Page 6 of A Virgin for the Duke of Scars (Ton’s Beasts #1)

M erciful Lord!

Aaron had not prayed or sought divine assistance in a long time, but it was his first and foremost reaction at his bride’s entrance.

That, and a little stumble backward that hopefully did not catch the eye of anyone else in attendance.

Extravagance had nothing on the daughter of the Marquess of Wyndham. He was not even certain there was a woman underneath all of that .

Until it started walking down the aisle toward him, that is. Like a horrendous, silvery heap of silk, lace, pearls, and all sorts of dazzling things in between.

He clenched his teeth and stood his ground. He had not run from battle before. Not even when he was surrounded on all sides, or when the searing heat of cannon fire had torn his flesh.

Aaron had known that the tastes of the aristocracy tended to run to the extreme, but he had not expected his bride to arrive swathed in an atrocity of fabric and jewels. If she had hoped to dazzle him, then she had achieved it, although for a much different reason than she might have hoped.

When he first woke up to the inexplicable grotesqueness of his injuries, he had not thought it possible that he would ever encounter anything as revolting as his own appearance. Or that he would be marrying his bride in it.

Now, it would appear that he was mistaken. Grossly so.

Apparently, the heavens enjoyed making a mockery of him at every turn.

Well, it seems that we are quite evenly matched, after all.

Except he was mistaken yet again.

His wife drew nearer, and he sucked in a harsh breath, his eyes narrowing as he focused on her for the first time. Tried to see through the blinding lace monstrosity that was her veil. Squinted really hard…

It’s her.

The little nun from the forest. The only one who ever looked at him and did not see the hideousness of his appearance.

The realization hit him with a force enough to rival the cannon fire that ripped his flesh apart.

He would know her anywhere. Once he looked past that horror of silk, lace, and the ungodly amount of pearls and beads they had thrown all over her, he recognized her at once.

He knew her, he realized, even as she walked stiltedly toward him, dragging her heels at the beginning, and then—as if she had resigned herself to her fate—with more certainty as she took the last few steps toward him.

He knew it as certainly as he knew the reaction of his body to hers—and it was not a particularly appropriate reaction to be having in a chapel, before a man of God and at least a hundred guests.

Not that he cared for either of them.

“Your Grace.”

Why, oh why, did her voice have to be so much more potent than any aphrodisiac he had ever encountered? The woman could not just look alluring; she had to sound like a siren tempting him to sin right at the altar, too.

Aaron could only grunt. Intelligible speech was beyond him for the moment, curse the Marquess of Wyndham, his wife, and their monstrously dressed but incomprehensibly delectable daughter.

“May we proceed, Your Grace?” The clergyman asked.

Aaron nodded briskly and gave another grunt of assent. Grunts, growls, and other forms of primitive speech would have to do for now, unfortunately.

At least until he was able to get his brain on straight after the entrance of his bride blew it clear out of the water.

He was going to need whiskey after all of this was over. Lots of it.

“You may kiss the bride.”

Theresa fought down the panic bubbling up her throat.

Is this really happening to me?

Apparently, it was, as the ceremony concluded with unprecedented swiftness. She was well and truly married in her sister’s stead.

It was Hope who should be standing here at the altar. It was Hope who should be wearing this oppressive cloud of extravagance. Who should be standing before the striking man, awaiting the kiss that would seal their union before the eyes of God and man alike.

Instead, it was her . Theresa. The replacement sister. The stand-in.

And her groom’s face was drawing ever closer to hers.

The Lord tests His most beloved children , she reminded herself as her eyes fluttered shut. Surely, this is yet another trial.

Perhaps he would recognize her. See the farce through the haze of opulence they draped over her.

But the man who stood before her was implacable. Indomitable as the walls of Troy themselves. His gray eyes were like storm clouds roiling over the horizon as they regarded her intensely.

A little too intensely.

Theresa quaked under the layers of silk, satin, and lace. Those eyes… all it would take was one good look, and he would know that she was a fake. A backup.

A fraud .

“Wait—”

Her protests died on her tongue at the first touch of his cool lips on hers. A gasp escaped her, her eyes flying wide open.

And then they fluttered closed again.

Heat swept through her, setting her nerves on fire as it scorched down her earlier reticence. There was no part of her that did not feel that kiss. The touch of his lips on hers left her grasping for the thoughts she had had just a moment ago.

What is the matter with me?

Polite applause followed, breaking through the haze that had swept over her. When she opened her eyes, she caught a fleeting glimmer in those stormy eyes. A slight smirk that vanished as if it had never been there at all.

That strange heat she had felt in the woods just outside the nunnery bloomed anew inside her, but this time, it was concentrated in her cheeks.

Was I just kissed by the man my sister was supposed to marry?

That… did not sound so good.

And, saints above, she liked it! Wanted him to do it again. To linger, against her better judgment.

That definitely was not good.

Mortification swept over Theresa when she realized what she had done. The direction her thoughts had taken. If she had been at the nunnery, Sister Mary would have flogged her where she stood for the sinfulness of her thoughts.

But none of that seemed to matter—not to the cheering guests. Definitely not to her parents, who looked at her now with a mixture of relief and approval.

And just like that, she had become a duchess.

Her new husband took her hand and tucked it into the crook of his elbow as he led her out of the church to raucous cheering.

Theresa could feel her cheeks burning. Her eyes dropped to the floor, suddenly feeling shy. She could see her mother delicately wipe a tear from the corner of her eye.

The Marchioness smiled sadly at Theresa, her lips pale. Beside her, the Marquess stood somberly. A silent statue carved out of some emotion she could not decipher.

“My dear wife.”

Her gaze flicked up to her husband. Half of his face was covered by a mask. The other half, bare to her scrutiny, was earth-shatteringly handsome.

“Be careful not to be drawn to physical appearances,” Sister Edith had once advised her. “Fallen angels walk amongst us as surely as you see me before you, child. Their forms are more luminous than any of human flesh.”

If fallen angels were indeed real, as Sister Edith had told her, then it was quite possible that the man before her was one. Or at least descended from that divine yet exiled lineage.

His palm brushed her cheek in the gentlest of caresses, and she shivered. Even his very touch spoke of temptation!

“Have we, by any chance, met before?” He asked her softly.

A cold chill ran down Theresa’s spine, and her eyes widened in panic. She had been caught!

“I… I am not who you think I am, Your Grace,” she mumbled.

His eyebrow rose slowly. Almost mockingly. “Oh?”

She nodded despondently. “My name is Theresa, and up until yesterday, I lived in a nunnery called the Congregation of St. Agatha.”

Her throat tightened as she continued, “I-I know that my sister was supposed to marry you, but I cannot let this farce go on. You have been tricked, Your Grace. I-I am not the woman you intended to marry.”

His gaze swept over her, light as a lover’s touch. Distant as the coldest star.

“There is no trick. I needed a bride.” He shrugged. “And here you are. It does not matter who appears at the altar today.”

“B-but… did you not hear a word of what I said?” She told him in exasperation. “I am not a fine lady—never have been in my entire life! I did not even know my parents were nobles until yesterday.”

Although what they did was certainly not very noble. Or even remotely honest. They had lied to the man, substituting his bride with her more awkward sister.

The Duke should be incensed. Angry. Furious. Instead, he looked at her as if he truly did not care.

“And like I said, my dear, I do not care,” he said simply. “As for not being a fine lady, as you put it, I can teach you if you will apply yourself to learning. I have no doubt we can coexist peacefully—as long as you follow my rules, of course.”

Rules .

Theresa shuddered at the word.

Rules here, rules there, rules everywhere . She had spent her life boxed in and restricted by the rules of the nunnery. If she were being honest, she had no desire whatsoever to return to more of the same.

“What rules?” She asked hesitantly.

It cannot be as bad as the nunnery . Mother did not seem to approve of the methods of discipline at the nunnery. Maybe they will not use the stick on me here.

Or perhaps they had other means of enforcing their rules.

The Duke’s lips pressed together into a grim line. “If you must know now, we’re to lead separate lives.”

Wait, what?

“You must never seek me when I’m in my tower,” he continued. “And you are never to set foot there.”

This… was all there was to it? Nothing about being indoors before sunset or never being late for prayers at the crack of dawn?

But her dear husband was not done yet.

“You must give me an heir, of course, and we’ll do what we must in the dark—without kissing.” His tone was as unyielding as the stone she imagined he must have etched his words into. “Once you conceive, we will not need to see each other again.”

She nodded numbly. “Is that all?”

He regarded her with a raised eyebrow. “Would you care for more?”

“In all honesty, Your Grace, not so much.”

His lips—the visible half, that is—curled into a lazy grin that did funny things to her heart.

“Honesty,” he mused. “A trait that I am beginning to appreciate.”

“You might not be so appreciative,” she warned. “Give or take a few more days.”

This time, the smile reached his eyes, and her heart did somersaults in her chest. He lowered his face until his lips hovered barely an inch from her ear.

“Follow my rules, my dear wife,” he told her, his voice dark and low. “And we will get along just fine.”

Theresa could only wish she had his confidence.