Page 4 of Caught with the Beastly Duke (Dangerous Dukes #3)

Chapter Four

“ Y our Grace, are you well?”

Nathan looked up to see his valet staring down at him, a concerned look on his face. It took Nathan another few seconds to realize exactly why his valet was so concerned.

Oh yes. You’re sitting on the street outside of White’s, drinking directly from a bottle of red wine.

It wasn’t exactly the most ducal behavior.

“What are you doing here, Gibbs?” he asked, squinting up at the valet. “Why aren’t you back at the house?”

Gibbs looked confused. “You told me to wait here for you, Your Grace. In the carriage…”

“But…” Nathan tried to remember how long ago he had arrived at White’s but couldn’t. “That was hours ago, wasn’t it?”

“Yes,” the valet agreed. “You’ve had quite a lot to drink tonight, Your Grace. Perhaps you lost track of time?”

“Ha! If only. But no, time is moving faster than ever, what with my wedding just a few hours away.”

The whole affair had moved so quickly—too quickly—speaking to Lord Carfield, Rosalie’s cousin, and getting his permission, making a short but speedy announcement in the Times , securing the special license, and now, the wedding day, a mere week after he had asked Rosalie to tell him she wanted to marry him.

One week after she had said yes but only because there was no other option.

“Would you like to go home, Your Grace?” the valet asked anxiously. “You may have time to catch a few hours of sleep before you need to be at the church.”

“It’s too late for that,” Nathan said, waving a hand dismissively. “What I need is… James!”

“Your Grace?”

“The Duke of Attorton, my dear fellow! My cousin!”

“Ah…” Gibbs bit his lip. “But it is six in the morning, Your Grace. The Duke of Attorton will be asleep.”

“Then wake him up!” Nathan said, shaking his head. “It’s my wedding day, after all! Just tell him I’m having cold feet. That will get him here in record time.”

His valet still looked unsure, so Nathan reached into his pocket and pulled out several pounds which he set into Gibbs’ hand. “Take this,” he grunted. “It’ll give speed to your wings.”

Gibbs nodded, pocketed the change, and left him there, sitting on the pavement.

Nathan sat back and took another long swig from the bottle of wine. Above him, the gray sky was lightening to pink. Dawn was upon him.

The dawn of my wedding day. The dawn of my married life.

A sick feeling rose in his stomach, but he forced it down. It was dread, he knew, dread and guilt.

“I never wanted to be married,” he said out loud. No one was about at this early hour, so he was thankfully spared a response. “I never wanted to cause a woman the kind of pain my father caused my mother.”

To his shock, his eyes filled with tears at the words, and he had to cough and splutter until at last, the tears dissipated. Memories were threatening to burst from where he usually kept them sealed away, deep in a vault inside his brain he never touched. But he couldn’t let them now; even with all the wine, he couldn’t…

Father screaming. Mother cowering. Mother pushing her food away at the table, refusing to eat, telling us that Father deserved a wife who could be abstemious.

Ethan laughing. Ethan hugging Mother. Father ripping him away, telling him boys did not hug their mothers after the age of eight.

Mother growing thinner, weaker…

Ethan, with his kind eyes and easy laugh.

Ethan…

“Nathan?”

Nathan woke with a start. He was still leaning against the facade of White’s, and James was standing over him, a hand on his shoulder. “Nathan? Are you all right?”

“James!” Nathan blinked, trying to clear the fog that was in his head and the blurriness in his vision. It was the first time Nathan had seen his cousin since their fight, and his heart swelled with love and affection as he took in his concerned, anxious face. “You came!”

“Well, I nearly took your valet’s head off in the process! What were you thinking, waking me at this hour?”

“You’re just grumpy because you left a warm body in your bed,” Nathan said, laughing maniacally. He was pushing it, he knew, after their last interaction, but his exhaustion and drunkenness made him bold.

James’ eyes narrowed. “Careful. That’s the Duchess you’re speaking of.”

“My apologies. Although you must admit how scandalous it is: you actually share a bed with your wife.”

“Are we here to talk about my marriage?” James snapped. “Or yours?”

That sobered Nathan up. “Did Gibbs tell you I’m having cold feet?”

James arched an eyebrow. “He did. And while I might have believed that a week ago, I don’t believe you’d back out now, after how hard you worked to ensure it happened. You have stepped up to a degree that I could have only hoped you would.”

“You shouldn’t have doubted me,” Nathan grumbled, and James smiled sadly. “I couldn’t stand it if you thought so ill of me, James. You are my oldest friend. My oldest friend, now that Ethan is gone…”

“I was just scared for you,” James said. “Scared that you had become someone I no longer recognized.”

“Well, I still may. I’m not sure I can go through with this.”

“We’ll talk about that once you’re home and cleaned up. Here, let me get you up.” James put an arm under his shoulder, and with a grunt, he managed to get Nathan on his feet. For a moment, Nathan swayed, but then he leaned on his cousin and found his balance. He still felt drunk but less so.

I’ll be able to walk down the aisle without falling over , he assured himself.

It was lighter out now, and down the street, he saw a few people moving—street sweepers and urchins, mostly, no one who would recognize him, thankfully. Behind James, Nathan also saw his carriage with Gibbs standing beside it, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet anxiously.

“We should get you home,” James said. “You look a mess, and you’re supposed to be at the church in three hours.”

His cousin half-carried him to the carriage then he and Gibbs helped Nathan up into it. At last, they were trundling back along the cobblestone streets of Mayfair to Carramere Mansion. When they arrived, the house was already bustling with activity as everyone prepared for the arrival of the new duchess.

The energy awakened him a bit more, and by the time he was up in his bedchamber and had bathed and put on fresh clothes, he was feeling a modicum of calm.

“Better?” James asked when Nathan emerged from his bedroom into the antechamber where the cousins often played cards together late into the night. James was stretched out on a sofa, drinking a small glass of claret.

“Really?” Nathan asked. “You’re drinking at eight in the morning?”

“You’re one to talk,” his cousin said, raising an eyebrow.

“I was drinking last night.”

“And into this morning.”

“Well, I’m the bridegroom. Isn’t that what he’s supposed to do the night before his wedding?”

James shrugged. “Marriage isn’t as bad as that, you know.”

Nathan crossed the room and sat down across from James. “Give me one of those,” he said, nodding at the claret.

James hesitated then poured him a small glass. “Just so you won’t have a raging headache in the middle of the ceremony.”

Nathan gulped down the claret then set it down on the coffee table and looked hard at his cousin. “I don’t know if I can do it,” he said. “I don’t know if I can marry her.”

James’s expression softened, and he set down his own glass.

“You can do it,” he said gently. “You’re doing the right thing.”

“I really don’t know if I can.”

James swallowed. “What do you want to do? Call it off?”

“As if you wouldn’t have to call me out.”

“I’m serious,” James said. “As much as I think you should marry the girl, I don’t want to see either of you miserable. Despite what you may think, I care for both of you deeply.”

“Well, I’m not calling it off,” Nathan declared, shaking his head. “That would ruin Rosalie.”

“Well then…”

“I never wanted to marry, you know.” He glanced out the window at the lightening sky, his heart heavy. “It was supposed to be Ethan who married, fathered children… and me, I was supposed to be a poet.”

“I know,” his cousin murmured. “But you know, I didn’t want to marry either. Nor did I think Violet and I would ever see eye-to-eye, let alone fall in love. And look at us now! As in love as two people could be. Perhaps…”

The end of the sentence was left unsaid, but Nathan understood: Perhaps you and Rosalie will find love as well.

But he very much doubted it. The image of his bride came to him: her pale blonde hair, her wide green eyes, her thin, delicate frame. His stomach clenched painfully, and he gritted his teeth. She was so beautiful, so full of naive and romantic hope, given to her by novels. And what was he?

No Prince Charming. Just a beast.

“I am sorry, James,” Nathan said, leaning forward and clasping his cousin’s hands in his. “I’m sorry for how I have changed these past two years. I didn’t know it hurt you or that you even noticed.”

“I just want you to be happy,” James said carefully. “For yourself. And your future wife.”

“My future wife…” The words felt sour on his tongue.

“You can find happiness in your marriage,” James said gently, squeezing Nathan’s hands. “I know it. Even if you and Rosalie do not find love, you can find respect and joy. She is a good person, and so are you.”

“You don’t understand,” Nathan argued, shaking his head. “You don’t understand.”

“What don’t I understand?”

Nathan gave him a very serious look. “You’re right about me: I am a beast. And in a few short hours, I’m going to ruin this woman’s life.”

“The cucumber slices will help, Miss Rosalie!” her lady’s maid said, gesturing towards where they sat on her vanity in a small porcelain teacup. “My mama swore by them, and she was a woman who cried often.”

Clara, her lady’s maid, faltered as she said this and flushed.

She’s probably worried she shouldn’t have mentioned me crying , Rosalie thought dully. But she didn’t care; it was obvious to anyone who had seen her that she’d been crying.

“I don’t know,” she said uncertainly, looking at the thin slices of cucumber on the vanity. “I’m supposed to put them over my eyes?”

“That’s right. It makes the puffiness go down.” Clara gave her a forced smile. “And then you will look even more beautiful than you already do!”

Rosalie glanced in the mirror, unconvinced. Yes, she was wearing a beautiful gown—Violet had let her borrow her dress which the modiste had tailored at a high premium on such short notice to fit Rosalie, who was much thinner. And her hair had been done up beautifully. But she didn’t feel beautiful. Not with her eyes puffy from crying all night and with dark circles under them from her lack of sleep.

“Just think,” Clara said, “you’ll be a duchess later today. Isn’t that exciting?”

But it was evident from Clara’s tone that even she wasn’t convinced. Everyone who had been in the house the past week knew that Rosalie was looking forward to her wedding about as much as she was looking forward to her funeral.

And that’s what it felt like an hour later as she stood outside the doors that would lead her into the church and down the aisle. She’d foregone the cucumber slices, and her eyes were still red and puffy. Meanwhile, both Violet and Iris were wearing grim expressions on their faces. They tried to replace these with smiles whenever she looked at them, but they weren’t fooling anyone.

“Are you ready, my dear?” her cousin, Lord Carfield, asked as he came to stand next to her. He adjusted his cravat. “You look well,” he commented without looking at her, and this nearly made her smile.

Lord Carfield was a kind man, if a little daft, and while he was certainly a better man to walk her down the aisle than her father, she wasn’t surprised that he hadn’t noticed she was about to burst into tears.

“I suppose so,” she said although it was becoming difficult to speak. She was so nervous, and the knot in her stomach was so tight that words were hard.

“Well then.” Lord Carfield clapped his hands together then offered her his arm. At the same moment, the organ began to play.

That was their cue.

The doors swung open, and Rosalie and Lord Carfield moved forward.

Despite the quickness of the wedding, the pews were packed, and Rosalie forced herself not to look at anyone as she walked past. She didn’t want them to see the terror on her face.

The person she couldn’t help but look at, because he was standing at the end of the aisle right in her line of vision, was the Duke of Carramere.

He looked particularly handsome in all black attire, but as she drew closer to him, the knot in her stomach only tightened. He wasn’t smiling, and the look on his face bordered on anger.

The Beast of Carramere , she thought. That’s who I’m marrying.

It took all her courage to allow her cousin to hand her over to this man, who towered above her, and as the Archbishop began to recite the opening lines of the ceremony, she felt as if she were being read her last rights.

My bride looks miserable.

Nathan wondered if everyone else could see it or if it was just him. Her eyes were puffy and bloodshot, as if she had been crying for hours, and she was holding onto her bouquet so tightly that her knuckles had turned white. And as the Archbishop began to intone, it looked as if she were fighting not to burst into tears.

The thought sent a wave of both grief and guilt through him, both of which soon flared into anger.

Not at Rosalie, of course. At himself.

You’re the one doing this to her. You’re causing her this misery. Perhaps you really are your father’s son.

His hand clenched into a fist, but he relaxed it quickly before she noticed. Covertly, he glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. Despite the bloodshot eyes and quivering lip, she looked beautiful if a bit pale. Her hair had been done up in an elaborate coiffure of curls, and there was a flush of pink in her cheeks that made him want to reach out and trace a finger along her cheekbone.

Of course, he resisted.

It’s just the alcohol in your system , he told himself. It’s making you think ungentlemanly thoughts.

He spent the rest of the ceremony like this: caught somewhere between wanting to comfort his bride and feeling unworthy to even have her on his arm.

To his great relief, the Archbishop at last announced them husband and wife. It was done.

He turned toward her and smiled down at her. She didn’t smile back.

“Come,” he said, and he led her down the aisle as the audience applauded. Even to his ears, however, the sound was wooden and dispassionate. They know what a farce this is!

As they neared the doors to the exit, Rosalie suddenly stumbled. Instinctively, he reached out and stopped her fall with his free hand while with the arm supporting her, he tried to keep her upright.

“Don’t worry,” he murmured as he supported her weight with both arms. “I’ve got you.”

She glanced up at him, her eyes wide and her lips parted, and he tried to smile reassuringly. It probably came out more like a grimace because she looked away, her eyes fearful.

Very gently, he lifted her back into a standing position. It was easy, easier than he’d have guessed. She was very light, he realized. Too light. He looked at her then, more closely than he ever had before, and took in her hollowed-out cheekbones, how thin her wrists were, and how prominent the collarbones were below her neck.

She was far too thin. It was unhealthy looking, and it reminded him of how his mother had looked on days when she wasn’t eating, convinced that if she could just be thinner, then her husband might love her.

Something twisted inside of him: a deep, sharp anger.

But at what? Why am I angry?

“Did you have breakfast this morning?” he asked more sharply than he intended as they stepped out into the foyer of the church.

“N-no,” she stammered, not looking at him. “I was too nervous. I didn’t have an appetite”

He wanted to know if she always skipped breakfast, but he bit the words back. Don’t spook her. She’s already scared enough.

And as he helped her into the carriage that would take them to their wedding breakfast, generously hosted at the Duke of Eavestone’s house, he was glad he’d said nothing. She was fidgety and nervous—looking all around throughout the ride, and he was sure that whatever it was that frightened her into skipping meals would only be made worse if he confronted it head-on. He’d have to get to the bottom of it another way.

Unless it’s you she fears . The thought seized him with a cold, aching fear. And then there’s nothing you can do.