Page 2 of His Arranged Duchess (Regency Wedding Crashers #5)

L ucien had never particularly enjoyed making scenes. Some people seemed to thrive on it, but privately, he disliked the attention. One could be oneself without the eyes of a crowd.

However, in this case, there was really no choice. As soon as Gray had told him that the woman he was supposedly contracted to was already engaged and on the point of marriage, he had decided he would not marry her. It seemed unfair. Gray had nodded and bowed politely and shuffled away.

That isn’t the end of it, Lucien had thought at the time, and he was right.

Only yesterday, Gray had presented him with various correspondences and pieces of gossip which, when taken together, made a rather convincing case to say that Miss Knight and Lord Easton, the man she was to marry, were not in love at all.

In fact, Lord Easton had been rather open about needing to marry a rich woman. Miss Knight had a sizeable dowry and had had such a terrible first Season--and an opera-singer as a mother--that it was considered likely she would not make much of a match at all.

Even if she was a baron’s daughter.

After that, Lucien had decided that if she was entering into a marriage of convenience anyway, she might as well choose one with him.

After all, I’m a duke, and duke trumps viscount in the social world.

He strode up the aisle towards the altar, where the poor rector looked as though he were about to faint.

“Sir, please!” the rector burbled. “This is a wedding! A sacred ceremony! You cannot interrupt.”

“I can and I must,” Lucien responded smoothly. “This is a legal matter. As I said, I am precontracted to this young woman. I came as soon as I could. My apologies for the late arrival.”

The groom, a red-faced young man who appeared to be puffing out his chest, spun around to face the bride.

“Do you know this man, Frances?” he hissed. “If you had a prior engagement…”

The young woman shrank back from him. “I don’t! I don’t know him! I never met him.”

Lord Easton narrowed his eyes.

He doesn’t believe her, Lucien thought, faintly amused. A fine start to a marriage.

He reached the front of the church and stopped. The rector melted away, clearly not looking forward to whatever confrontation was coming.

The whispering in the church was deafening. Countless pairs of eyes lingered on him, making his back itch. Lucien kept his head high and did not bother looking at the crowd.

“What is the meaning of this, sir?” came a woman’s voice.

She had been sitting on the front pew, dressed like a widow, pale and remarkably beautiful, an older version of the bride.

She had icy eyes that burned into Lucien’s face.

“My daughter is about to be married. What are you thinking of? If you won’t leave, I’ll have you removed. ”

Lucien smiled. “In God’s house? Shocking, Baroness Rawdon. Yes, I know who you are, and my father knew your husband well.”

Behind the Baroness, on the same pew, stood the Duke and Duchess of Clapton. That surprised Lucien a little. He knew the duke, of course, but why was he so close to the Baroness and Miss Knight? There was no relation there, as far as Lucien knew.

It does not matter, he reminded himself. Concentrate.

“Perhaps the congregation might leave while we discuss this matter,” Lucien said coolly.

Lord Easton’s eyes flashed. “I certainly think not. How dare…”

“Perhaps it is best,” the Baroness spoke up. “I don’t much want a scene. At least, not one worse than this. Rector, please help me. Cassian, Emily, would you go outside with the guests and try to manage that end of things?”

The Duke of Clapton—so informally called Cassian, to Lucien’s surprise—gave a silent nod, and began herding the congregation out of their seats. It was a slow-going process, as people did not seem to want to go.

Why would they? A fabulous scandal was unfolding right before their eyes, every bit as juicy as when the famous Belmont girls broke upon the London scene.

“What a pity,” hissed some gossipy old crone sitting near the front, speaking to her equally frail husband. “The poor girl is ruined now, of course. There’ll be no coming back from this. Imagine being pre-contracted to a murderer !”

The word seemed to have weight of its own, landing heavily in the room, louder than all the other words. It ran round and round in Lucien’s head.

Murderer.

Murderer.

Murderer.

“Of course,” Lord Easton gasped. He took a step forward, stabbing a finger towards Lucien’s chest. “I didn’t recognize you at first, but now I know exactly who you are.

You are that wretch, Lord Lucien Russell.

A cold-blooded murderer. It’s a miracle you never swung for what you did.

I can’t believe you had the gall to show your face on these shores again. ”

Lucien gave a sharp sort of smile, taking a step forward. Lord Easton had not expected it and took a reflexive step back.

“I am Lucien Russell,” he said softly. “But you’ll address me as your Grace, the Duke of Blackstone. Do you understand?”

He was about half a head taller than Lord Easton, and broader in the shoulders, too. The viscount was almost certainly a cosseted, pampered noble boy who’d never had to do real work to develop his muscled physique.

He might not require padding to make his chest or legs look muscular, but Lucien knew well that there was a difference between muscles that looked impressive and muscles that were impressive.

For example, he knew that he had a layer of fat on his chest and middle, enough to make him seem more stocky, and to protect the muscle and tendons underneath.

And yet I could snap him like a twig, I bet.

Apparently, Lord Easton was thinking the same thing. He took another step back and knocked most unchivalrously into his almost-bride.

“Ow,” said Miss Frances Knight, in a muffled, quiet sort of voice.

Lord Easton moved aside, and Lucien got a proper look at her for the first time.

They didn’t exaggerate her beauty, I see.

She was not tall, with a heart-shaped face, delightfully freckled, and framed by blonde curls. Her skin was pale, as was currently fashionable, but she did not have the scrawny frame that was described as willowy . No, Miss Knight was a woman with proper womanly curves, in Lucien’s opinion.

Not that it mattered, of course. He ought not to be thinking about such things, not yet. She was staring up at him with an intense and surprisingly direct gaze for a woman who had been described as a wallflower . Those eyes were large and very green, mesmerizingly so.

Just about all of the guests had been herded out of the church by now. The Baroness came to stand beside Lucien, glowering up at him with a palpable hate.

“Explain to me why you ruined my daughter's wedding, Your Grace ,” she said, her voice clipped and furious.

“I’ll be brief,” Lucien responded coolly. He kept his gaze on Miss Knight. She was a pretty little thing, but not in a vapid, passive sort of way. It was hard to describe it fully, but she had the sort of beauty that made a man want to look again.

At least, it made Lucien want to look again.

“I came back to England only a week ago,” Lucien explained. “Amongst my father’s things, I found a contract between him, the seventh Duke of Blackstone, and one Baron Rawdon. Your father, I believe, Miss Knight.”

Something flickered across her face. She said nothing, so he continued.

“The terms of the contract were that if the Duke produced a child of one gender, and the Baron produced one of the opposite gender, the two would be married. It was to be one match between the families. I am the only living son of the Duke, and you, Miss Knight, are the only daughter of the Baron. The contract is very clear. We must be married.”

“What nonsense,” Lord Easton snorted. “That contract won’t be worth the paper it’s written upon.”

Lucien smiled. “Are you quite sure about that? It’s an old contract, but perfectly legal.”

Lord Easton spluttered. “This… This is outrageous. It’s a forgery; it must be. The Baron would never. Baroness, tell him that your late husband would never do such a thing.”

He was met only with silence. When Lucien glanced over at the Baroness, he saw a distinctly worried expression on her face. She made no move to respond.

She doesn’t know, he thought. She doesn’t know what her husband may or may not have been capable of. In any case, the contract was signed and created long before he married her.

Aloud, he said, “Might I have a word with Miss Knight, perhaps? In private.”

The Baroness narrowed her eyes at him. Lord Easton gave a sharp, mocking laughter.

“I think not,” Lord Easton shot back. “How dare you make such an outrageous request? How dare you? Why, I have a good mind to call the authorities. Perhaps you’ve escaped justice once, but this time…”

“Yes,” Miss Knight interrupted.

The Baroness stared at her daughter, clearly taken aback. Lord Easton’s jaw dropped almost comically. There was a taut moment of silence, while Miss Knight’s face grew redder and redder. She kept her chin up, however, and held Lucien’s gaze.

“This is ridiculous,” Lord Easton hissed. “Baroness, please…”

“If my daughter chooses to speak with you, that’s her concern,” the Baroness interrupted brusquely, gaze fixed on Lucien. “We will be just here. You may speak to her in that corner over there. No more than ten minutes.”

Lucien bowed. “Agreed, Baroness.”

The woman said nothing and made no acknowledgement at all. Glancing down at Miss Knight, Lucien raised his eyebrows and gestured to a quiet corner near the opposite end of the pews.

“Shall we?”

Miss Knight clenched her jaw tight, then turned on her heel and strode away.

She was wearing a pale green silk gown, thick with embroidery and studded with pearls, the train sliding out behind her.

Her fair hair was mostly loose, falling down her back in a golden torrent, braids pulled back from her temples.

Suddenly, Lucien had a powerful vision of a fairy nestling in a mossy clearing. He shook his head to get rid of the strange idea and followed her.

When they were more or less out of earshot, Miss Knight rounded on him.

“What are you doing?” she whispered. “Who are you? I’ve never met you in my life. This precontract nonsense is lies.”

“I’m afraid it is not,” Lucien responded smoothly. “I’m surprised you chose green, by the way. For your wedding dress. It’s supposed to be unlucky, isn’t it?”

Miss Knight flushed, smoothing down the bodice. “I like green. Besides, I don’t hold onto superstition. If I did, well, I already have green eyes, so my wedding is already cursed. Having said that, considering how this wedding has turned out, I might have to think differently in future.”

Lucien allowed himself a faint smile. “Perhaps. Well, the contract is unfortunately real.”

“We don’t have to act on it. Another minute, and I would have been married already. Here, let me see it.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “You think I am lying?”

She fixed her steady gaze on his face. “I think that I don’t know you at all.

You may be a liar, you may not. But one thing is abundantly clear to me, and that is this: you want my dowry.

Lord Easton— Nicholas —wants it, too. It’s all anybody thinks about in marriage.

Money, money, money. Well, people would lie for a smaller dowry than mine, so show me the contract, if you please. ”

Her gaze had hardened into a glare, but Lucien found himself fighting back a smile.

She’s so small, he thought, amused. So small and so angry.

“Of course,” he said aloud, withdrawing the document in question from where it was folded in his breast pocket. “By the way, in case you are thinking of tearing it up, I should warn you that there are plenty of copies, and one is lodged with my solicitor.”

She gave a most unladylike scowl. “I’m not going to tear it up. I’m not a child.”

She then snatched it from his hand, turning her back to read through it. Lucien folded his arms behind his back and waited for her to finish. Her back turned to him, he could see the curve of her shoulder sliding out from under the curtain of hair, white and soft.

She hadn’t adopted the modern style of plunging necklines in wedding gowns, and he found himself regretting that. She had the curves to hint at a pleasing decolletage .

At last, Miss Knight turned around again, face carefully shut.

“It’s very old,” she muttered, thrusting the document back at him.

“And yet, still in effect,” he sighed, replacing it in his pocket.

She chewed her lower lip, glancing over at where her mother stood with Lord Easton. The latter looked black as a storm, glaring over at Miss Knight with a clenched jaw.A muscle ticked in his cheek.

“I know you don’t care for him,” Lucien murmured quietly.

“Believe me, I have done my research. If I believed this were a marriage of love, I would not have intervened. But this is a marriage of convenience, is it not? If convenience and practicality are your only concerns, why not marry a duke instead of a viscount? Both of us men require your dowry, and I am quite honest about that. I think you’d make an excellent duchess. It’s a rather fun position.”

She let out a long, ragged sigh. “Well, I suppose the marriage really can’t go ahead now. I shall have to talk to Mama about all this. You and I will have to continue this discussion in the upcoming months. We’ll revisit terms, I suppose.”

“Months? Why should we wait so long?”

She glanced up at him, baffled. “What do you mean? We can’t marry much sooner than that.

There are wedding notices to be sent out, licenses to be procured, and so on.

It takes time. To get married any sooner would require…

” She trailed off as Lucien withdrew another piece of paper, holding it up for her perusal.

He grinned.

“A special license?” he remarked, grinning. “Don’t worry. I took the liberty of procuring one already.”

She stared at the document, mouth slightly agape.

“You… You really were prepared,” she stuttered.

“As I said,” Lucien remarked quietly, leaning forward. “You’re mine, my dear.”