Page 5 of A Bride for the Scottish Duke (The Gentleman’s Vow #5)

CHAPTER 5

Eammon

W ell, that was done, Eammon thought as he took her arm and escorted her out of the ballroom, accompanied by assorted “oohing” and “aahing.” When he glanced over his shoulder, he saw Lord Markham standing there with his mouth agape and smiled.

I take great pleasure in besting this scoundrel.

The moment he’d found out about the truth and what was really at stake if Lady Charity were to marry this man, he had rushed here at once, aware of what he had to do. He could not allow Lady Charity to fall into the hands of a man like Markham. He was calculating and devious. And he would use Charity to gain power over his peers if he could access whatever secrets Lord Pembroke had kept.

If Pembroke had kept Eammon’s parents’ secret safe then who knew what other secrets were hidden in his inheritance. He sighed. He had to gain control over Pembroke’s affairs, over his papers, his books—anything that could hold the key to his secrets. And the only way to keep someone like Markham from getting to that key was to keep him from marrying Charity. To keep anyone from marrying Charity.

And to do that, he knew he would have to do it himself.

He hadn’t intended to get married—if at all, since he had never truly wasted much thought on such ideas—but here he was.

He glanced at his bride-to-be and was taken aback by her appearance. Her jaw was set, her chin pushed forward, and her eyes narrowed; a quiet fury radiated off her.

So, she is upset. I’ve ruffled her feathers.

He sighed. What a wonderful start to their married life. Of course, he hadn’t expected her to be delighted at his appearance. They did not know one another, after all. Yes, he’d met her when they were children and had often heard of her, but they hadn’t met as adults and hadn’t exchanged so much as a word in years.

In fact, he was shocked at how she had changed. He recalled her as a small child with wide eyes that were always somewhat startled and curious about all she encountered. Now those same eyes reflected—well, fury. That was the only word befitting their appearance.

Right. He had to talk to her, and now.

As they stepped outside Stafford House, past a few late arrivals who would most certainly be upset at having missed the grand show, he stopped.

“Well, we should tell your mother the news. I hear she is eager for you to be wed, and this ought to do.”

“This ought to do?” she spat. “I beg your pardon, but I do not even know who you are? You wish to tell my mother we are wed? What...what is this? You cannot simply burst into the room and declare yourself my husband when we do not even know each other. The audacity.”

“You agreed we were wed, did you not?” he said, shrugging. For a moment, he’d wondered what he would do if she did not agree with his claim, but fortunately, the woman with her had quickly stepped in.

“I had to! What else was I to do? Refuse and be at the mercy of Lord Markham again? I know you know what he did, proposing to me as he did.”

“I know. That is why I claimed you as mine, to save you from him. This is all to protect you, Lady Charity,” he said earnestly.

“You still have not told me who you are? And where are we going?” she asked and looked around. Eammon hadn’t been sure where to take her after this, but he knew he had to speak with her privately so they could make arrangements. After all, they had to turn the lie into a reality swiftly.

“Excuse me, it was rude of me not to introduce myself properly. Eammon Hayward, Duke of Leith,” he said, bowing. She blinked and curtsied, and he smiled at the odd way they both clung to propriety in this rather peculiar situation.

“The Duke of Leith? You... your father and mine were friends. I remember him well. My father traveled south for his funeral not a year ago.”

He nodded. “He did indeed. It is because of our connection that I must ensure you are safe and protected—and a marriage to Lord Markham would not have accomplished that. So, I do hope that you will be agreeable to this arrangement, as we must move quickly. We must wed before anyone finds out about our deception.”

She raised a gloved hand. “Our deception? Surely you must mean yours. And marry you? I only just learned your name!”

“Well, you will have to. You just declared we are husband and wife. What do you think will happen if you suddenly go back on that declaration? You will be seen as a liar—and I am certain Lord Markham will take advantage of the matter and force a marriage. Do you want that?”

He looked at her, arms crossed, and saw her eyes widen and her nostrils flare. She was angry, no doubt about it.

However, this was what was best for her and him. He needed to protect both their futures. Heaven forbid Lord Markham should get his claws into her; they would all be ruined.

“So I am to submit without question, without protest?” she demanded as he walked down the pavement with her in hot pursuit.

“Unless you would rather be Viscountess Markham, for that is what you will be once Markham has a chance to talk to your mother about what has happened. Or you could be Duchess of Leith—which everyone thinks you already are by now,” he said. As he spoke, his head pounded at an ever-increasing pace. There was so much to arrange. He had to find a way for them to marry quickly. He had to inform his family, find a witness, and make sure they were believed.

He paused. Was it worth it? Were his secrets worth all of this? Then he shook his head. Of course, they were worth it. His entire life depended on getting control of Charity's inheritance and with it, access to her father's secrets—and his own.

“You told everyone we are already married,” she argued. “Even if I agree to this, how would we explain that we are not?”

He rubbed his lips together. He should have said they were betrothed. That might have been enough, but in the heat of the moment, he hadn’t thought of it.

“We will wed tomorrow. I can make it so the papers say we were already wed days ago,” he said hastily. Thanks to his father's and uncle’s influence and the power he himself had built as his father's right-hand man, he could make things happen. He knew people who could forge documents, even official ones, but these things took time—and time was one luxury they did not have.

“Lady Charity,” a man's voice boomed behind them, and they both turned at once.

“Ah, jolly good,” Eammon groaned as he recognized Lord Markham. He hated not being able to properly think through a plan before being confronted. Not that he could not; he was always what Uncle Harry called quick on his feet. He just preferred not to, especially when an elaborate tale was involved. Alas, it could not be changed.

Swiftly, he stepped to Charity's side, grabbing her by the arm. “If you do not wish to end up this man's bride, you will follow my lead now.”

He let go and stepped forward to where Lord Markham had just stopped under a streetlight. The soft hum of the light was the only sound for a little while before Eammon cleared his throat.

“You bellowed? How, pray, may we assist?” Eammon asked, using the tone Thomas always called “condescending.”

“I did not call you, Leith,” he hissed. In the lamplight, his spittle was visible, and he stepped back to avoid it, not wanting to get any on his jacket. “I called after Lady Charity.”

“I am afraid she is no longer Lady Charity, but Her Grace, the Duchess of Leith. If you have something to discuss with her, then I shall be present. I am her husband after all.”

Markham's right eye twitched.

“That is precisely why I followed you. I do not believe there is any such marriage. Lady Pembroke mentioned nothing of the sort when I discussed my proposal,” he said with an air of arrogance, as though he had caught them out. “She was very much in favor of my proposing to Lady Charity. I do not know what games you play, Leith, but I will not stand for it. Charity is to be my bride.”

Eammon inhaled sharply through his nose. Why had he acted so hastily? He should have planned this better, for now he found himself caught out.

“She did not know,” Lady Charity suddenly said, stepping closer to him, so close that her arm brushed against his—an odd but not unwelcome sensation. “I did not want to tell her yet. That is why I turned down your proposal this morning. Because I was already wed.” She sounded confident and self-assured, though Eammon knew it was not so by the way she grabbed onto him as if for dear life.

“You mean to tell me you wed in secret? What, did you dash off to Gretna Green?” Markham shook his head in disgust.

“Of course not,” Eammon said, pushing his chest out. “We wed at the local registry office. As a peer, you should be aware that due to the Marriage Act of 1836, those who wish can wed in a registry office, which is what we chose to do.”

He looked at Charity, who nodded. For once, Eammon was grateful that his father always insisted he read every bill of law that passed through the House of Lords; looking at Markham, he appeared taken aback. Had he not known? Or forgotten? The law was new and suited mostly non-Anglicans who wished to wed without the restrictions imposed by the Church of England. Thus, he may not have concerned himself with it.

“You, the daughter of a peer, of an upstanding Anglican, chose to wed in a registry office? I am to believe that?” Markham scoffed.

“You must believe it, for it is indeed the truth,” Charity said, and Eammon admired her resolve.

“I think you are telling tall tales, Leith,” Markham said, stepping closer, one hand in the air with his index finger wagging.

Eammon pursed his lips and took a half step forward before smoothly waving his hand before him to push down Markham's finger. “I shall not permit the viscount of a most obscure county to wag his finger in my presence. I am the Duke of Leith, and we are not friends. Therefore you will address me as Your Grace or Duke. Understood?”

Markham stepped back, and a vein popped on his forehead as rage filled him.

“I cannot accept your words, I shall challenge this,” he wagged his finger again, but then quickly dropped it.

“You can't,” Eammon said. “We have all the documentation. And a witness.”

“Do you?” Markham said and sneered. “And who might that be? A trusted friend?”

Eammon hesitated for the first time. He had hoped to name his cousin Thomas as his witness, but now he saw this might not be ideal as he'd been questioned, given they were so close.

“As well as a lady of the high society,” a woman's voice said from the right. He turned and saw the young woman who had been with Charity inside. He vaguely knew her but could not think of her name.

“Lady Millie?” Markham looked utterly shocked, and beside him, Lady Charity jerked, which pushed her even closer to him. “You are a part of this theater? I always knew you were eccentric but this is beneath even you.”

“Millie?” Lady Charity whispered, her voice uncertain.

The young woman, whose countenance was full of certainty and determination, smiled. “Indeed, Lord Markham. I was a witness to my cousin's marriage to His Grace. They wished to keep it private for the time being and thus did not tell my aunt just yet, but it seems thanks to your theatrics, they will be forced to tell her now.”

Markham looked from her to Eammon and then rested his eyes on Charity, who shifted from one foot to the other, clearly uncomfortable.

“Is that so?” he said.

“Indeed, Lady Millie and my cousin, Thomas Banfield, Marquess of Ruslip, were witnesses when we wed. I will be more than happy to provide any proof you require,” he said, hoping he sounded confident, for he did not feel it.

“Very well. I shall congratulate you then, I suppose, if it is true,” Markham said and turned to stalk back inside the house. “Although we will see about that.”

He glared at them with contempt but then stalked away, leaving behind a thickness in the air that was most oppressive.

Once he was gone, Lady Millie walked up to him. “Your Grace, I do hope your intentions toward my cousin are honorable.”

“I give you my word, my intentions are solely to protect your cousin from harm. My intentions are honorable, indeed.”

Were they? Were they truly? Perhaps in part. Enough for the statement to not feel like a lie.

“Very well then, but you must make a plan. You cannot declare yourself married and then not produce evidence. I will support you, Your Grace, but you will have to make this lie a reality quickly,” she said and he nodded at once.

“I intend to.” he said.

Charity looked at him then. “You must both have been in your cups if you think I will agree to this. Just because I do not have to marry Markham does not mean I am happy about this. This was not my choice. I do not understand any of this. Why must I marry you to be protected? From what? From whom?”

“From men like Markham,” he said. “And many others like him. With me, you will be safe, I promise you that.”

“And I am to simply believe you?” she challenged him.

“You may not, but you must believe it is for the best. I will make the arrangements for us to wed tomorrow at the registry office. I have contacts. I will have my cousin there, and if Lady Millie could come, then we can make this fable a reality.”

“Charity, I do not think you have an option,” Millie said gently. “Not unless you want to marry Markham.”

He watched her take this in, and then, after a lengthy silence during which the only sounds were the clip-clop of horses' hooves and the grinding of carriage wheels, she sighed and dropped her shoulders.

“If I must,” Charity said bitterly.

“You must.” he said, and then, before she could respond or question, he turned and hurried away into the night—for not only did he have a wedding to arrange, but he also had to make it appear as if it had already taken place. And then, he had to ensure that all of this was worth it—and he would be able to secure the secrets that could be his undoing.