Page 2 of His Tempting Duchess (Regency Wedding Crashers #4)

CHAPTER 2

ONE WEEK LATER

“Y ours has blue eyes, don’t forget,” Richard prompted. “She wears spectacles.”

Cassian fought not to roll his eyes. He was in a church, after all. A little respect was likely in order.

“Why does it matter? I don’t care which woman I marry, only that I do marry.”

It had been two weeks since the disastrous will had been read out, during which Cassian had scoured London for a suitable bride. He had never thought to marry—hadn’t Matthew’s final words to him been a warning not to lose his heart?—but neither would he let their vengeful father take away his inheritance.

It ought to have been Matthew’s, of course, but by God, I shall let it be mine at the very least.

Cassian was generally bothered by ladies, not unlike how one would be bothered by wasps if one ventured outside with a pot of jam on a summer day. He was a duke, of course. And, as far as they knew, he was a wealthy one. He was also considered rather handsome.

He was tall, muscular without the need of padding, possessed of even features, clear skin, a headful of thick brown hair, and large eyes of a rather singularly dark shade of green. Apparently, these qualities, which were entirely the result of luck, made him very marriageable in the eyes of Society.

Privately, he believed that his cousin, Richard St. John, was a much better choice and that those ladies ought to aim for him instead.

Richard was half a head shorter than Cassian—although still over six feet tall—slimmer, milder, rounder of face, with expressive hazel eyes and flaxen curls that refused the taming of either brush or pomade.

Cassian did not have many friends, but he considered himself lucky to have Richard.

Richard snorted at his last comment, then cast an apologetic glance at the rector.

“I know you don’t care,” he responded, “but you should. You’re marrying the woman, even if I did broker it for you.”

Cassian glanced over his shoulder. “Yes, why did you do that? If I fail to produce an heir by my thirtieth birthday, then you might well inherit everything.”

Richard pursed his lips. “Perhaps that’s exactly why I was so keen for you to marry. Managing a sprawling ducal estate is not a good way to spend my life—in my humble opinion. I’d rather sponge off you, dear cousin, than have the responsibility myself.”

“Delightfully put.”

“Thank you. I was rather pleased. Anyway, I think your choice of Miss Emily Belmont was a wise one. Miss Daphne is said to be a hellion.”

Cassian knew of the St. Maur girls, of course. Anna Belmont, daughter of the late Viscount St. Maur, had married none other than the formidable Duke of Langdon. The twins were about twenty-two if his information was correct—and it always was—and were wreaking havoc on Society. He couldn’t say what had made him choose Miss Emily, as he’d only ever seen her from a distance. Perhaps there was something intriguing about her.

“So long as she says I do , I’ll be content,” he responded.

Richard looked somewhat uncomfortable, fiddling with his too-tight brocaded waistcoat. “I wish you’d spoken with her more before the wedding. You ought to have.”

“Why? It’s not a love match—we both knew that. This is a marriage of convenience, to benefit us both.” Cassian paused, a flicker of unease tugging at the back of his mind. He twisted around to look at his cousin. “Unless there’s something you aren’t telling me, of course. You did handle matters the way I instructed you, didn’t you? Richard?”

There was no time for further conversation. Abruptly, the doors at the back of the church opened, and the congregation got to their feet, all craning their necks eagerly to get a look at the bride.

The maid of honor came striding down first, her head held high, her gaze somewhat unfocused. The other Belmont twin, apparently. She shot Cassian a look of pure hatred as she passed by, so intense that he almost shuffled backward, sure that he had misunderstood something.

The bride herself came next, hanging on her mother’s arm. Octavia Belmont, the Dowager Viscountess St. Maur, was said to be terrifying and rather redoubtable. She pointedly did not look at Cassian at all.

Well, something is clearly wrong.

The bride was heavily veiled, her head ducked under the heavy layer of translucent chiffon. She kissed her mother, who then retreated to a pew, and turned to face him.

He couldn’t catch even a glimpse of her features beneath the veil.

The rector shifted, clearly preparing to begin. Cassian stared down at his wife-to-be, the sense of wrongness refusing to ebb.

He glanced over at the maid-of-honor, who was still wearing that faintly glassy expression, as though she could not make her eyes focus. She was no longer glaring at him, but staring at her sister, stricken.

The rector cleared his throat. Cassian was fairly sure that once the service began, it would rocket through to the end before he knew it.

“Wait a moment,” he said, his voice echoing strongly through the church. Several people flinched. “Let’s throw back that veil.”

The bride flinched. Murmurs rippled through the congregation.

“The… the removal of the veil is generally done after the vows, Your Grace,” the rector explained timidly, as if Cassian was too stupid to understand otherwise.

The bride was looking straight at him, he was sure of it. If only he could see her eyes through the veil.

He smiled wryly. “Come, I insist.”

She cleared her throat, shifting. In one smooth movement, she swept back the veil.

A rather pretty girl was revealed, her chin held high, and fear jumping in her eyes. While that was unpleasant in itself—Cassian had not intended to scare his wife — there was also another fact to consider.

“I had thought that my bride had blue eyes, not green,” he said aloud, feeling suddenly rather tired.

She narrowed her eyes. Her damningly green eyes, behind spectacles he was willing to wager made her eyesight worse , not better. He didn’t glance over her shoulder at her sister—the woman he was supposed to marry.

“I think you are mistaken,” the reluctant bride answered coolly.

“I am never mistaken.”

“There is a first time for everything,” she shot back.

There was a taut silence between them. Cassian stared at her, trying to make some sense of it all. Did it matter which sister he married?

Well, yes. You had Richard secure the other one for a reason.

Speaking of which, how did he secure your bride? You left the details up to him. Was that a mistake? They certainly glared hatefully at you, and the one you were meant to marry was willing to swap places with her sister. There is certainly an element of rescuing a loved one from a monster in this story.

The monster being me, of course.

Suppressing a sigh, Cassian turned to the rector, who was watching the proceedings with something akin to horror.

“I believe there is a mistake, good sir,” he began.

But then he was cut off by his bride grabbing his sleeve in a surprisingly tight grip. A flutter ran around the church.

“You,” she hissed, “shall have to make do with me.”

He tugged his sleeve free. “I do not make do , my dear.”

I certainly have no interest in marrying a woman who has been quite clearly forced down the aisle.

The other woman came forward, taking her twin’s arm. The maid of honor, he could see, had crisp, pretty blue eyes, with the same glassy look in them that he’d noticed before. No doubt the poor woman saw only a blur of confusing color, without her spectacles to aid her.

“No,” she said quietly. “This is enough.”

The bride widened her eyes. “Emmie…”

“I can’t,” the maid of honor said, quietly but firmly. “You can’t.”

“I can’t breathe, Emily.”

Suddenly, his bride—not that she would be his bride, not after this—seemed to be struggling to breathe, panic flashing in her eyes.

“I know. I know, dearest,” Emily Belmont said, smiling weakly. “But you have to run. Run!”

That last word echoed through the church. Before anybody could react, the other Belmont twin—Daphne, it seemed—had dropped her bouquet and raced out of the church.

All hell broke loose after that. There were shouts and a few cries, and several people ran after her.

The rector, understandably shaken, pointed with a wobbling finger. “Somebody stop that girl!”

Cassian turned a withering glare on him, and the man wilted.

“Let her go if she wishes,” he said, his voice clipped. “Heavens, do you intend to drag her back and force her to marry me? I certainly do not.”

The rector muttered something that sounded like an apology and then shuffled backward.

Most of the congregation were on their feet now, talking eagerly and whispering. Of course, this incident would be the talk of London for weeks, if not months, to come.

What am I thinking? Cassian bit back a smile. It’s likely to be years.

He turned to Richard, raising his eyebrows. “Care to explain why my bride is so horrified at the prospect of marrying me?”

Richard wilted. “I… It turned out she wasn’t too keen, so I had to apply a little pressure. I didn’t mean to be unkind. I just thought… Well, you’re quite the catch. I thought she’d be happy in the end, but it seems like?—”

Cassian cut him off. Richard did have a tendency to ramble.

“Tell me why Miss Belmont is so against marrying me,” he said, as quietly and calmly as he could manage.

His cravat was starting to itch. He regretted trying a new style for his wedding. And the head of his cravat pin was somehow wedged against his windpipe. Perfect.

“Did you not make it clear that I am the only gentleman in the whole of London who would accept such a bride and allow her to continue her… secret activities? I have no objection to it. What did you say, Richard?”

“I… I might have been a little more forceful than I intended. I think I got rather carried away. I thought it would be more convincing, more masterful!”

Cassian pursed his lips. “Well, I think we can both agree that this has not worked to our advantage.”

Richard wilted miserably, and Cassian sighed.

“Oh, Richard. What have you done?”

I’ve learned a valuable lesson — never leave something so important to my wretched cousin again.

“This was not meant to happen,” Richard mumbled.

“If I did not love you so much, Richard,” Cassian responded tartly, “I might have just hurled you through one of those fine stained-glass windows.”

Richard nodded unhappily. “I am sorry.”

“But I will not.”

“Thank you.”

“Because you are still my cousin. And the stained-glass windows are, I understand, expensive to replace.”

Richard nodded again.

Cassian drew in a breath, straightening his cravat.

At his elbow, the rector cleared his throat. “Your Grace?” he ventured. “Can I assume that the wedding will not be taking place?”

Cassian paused, glancing across the crowd to where a white-faced figure stood, her maid of honor’s dress rather crumpled from the rush. It seemed that in the excitement of what Miss Daphne Belmont had done, everybody had forgotten about Miss Emily.

“Not today,” he answered. “Your patience is appreciated.”

The rector nodded. “Those Belmont girls are infamous for their weddings,” he explained. “I shouldn’t like to marry one.”

Cassian raised an eyebrow. “I imagine the sentiment is mutual.”

Before the rector could understand that he’d been insulted, Cassian turned back to Richard.

“There’s a wedding breakfast and such that will need to be dealt with,” he said, his voice low. “Would you attend to it? And do what damage control you can. Of course, there’ll be no stopping the story from getting out, and I fear that Miss Daphne’s reputation is irrevocably destroyed, but let’s see what can be done.”

Richard nodded miserably. “I am sorry, Cassian. This whole business is a mess. I know that… that you haven’t much time to spare.”

Cassian clenched his jaw. He spent his days trying not to think of his father, or Matthew, or the will and its deadline.

Generally, he did not succeed.

Richard began to push his way through the crowded aisle, heading for the doors. A whisper was coming back that Miss Daphne had hopped on a horse and ridden for the forest.

With Richard gone, Cassian was free to turn to Miss Emily Belmont, who was now staring at the crowd with a rather miserable expression. Her family had been swept out by the throng. Otherwise, they would no doubt have been at her side.

While her features were, on first inspection, identical to her sister’s, Cassian could see differences. Her face was more heart-shaped, her eyes larger and fringed with dark lashes, her lips redder. Of course, her blue eyes were markedly different, shot through with streaks of gold and even brown. They made the ever-changing sea look flat and dull, in fact.

He thought that Miss Emily was the prettier of the two—not that it mattered.

She glanced up as he approached, her eyes unfocused. A distinct wariness came over her expression, and she backed away. There was something like panic in her gaze, reminiscent of an animal being cornered. Tears glittered in her eyes, and Cassian found himself struck by a desire to wrap his arms around her and assure her that all would be well.

He did no such thing, of course.

He paused, leaving a respectable distance between them.

“My apologies for disturbing you,” he said smoothly. “I imagine you have a great deal to reflect on.”

She eyed him, a furrow appearing between her eyebrows.

“Yes,” she said quietly. “A great deal, indeed.”

“I thought perhaps we might talk some things over. I don’t know about you, but now I have a whole day to spend as I wish.”

It was a joke, but she did not smile. She only stared up at him, her gaze steely despite the lack of her spectacles.

“What do you want, Your Grace?”

He tilted his head. “I’m sure you must have guessed by now that a mistake has been made, Miss Belmont.”