight from the schoolroom with disdain. None would dare storm his estate and point a derringer at him, a duke, demanding the stain on her honor be satisfied.

The
ton
would be titillated to know that was how the arrogant Duke of Calydon had wed. The scandal would roar like an unquenchable fire.

Distaste curled his stomach at the fickleness of society. The scandal would die under the onslaught of his undeniable power. For he controlled the purse strings of many families through his investments. Days later, they would all simper to be seen with her, and be invited to the balls she would come to host. She would probably be declared “an original” for how she had snared him, where a less fortunate woman would be an outcast for life.

He pulled the locket from his pocket and held it up in the glow of the fire and moonlight, despising the relief he felt to have back what she’d gifted to him.

His father had died in a carriage accident several years past, and his mother, Margaret Abigail Jackson, the dowager Duchess of Calydon, had not even honored the appropriate mourning period before wedding her lifelong lover. She had not suffered the condemnation of society overly much, either.

Her eldest son, on the other hand, had long harbored a fathomless disdain for her because of her illicit affair and complete disregard for his father. A contempt so deep Sebastian had hardly deigned to speak with her. After he came into the title, he had wasted no time in banishing her to the dowager house and cutting off her allowance, ignoring her pleas, cold and indifferent to the perfidious female’s tears and machinations.

A few months back the family solicitor had hand-delivered her secret cache of diaries, written over the years of his childhood. His father had held them in his possession and left instruction for them to be handed to Sebastian at a certain time. He glanced at the packet of bound journals on his desk still awaiting him to read them fully. His parents had endured a cold marriage, never kissing or touching. He barely remembered any words or gestures of affection at all, only the perfunctory kiss his father normally placed on her forehead, unable to do more in the face of her revulsion for him. Sebastian had hated her after discovering her in the garden with her lover at the tender age of six, furious at realizing the cause of the constant arguments which had resulted in the nearly total absence of his father from his life.

All because she had a lover whom she could not relinquish.

Two things he learned from the couple of diaries he’d read thus far: his unfaithful bitch of a mother loved her paramour unashamedly and unreservedly, and she’d abhorred the touch of his father, who worshipped the ground she walked on. Sebastian had suspected what he would find, but had still found it difficult to read the words of a woman he had once loved. She had hardly found it fit to love him in return, too busy with her lover. The pain he felt reading her words had been too real, so he had yet to read the remainder.