Page 7 of The Duke’s Spinster Bride (A Duke’s Game #2)

Chapter Seven

“W ith this ring, I thee wed, with my body I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow.” As soon as Andrea felt Frederick’s fingers brush against her skin, she felt warmth spread across her.

The way he slipped the ring on her finger was firm and tender, and it made something in her heart twist. It is all part of the show. She wished that Frederick did not look so handsome in his blue morning dress.

It was the twin of her own gown, and Andrea could not help but wonder if he had intended it. She had to admit that the colour suited him well. And she had felt a thrill of satisfaction at the way his eyes had sparkled when she had entered the church for their wedding.

Her dress was made of blue silk, with matching gloves and shoes. She had decided to wear the necklace and earrings that matched her engagement ring, and felt a thrill of pleasure at the Duke’s appreciative look.

“Let us pray.” The priests voice was not quite strong enough to break her from her reverie.

Swallowing, Andrea tried to pay attention to the ceremony, but her head was full of the scent of amber. The air around her felt charged, almost electric.

Cheers erupted all around her as the priest proclaimed them wed. Andrea blushed, turning to face Frederick who was rubbing the back of his neck as his best man—the Duke of Havilliard, of all men—thumped him on the back.

He adjusted the lapels of his tails and rearranged his top hat.

The Duke took her hand in his as they walked through the cheering crowd. The warmth of it spread through her, and she could not help but smile back as everyone clapped for her.

“I have a little wedding gift for you.” Frederick murmured, leaning close to her. “The deed to your house. In your name. Your married name, of course.”

She looked at him, her jaw slack. “Already?”

“We agreed you would have your independence. Or had you forgotten?” He smiled at her, and brushed a lock of hair from her face. “You can just thank me, you know.”

“Thank you.” She threw her arms around him without thinking. “I thought… I worried that perhaps… Thank you.”

She blushed furiously as she realised just what she had done, hastily stepping away from him. The movement felt like a loss.

“Kiss her!” someone cried from the back of the crowd.

Someone else took up the chant. More and more people began to yell, “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!”

Frederick was shaking his head at the assembled crowd, but this only seemed to spur them on. He glanced at her, an eyebrow quirked in question. His arms were still around her.

“KISS!” Someone yelled.

There is that boisterous charm his family seems to do so well. It is almost like being back at the Dowager Dabbles. Andrea should have expected something like this.

“Come on, Felty!” Another person called.

The pressure seemed to be building around them, and she swallowed. “I suppose we might as well get this over with.”

He laughed softly and brought his mouth towards hers. At the last moment, she turned her cheek and his lips brushed against only the corner of her mouth.

The crowd went wild and the last vestiges of control slipped from the gathered people. She was swept into a sea of well wishers, each welcoming her into the family.

* * *

A few hours later, she was standing in one of the more secluded courtyards of Caverton Manor. She had wanted some time to herself before her wedding ball began. She tugged at her dress, wishing she did not feel so raw and exposed.

She touched a hand to the cheek Frederick had kissed as they had left the church. “He was only doing it because people were cheering. It does not mean anything. I do not want it to mean anything.”

She could still feel the warmth of his lips against her skin. It sent tingles all across her skin, reminding her of the night in the gardens all of those nights ago. His lips had only met her cheek because she had turned her face. But I did not want to.

“I just got caught up in the excitement. That is all.” She clenched her fist. “Who would not, with all that cheering?”

“Surely you should not be alone on your wedding day – even you cannot be so repugnant as to have driven off all company so soon.” The familiar sneer of her father’s voice cut through her like a knife, and she whirled around.

He moved towards her, a mostly empty glass of wine in his hand. His nose was wrinkled as though he smelled something unpleasant.

“Father.” Andrea inclined her head towards him. “I had not expected to see you until the ball.”

“I wanted to speak to you before the revelry of tonight.” Her father spat the words as though they were poison on his lips.

“About what?”

“Your little show with the Duke. His lip curled in disgust.Kissing in public.”

“Unless it escaped your notice, father dearest, all he did was kiss my cheek. Besides, we are married. It is hardly scandalous.” She decided not to point out that they had already kissed in public in far less appropriate circumstances.

“I saw the way you looked at him. It was a wonder you did not rip your bodice then and there.” He swallowed the last dregs of his wine, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Did I raise a lady or some street walker?”

“My governess raised me.” Andrea raised her chin slightly, trying not to let her voice quaver. “And whatever you think you saw, I assure you it is not what you think.”

He growled. “Are you calling me a liar, girl?”

“No. I am simply telling you that you were mistaken.” Andrea took a step back.

“No doubt you have already cast aside your virtue.” His lip curled and Andrea could see the wine stains on his teeth. “That is how you did this, is it not?”

“Of course not! How could you even suggest such a thing?” Andrea’s cheeks flushed, though whether it was with anger or embarrassment she was not sure.

“Why else would a man like him choose you?” Her father shook his head. “He could have had any woman in the ton, and yet he picked you.”

“Perhaps he did not choose me for my looks.” Andrea dug her nails into the palms of her hands.

“It definitely cannot be your personality or rather your lack of one. So I must assume you used your body. Like some common strumpet.” He took a step towards her.

Andrea glared at him, even as every instinct in her screamed at her to run. “You know, most fathers would congratulate their daughters on their wedding day.”

“That would imply I approve of your behaviour. I see no need to congratulate you.” He sniffed. “Why should I congratulate you on disobedience? On shameful and wanton behaviour? No doubt your mother would be turning in her grave. It is lucky she is already dead.”

Andrea shook her head, hearing the part her father would not say aloud. She started to shake, a familiar feeling of nausea rising within her. “I did as you asked. I am married.”

“Not to the man I picked.” He threw his wine glass on the ground.

It shattered and the sound made Andrea wince. He was drunk. I should have known better. Anger and shame rose within her. “Surely to have a Duchess in the family is better for our family name? Most fathers would be proud!”

“Most fathers have daughters who know their place. Who are obedient.” He glared at her, his eyes full of disgust and violence. “They do not have insolent, ugly little girls who seek to embarrass them at every opportunity.”

“I am not trying to embarrass you.”

“And yet you do. I asked you to wed, and what did you do? Cause even more scandal! I am a laughing stock.” Her father ground his teeth together, a vein throbbing in his temple.

“It will blow over in time, and the ton will see that you have a duchess for a daughter.” Andrea tried to believe in the truth of her own words. “The ton will forget any of this and only remember that I am a duchess.”

“Are you so sure of that? Do you truly think the Duke will not cast you aside once he has learned of your deficiencies?” Her father sneered. “I know you, Andrea. I know the truth of you.”

“I do not have to listen to this.” Andrea made to move away from him, but he stood in her path, looming over her.

“You will listen to me, you vile creature. You are married, but do not think you are safe. That man will tire of you. You will do as I say, you will get with child and that will bind him to you forever.” His voice was an angry hiss, like the sound of an adder being disturbed from sleep. “Even someone as cursed as you can manage something that simple, surely.”

“You will do your duty, mark my words. You will do everything that is expected of you and give that man healthy heirs. You will be a doting wife, and you will learn to obey.” His eyes were full of violence. “Remember what you took from me girl, and let us pray that nothing similar is taken from you.”

“Get away from my wife.” Duke Caverton’s voice echoed around the courtyard.

Andrea watched as her father straightened, but did not move away from her, an arm outstretched as though to grab her wrist.

“We were just having a little father-daughter chat, Your Grace.” Her father swept into a bow, but only just low enough to not cause offence. “I simply wished to offer her my congratulations.”

“That is not what it sounded like to me.” The Duke’s voice had none of its usual airiness or amusement. It reminded Andrea of a a lit fuse on a cannon, burning its way towards an explosion.

She shivered as he drew up beside them. Every muscle in his body seemed full of tension like a tightly coiled spring. He stood between her father and her, not quite blocking her view.

“Perhaps I did not make myself clear. Step away from my wife, Lord Statton. Or I will make you.” The Duke loomed over her father, and Andrea saw Lord Statton’s face pale.

Her father took a step backwards. The Duke nodded, and slipped an arm around her waist, guiding her away from the courtyard and towards the ballroom.

As they left the courtyard two guards appeared. Andrea watched as her husband gestured behind them.

“See that Lord Statton is escorted from the premises. He has lost himself in his cups and is not fit for polite company.” A muscle twitched in the Duke’s jaw and his grip tightened around her slightly. “If I see him in the ball room, you will all be sacked.”

“Yes, Your Grace.” The servants replied; if they were taken aback they hid it well.

“Good. Let us go, we have a wedding to celebrate.” Frederick swept her through the ballroom doors, before she could say anything else.

“Announcing, the Duke and Duchess of Caverton. Frederick Felton and Andrea Felton.” A voice rang out as soon as they entered.

Cheers erupted around them, and the music swelled. For a moment, she was frozen, still trying to process what had just happened

Wordlessly, the Duke led her to the dancefloor, sweeping her into a waltz. She could feel the hardness of his muscles beneath her as he took her hand in his.

When she glanced into his eyes, she saw a dark look in them that she had never seen before. His jaw was set, and he held her firm, closer than was strictly necessary for a waltz. Yet it did not feel like a cage.

His body language reminded her of a bodyguard, eyes alert for any potential threat. She swallowed, a mix of emotions filling her.

“Are you all right?” The Duke’s voice was strained with emotion.

“I will be. Though you are holding me rather closely, more than is entirely proper.” She pointed out.

She had meant it to sound light, but it came out more wobbly than she had intended.

“Propriety be damned.” He growled, the ferocity in his voice sending shivers down her spine. “Does he always speak to you like that?”

“Who?”

“Your Father.” He spat the word like it was poison.

“It does not matter.”

“It does to me.” His voice was softer than she expected, his eyes searching her face as though looking for signs of injury. “Has he spoken to you like that before? Has he hurt you?”

She swallowed, the intensity of his gaze piercing her. She tried to smile, but she could not. There was a pained expression on the Duke’s face that shook her.

She shook her head, unable to break free of his gaze. “He was drunk.”

“That is no excuse.” His voice was full of iron.

“You need not concern yourself.” Just leave it alone. She still could not turn from him.

“Did he hurt you? Just now? Has he hurt you before?”

“I am unharmed, he did not touch me earlier.” Not in any way that matters. She chewed on her bottom lip.

“But he has before?” Duke Caverton’s voice was soft.

“Leave it be, Frederick.” Andrea breathed.

His face softened for a moment, the use of his Christian name seeming to touch some part of him. “He has hurt you before.”

It was not a question. Andrea said nothing. The Duke’s muscles were so tense she was surprised he could still dance. He was practically vibrating with emotion.

“He will not hurt you again. Not while I am here.” His voice was edged with uncontrolled rage. “If he so much as looks at you, I will break him like a twig.”

The music stopped and they broke apart. Andrea shook her head. Her breathing was ragged. It felt as though there were a vice around her chest.

She could tell by the wild look in his eyes that he meant every word. The pain on his face scared her more than his anger. He wanted to protect her, to keep her safe.

I want him to keep me safe.

“No.” Her eyes were wide and she wrenched herself away from him, shaking slightly.

The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end, and she rubbed her arms, trying to calm the blind panic that filled her. Her own muscles tensed like a deer getting ready to flee the hunter.

I cannot let this happen . She could not bring herself to look at him as her eyes filled with tears. “No. That was not the agreement.”

“You are my wife.” His voice had lost all of its rough edge.

It drew her gaze like a moth to a flame. The wildness of the moment before had vanished, and in its place was only pain. His features were soft with it, and it broke something inside of her.

“Only on paper.” She realised she was reaching towards him, as though to lay a hand on his chest and hastily curled her fingers into a fist, drawing it to her own heart. “He is my father. I will deal with him.”

She felt a wall grow around her heart and as she met his gaze, she allowed it to solidify. The pain on his face faded, and Frederick only nodded.

“As you wish, Duchess.” His voice was soft, light but empty of its usual laughter.

She tried to tell herself that it was better this way. She needed to be careful. I want him to protect me. She could not give into that urge. Would keeping her distance be enough? Would he even let her do it? That would be her usual choice, but thus far aloofness and distance appeared to have little effect on the Duke’s effusive warmth.

I need to force him to keep his distance. Need to repel him. At least, if this is to work. She needed to be as irritating as possible; that would keep her safe.