Page 14 of Wedded to the Duke of Sin (Dukes of Passion #2)
CHAPTER 14
“ I still say it’s unfair that my clever sister is being married with such little ceremony,” Thomas said, watching London’s morning streets pass by their carriage window, “while my wedding to Evelyn shall be the event of the Season.”
Alice smoothed her ivory silk gown—the best that could be found on such short notice. “The Westhavens’ family chapel is more than enough. And a quiet ceremony suits me better.”
She kept her voice steady, though her heart raced beneath her modest bodice. In less than an hour, she would be a duchess. The thought seemed somehow both terrifying and unreal.
“Still.” Thomas took her gloved hand. “You deserve all the pomp and circumstance. Though I suppose a duke makes up for the lack of grandeur.” His attempt at levity fell slightly flat. “I am not sure what I’ll do without you, Sister.”
“You’ll have Evelyn.” Alice squeezed his fingers, fighting back unexpected tears. “And you’ll not be rid of me entirely. The Duke’s townhouse is barely across town.”
The carriage slowed as they approached the chapel, an elegant stone building attached to the Westhavens’ London residence. Already, she could see the small but distinguished group of guests arriving.
Lady and Lord Westhaven entered with their usual stately grace, and Evelyn, wearing a pale blue silk dress, walked beside them.
“Last chance to run,” Thomas offered half-jokingly as the carriage door opened.
“And risk Lady Westhaven’s wrath?” Alice forced a smile. “I think not.”
Joanna was waiting in the small antechamber, practically bouncing with barely contained excitement as she helped Alice with her final preparations.
“Stop fidgeting,” she chided, adjusting Alice’s ivory silk veil for the tenth time. “You’ll crease the lace, and Lady Westhaven has already mentioned twice how challenging it was to secure such fine Brussels work on such short notice.”
Alice caught her friend’s hands. “Joanna, I?—”
“Don’t.” Joanna’s voice softened as she studied Alice’s pale face. “Don’t tell me this is what you wanted all along or some nonsense about a love match. I know you too well for that.”
“I am doing what’s necessary.” Alice turned to the small mirror, hardly recognizing the elegant bride who stared back at her.
The ivory silk was exquisite, if hastily altered, and orange blossoms crowned her carefully arranged curls.
“Now you are about to marry a devastatingly handsome duke who looks at you as though you are water in the desert.” Joanna squeezed her shoulders. “There are worse fates.”
“He has secrets.” The words slipped out before Alice could stop them. “The way he speaks with Lord Drakeley, the way he tenses when Lord Treyfield appears… there’s something he’s not telling me.”
“All men have secrets.” Joanna straightened Alice’s skirts with careful hands. “The question is, do you trust him?”
“I hardly know him!”
A soft knock interrupted them.
Thomas peeked in, grinning at the sight of his sister.
“Are you ready? Lady Westhaven is about to expire from anticipation, and His Grace looks ready to tear down the chapel doors if we make him wait much longer.”
“How does he look?” The question escaped before Alice could stop it.
“Terrified. But in a very ducal way.”
“He does not.” But something loosened in Alice’s chest.
“Like a man facing execution,” Thomas confirmed cheerfully. “Very dignified about it, of course. But definitely terrified.”
“Thomas!”
But Alice found herself smiling for the first time that morning.
“There’s my sister.” Thomas offered her his arm. “Shall we go make you a duchess?”
Joanna pressed a quick kiss to Alice’s cheek. “Remember—you are still you, title or no title. And if he doesn’t treat you like the treasure you are, I’ll personally ensure that his ducal dignity suffers a tragic accident.”
Alice managed a watery laugh. “I thought you said he looks at me like water in the desert?”
“He does.” Joanna’s smile turned mischievous. “But a little threat of bodily harm never hurt a marriage. Particularly not one arranged quite so… precipitously.”
The chapel bells began to chime, and Alice’s heart leaped in her throat. This was it. In moments, she would walk down the aisle and bind herself to a man she barely knew yet somehow couldn’t stop thinking about.
“Ready?” Thomas asked softly.
Alice squared her shoulders, remembering how Dorian had looked at her that night on the terrace, as though she were something precious and dangerous all at once.
“Ready.”
The chapel doors opened, and the small but distinguished congregation rose. Alice forced herself to breathe, grateful for Thomas’s steady arm as the familiar strains of the wedding march filled the air.
“Chin up,” Thomas whispered. “You are about to become the highest-ranking lady in the room. That should please Mother’s ghost, at least.”
But Alice barely heard him. Her attention was focused on Dorian, who’d turned to watch her approach. Something flashed in his eyes that made her heart stutter—possession, hunger, and underneath it all, a flicker of something that looked almost like awe.
“Such a modest ceremony for a duchess…” Lady Westhaven whispered, her voice carrying across the intimate space.
The morning light filtering through the stained-glass windows cast rainbow shadows over Dorian’s aristocratic features, and for a moment, Alice forgot that this was anything but a love match.
Then, she caught Lord Drakeley’s knowing look as he stood beside his friend, and reality crashed back down on her.
This was a marriage born of scandal and necessity, not the romantic tale the ton would whisper about. A convenient solution for a rake who was trapped in marriage.
“Dearly beloved,” the priest began, but Alice could barely focus on the familiar words.
She was too aware of Dorian’s proximity, the subtle scent of sandalwood that clung to his coat, the way his thumb traced small circles on her palm.
Lord Drakeley watched them with a knowing smile that suggested he missed none of this.
The exchange of vows passed in a blur. Dorian’s “I will” rang with quiet authority that sent shivers down her spine. Her own response emerged steadier than she’d expected.
Then, Dorian was sliding a heavy gold band onto her finger—not the gaudy diamond she’d expected, but an elegant ring with subtle sapphires that somehow looked perfect against her skin.
“I now pronounce you man and wife.”
The words settled over Alice like a weight she couldn’t yet comprehend. Before she could even draw a full breath, Dorian’s hand rose to cup her cheek, his touch warm and steady. His thumb brushed her skin—a whisper of connection—and then his lips met hers.
It began with decorum, a kiss tailored for the eyes of their audience. But just as Alice thought to pull back, his hand shifted slightly, his fingers threading into the loose curls at the nape of her neck.
The kiss deepened almost imperceptibly yet enough that her pulse quickened. She felt his unspoken promise in the way his lips lingered on hers, in the way his breath mingled with hers, and her control began fraying ever so slightly.
When he pulled away, his eyes—smoldering and unreadable—held her captive. A faint smile curved his lips, meant only for her.
“My duchess,” he murmured, the rich timbre of his voice sliding down her spine, the intimacy of his words curling in her chest like a secret meant to be uncovered.
“Not quite what you planned when you rescued me from that brothel,” she whispered back.
His lips twitched. “No. This is significantly more dangerous.”
Before she could demand what he meant, they were swept into a flurry of congratulations.
Lady Westhaven immediately commandeered Alice’s attention with detailed instructions about the wedding breakfast. Lord Westhaven beamed serenely at everyone. Evelyn offered shy but genuine well wishes.
On the chapel steps, Lord Drakeley approached with easy grace. “Your Grace,” he said to Alice, his eyes twinkling. “I must congratulate you not only on your marriage but on thoroughly reforming our Ashthorne. Though I dare say you knew what you were about from the start.”
“I assure you, Lord Drakeley, there was very little planning involved,” Alice replied, remembering their earlier conversations about Dorian. “Though you might say fortune favored the desperate.”
“Fate? Destiny? A rather spectacular kiss on a moonlit terrace?”
Alice felt her cheeks flame. “You’re as bad as Joanna.”
“Worse, I assure you.” But his smile softened. “He’s a good man, you know. Better than he thinks he is.”
Before Alice could respond, Dorian appeared at her side, his hand possessively wrapping around her waist. “Stop tormenting my wife, Gregory.”
Wife. Alice hadn’t expected that word to affect her so strongly.
Dorian’s fingers tightened slightly. “Second thoughts already, sweetheart?”
“Stop calling me that.”
“Never.”
As they turned toward the waiting carriages that would take them to the wedding breakfast, Alice caught sight of Thomas watching her with a mix of pride and wistful sadness that made her heart ache.
In mere hours, she would leave for Ashthorne House with her new husband, leaving behind everything familiar for a life she could barely imagine.
But when Dorian’s hand found hers, warm and steady, she found she wasn’t quite as terrified as she should be.
That, perhaps, was the most terrifying thing of all.
The wedding breakfast, though small, gleamed with all the Westhavens’ usual elegance. Lady Westhaven had compensated for the modest ceremony with an abundance of delicacies that would have fed three times their number.
“You must try the syllabub, Your Grace,” she insisted, hovering over Alice with determined hospitality. “And do tell me your thoughts on redecorating the Duke’s London townhouse. The current furnishings are terribly outdated.”
Alice barely tasted anything, too aware of Dorian’s presence beside her, the casual way his hand would brush hers when reaching for his wine glass, the heat that sparked between them with each accidental touch.
When the time came for them to depart, Thomas pulled her into a fierce embrace.
“I still can’t believe you’re leaving me to handle the estate accounts alone.” His attempt at levity couldn’t quite mask the emotion in his voice.
“You’ll manage beautifully.” Alice blinked back tears. “You have Evelyn now.”
Thomas turned to Dorian, his expression suddenly serious. “Your Grace, thank you. For everything. Though I am not sure what I’ll do without her.”
“Your sister will be well cared for,” Dorian assured him, but something in his tone made Alice’s spine stiffen.
The first few minutes in their carriage passed in taut silence. Eventually, Alice could no longer bear it.
“You needn’t sound quite so thrilled about acquiring a wife.”
“Forgive me if I hadn’t planned on being shackled quite so soon.” Dorian’s voice held an edge. “Or at all.”
“Shackled?” Alice’s temper flared. “I do not recall forcing you into this marriage.”
“No?” His smile held no warmth. “As I recall, it was your reputation that needed saving that night on the terrace.”
“Which you managed quite heroically.” She turned to the window. “How terribly inconvenient for you.”
“Damnably inconvenient,” he agreed, but his voice had dropped to that dangerous purr that made her skin tingle. “Particularly when all I can think about is finishing what we started on that terrace.”
Alice’s breath caught as he moved closer. “I thought you didn’t want to be… what was it? Shackled?”
“Oh, sweetheart.” His fingers traced her jaw, turning her face toward his. “There are far more interesting ways to be bound.”
The heat in his eyes made her forget to protest the term of endearment. His mouth was inches from hers, and she found herself leaning forward…
The carriage jolted to a stop.
“Ashthorne House, Your Grace,” the driver called.
Dorian pulled back with a muttered curse that would have shocked the ton .
“Welcome home, Duchess,” he intoned. “I trust you’ll find ways to occupy yourself while I attend to my… various obligations.”
“How thoughtful of you to remind me that I am merely an obligation.” Alice swept past him as a footman opened the door. “I wouldn’t want to forget my place.”
But her sharp words couldn’t quite disguise how her heart raced at his proximity, or the way her skin still tingled where he’d touched her.