Only a Duke Will Do by Tamara Gill
Chapter 2
One year earlier, Cranleigh Country Dance
Merrick, the Duke of Moore, leaned against the wall of the assembly rooms in Cranleigh and watched his life turn upside down before his eyes. What a marvelous creature the woman with dark-as-night hair was—a town beauty, probably of modest fortune from the look of her gown, but captivating in every sense of the word.
She will be mine…
For the past fortnight he’d been staying with his good friend from Cambridge, the Marquess Wardoor, and had agreed to attend the country dance as a bit of a lark. But who’s laughing now? Certainly not I.
He walked toward the door that opened onto the front gravel drive, the rooms claustrophobically hot. Was it only he who was afflicted with this prickling heat? Surely not. He pulled at his cravat, though his gaze never left the woman who seemed to have captured his soul in mere minutes.
She was the most breathtaking angel in the world.
The lady laughed, a rich, intoxicating sound, not a frivolous giggle. Her plain friend joined in her mirth, and his heart stuttered to a stop in his chest. He frowned, not fully at ease with the way his body responded to the woman. Yes, she was pretty, but modestly dressed, not his usual type of dark- haired beauty who wore silk of rich colors and deep shades.
This woman’s gown was a light blue muslin, her hair pulled back into a style he’d seen about Town, but without the adorning jewels or hair combs. She needed no ornaments to accentuate what was there for all to see.
Beauty personified.
I must meet her.
Walking through the crowd, he stopped to speak to people, not wanting to look too desperate. Slowly he edged his way to her side, but if he was expecting a warm welcome—the honor of his presence with gushing statements and breathlessness— he was sadly mistaken. He received none of those. In fact, he received no welcome whatsoever.
Merrick frowned. The angel continued to speak to her friend, completely unaware that he stood beside her, all but begging her to forget Society’s rules and turn to greet him— allow him to introduce himself.
It was a novel experience, being ignored, and not one he was comfortable with. Most people cared to know what he thought of different subjects. They wanted to know if he was attending an event, and if not, what were his reasons and should they follow his lead? They clamored for his opinion on the latest on-dit and such, but it would seem, not this country miss.
If her ignorance of him was anything to go by, she didn’t give a fig as to his opinion, or his presence.
His friend, Lord Wardoor, caught his eye and walked over, bowing before the two women. “Miss Hart, Lady Isolde Worthingham, may I introduce you to my friend from Cambridge, His Grace the Duke of Moore.”
Merrick snapped his mouth shut. She was the Duke of Penworth’s daughter! The women curtsied, both casting speculative glances at him, and, for the first time in his life he couldn’t form words.
His angel spoke first. “Your Grace, it is a pleasure to meet you.” Her voice was articulate and clear.
He cleared his throat. “My lady, Miss Hart.” He bowed, clearing his throat yet again. “Are you enjoying your time in Cranleigh?”
“We are, Your Grace. Our time here has been the best of fun.”
He nodded, unable to tear his gaze from her. She blushed, and his heart thumped loud enough he was sure she would hear. How awkward. “Will you dance with me, Lady Isolde?” She cast a knowing look to her friend and nodded. “Why thank you, yes.”
He led her onto the floor, her perfect hand resting delicately upon his arm. Even through the material he could feel her touch. It marked him, burned a brand into his soul that he was sure would never be replaced by another.
He pulled her into the dance, taking delight at her gasp that turned into a laugh. “Do you like to dance, Lady Isolde?” She met his gaze, her eyes bright with mischief. “Isolde, please. And yes I do, when one’s partner is affable and pleasant.
What about you, Your Grace. Do you like to dance?”
They were pulled away for a moment by the steps of the dance before they were reacquainted again. “My name is Merrick. And yes, I do now.”
She grinned up at him, a rose-color blush making her more delightful by the minute. The feeling that he should never let this woman go thrummed through his veins. “May I call on you when you return to Town?”
“I’m not returning to Town immediately, but home before the Season starts in earnest. When I do, I would like for you to call.”
He twirled her, the hem of her gown brushing the tops of his boots. He could smell roses and leaned close, wishing he could kiss the little freckle that sat against her neck—a tempting morsel if ever he saw one. “It is done then.”
“What is?” She smiled up at him, her gaze flicking to his lips. The air between them thickened with unsated desire. Yes, it was desire he felt for this woman, since the moment he’d laid eyes on her. Had Wardoor not urged him to attend this fete, he would never have met this delightful creature.
Fate…
“My life.” He pulled her closer than was necessary, wanted her to see, to read in his gaze what he could not voice at this time, no matter how much he wanted to.
“Your life, sir?” She smiled, and he was lost. “How can your life be done?”
“No, you’re right,” he said. “Not done at all, but only beginning. With you.”
For the remainder of the night Merrick did not leave her side. For a daughter of a duke she held no guile, did not lift her nose before the gathered throng and throw her wealth and powerful family against their modest means. If anything, he thought she was trying to fit in more, be another one of the guests, a country miss out for a country dance.
And he adored her for it.
From the moment he’d seen her he’d known she was extraordinary, and he’d wanted her. The dance had marked the start of their courtship, and he had not ceased until she’d agreed to be his wife.
And now, in only a few hours, that wish would come to fruition.
It could not come soon enough.
The touch of a silk glove on his arm pulled him from his musings. Isolde wrapped her arm about his and pulled him close to her side. “What are you thinking about? You have the oddest look on your face.” She smiled up at him, and he wanted to lean down and kiss her. Hated that propriety refused to allow open displays of affection. Once they were married, he would let Society go hang and kiss her whenever and wherever he wished.
“I was thinking about the night we met. Do you remember?”
She chuckled, taking a sip of champagne. “I do. It was the best day of my life. Well…” She paused, meeting his gaze. “It was the best day, but something tells me tomorrow will surpass it.”
Unable to keep from touching her, he kissed her hand. “I love you so very much. I promise to be the best husband I can be and make everything you ever wanted come true.”
Tears pooled in her eyes, and he wiped one away that dared to mar her beautiful face. “I hope they’re happy tears.”
“You’re incapable of creating any other type.”
Later that evening, after all the ladies had taken themselves off to bed, Merrick, along with the Duke of Penworth and Isolde’s brother, the Marquess of Worth, partook in a few celebratory drinks. More than Merrick should have had if his uneven vision of the staircase was anything to go by. He was foxed, well and truly foxed. He clutched the banister and staggered to the second floor landing. That he made the floor, without toppling backward and breaking his neck, was a marvel.
The house was quiet as he made his way past Isolde’s bedchamber—an overwhelming urge to cross the threshold ran through his mind, but the sound of a footman downstairs, sliding the bolt across the front door, kept him from diverting his course.
This time tomorrow night she would be his, and he pacified himself with that thought. They had the rest of their lives to be together. He could wait another few hours.
Making his suite, he noted his bed had been pulled down for the night by his ever faithful valet. The fire had long burned down to nothing but ash, and a chill marred the air. Stripping quickly, he staggered, falling over, and with a crack, his head hit the edge of his bed. Merrick swore, rubbing his skull, his head now thumping. The room spun, and he blinked, trying to focus his vision. It didn’t work, but he dragged himself into bed, not bothering to climb under the sheets.
The room rocked, and for a moment Merrick thought he might fall out of bed. Nausea spiked in his gut, and he groaned. He would never drink again. Never, ever again.
Merrick woke with a start at the sound of the door clicking shut, before the bed dipped to his side. “Shush.” A finger pressed over his lips and a slight figure to his side straddled his hips.
He mumbled, the words foreign and chaotic. Was this a dream? A lithe figure straddled his legs and the intoxicating fragrance of roses filled his senses.
Isolde…
“Is this a dream?” He smiled, unable to open his eyes. For some absurd reason his lids were like stone and wouldn’t cooperate. It meant only one thing—this was a dream, and a very good one by the feel of it.
He clasped Isolde’s slender hips, reveling in the feel of her form so close to his. The juncture between her legs rubbed against his cock, and he hardened with need. For months, he’d wanted to sample every morsel that made up his betrothed. To taste her sweet flesh, to give and receive pleasure.
“We’re not married yet.” He laughed, the loud sound making his head spin faster.
She laughed, a husky sound that was full of need, a temptress in his bed. The sound was odd, not Isolde’s usual laugh, and he opened his eyes only to see complete darkness in the room. “You should go back to your room—” This is only a dream. No one can harm anyone with such a dream.
She cut off his words with a demanding kiss, a kiss that left him in no doubt where this rendezvous would end. Her tongue swirled with his, and he lost all thought of being gentle, of taking his time, of savoring the moment. Her fingers tangled in his hair, holding him to her and taking everything he could give.
“This is the best dream, Isolde. Thank you for this gift,” he said, fumbling for her shift and lifting it over her body before throwing it to the ground. He wanted to feel with his hands what temptations she had to offer him, to learn the dream version of his love as much as he’d learn her true form on the morrow.
Her ample breasts rocked against his chest, her nipples beading into hardened nubs against his palms. He leaned down, taking one into his mouth, laving at the nipple, kissing it until it peaked like a sweet meat.
Isolde moaned, and his breathing hitched. Her hips swayed in a dance of desire, rubbing against his shaft, and he gritted his teeth. Her breasts, full and heavy in his hands, were larger in this dream version of Isolde than the real- life one. He chuckled, halting a moment as nausea spiked through his gut.
“Hurry,” she whispered against his ear, before taking his lobe into her mouth and biting it gently.
His body roared with need and he rolled her beneath him, hooking her long, perfect legs about his hips. “Impatient, my love?”
“Oh, yes,” she moaned, her feet pushing his ass and his cock toward her core.
He growled at her begging and clenched his jaw, trying to halt the overwhelming need to push within her heat and take her. His alcohol-induced brain fought for clarity, but too many whiskeys had dissolved all clear thought. None of this is real in any case, so why did it matter?
“Isolde, you have no idea how much I’ve wanted you like this. The past twelve months have been the longest I’ve ever lived. To be so close to you, yet denied our joining, has been a never-ending torture.” He took a calming breath. “I’m foxed, my love. In fact, not only can I not see you, but I feel like I could topple from this bed at any moment. Are you sure you would not like to postpone?” What am I saying? Postpone sleeping with Isolde? The alcohol had obviously impeded his mind.
“Make me yours,” she purred, rubbing herself against his member, sending the blood in his veins to pound.
“Blast it.” He slid into her, heedless of her gasp of pain. He desperately tried to pull his self-control together, to stop and allow her time to catch her breath, but when her hands clasped his nape, her bottom lifting a little, allowing him to deepen his stroke, there was no going back.
He breathed against her neck, placed small reverent kisses across her skin as he started the smooth glide and dance of making love to his future duchess. She was the sweetest thing he had ever held in his arms, welcoming, needy and warm, her core so tight he fought not to lose himself before bringing her to climax. But it was no use. For so long he’d wanted her in his bed, to hear her delectable sighs whispered against his ear. It was too much, and Merrick allowed the pleasure to coil through him before losing himself within her. His dream version of Isolde was magnificent, and it left him longing to sample his bride in his wakeful hours.
“I’ve wanted this for so long, Merrick. What a pity it wasn’t my name that you moaned. But never mind, I shall have that too, eventually.”
The words acted like a bucket of cold water and nausea spiked through his gut. “Isolde?” The answering chuckle was the final death knell. Leonora.
“Have you guessed yet who your dream lover is, Your Grace?”
The word no reverberated about in his brain. Merrick stumbled from the bed, his hands grappling for the chamber pot in the dark. He wretched into the container, over and over again, his mind seizing on some way to change the last moments in this room to anything but what they’d been. Oh God, he’d finished in her.
With the cuff of a nearby shirt he wiped his mouth, slumping on the floor. “How dare you.”
The door to the chamber opened, spilling light throughout the room, revealing the woman on his bed. “Oh, I dare, Your Grace, and it seems my dare has paid off.”
Isolde sat up with a start, hearing the light knock on her door. She frowned. Who’d need to see her at this late hour? With the wedding tomorrow, she had excused herself early last night, wanting to look her best. To be all that she could be for the man she loved.
She smiled at the thought of Merrick and climbed out of bed, grabbing her shawl and wrapping it about her shoulders before opening the door. Nothing but a darkened hallway, sporadically lit with the moonlight that came through the windows that ran one length of its side. Farther along, toward Merrick’s room, a candelabrum burned low on a hall stand and would soon be snuffed by its own melted wax.
She stepped into the hallway, looking about but seeing no one. Isolde pulled her shawl closer about her shoulders when a shiver ran down her spine, the chill of the night air colder than she thought it should be this time of year. Turning to go back into her room, a crackle underfoot made her look down to see a small missive folded neatly on the floor.
Her name was scrawled across it, and she picked it up, breaking the seal. Unable to read it where she was, she walked into her room and lit the candle by the coals still glowing red in the fire grate. The writing was unfamiliar, and the letter even more so.
Lady Isolde,
I’m sorry to write this letter, My Lady, but you need to know the truth of the man you’re marrying. As a good Christian woman, I believe people deserve happiness, and yours would not be complete within a marriage of lies and deception. I beg you to go to the Duke of Moore’s room where, unfortunately, all will be revealed.
Sincerely very sorry for you.
It was not signed. Isolde walked back out into the passage, and she looked toward Merrick’s room at the end of the hall, the double golden doors closed with no light visible from beneath its threshold.
Her stomach twisted into knots. The truth of the man you’re marrying? What did that even mean?
She stood still, debating if she should go and see if he was still awake. Show him the missive and ask why she was being warned away from him in such a way. Again, she read the note, scrunching it in her hands and wishing it to Hades. Who would write such a thing to a bride the night before her wedding? A cruel hoax that wasn’t the least amusing. She trusted Merrick more than anyone. He would never hurt her.
She would not sleep at all, lest she speak to him, so Isolde walked toward his room and stopped when a door farther along the passage opened. Her father stepped out into the corridor, his brow rising when he spotted her.
“Isolde, what are you doing at the duke’s bedchamber door?” He came up to her, looking at her with a mixture of mirth and censure.
She ignored his question, holding out the missive. “Father, was Merrick in good spirits when you left him tonight? He wasn’t experiencing concerns over our forthcoming marriage, was he?”
He shook his head, confusion clouding his eyes before taking her note. He read it quickly. “Not at all. In fact, he was in high spirits.” His words trailed off when a feminine giggle sounded from behind Merrick’s door.
Isolde swallowed the dread that threatened to bring up her dinner. Surely she was hearing things. An animal outside or a servant belowstairs, but when the noise sounded again, this time followed by a groan, Isolde’s dread turned to horror. She met her father’s gaze and would forever wish she had not.
The duke’s visage took on a murderous edge. “Isolde, go back to your room,” he said more firmly than he’d ever spoken to her before. He pushed her toward her room. “Now,” he finished in a voice that brooked no argument.
Isolde stood her ground. In no way was she going to leave until the truth of the situation was revealed. “I have a right to know what Merrick is about, Father.” She took a shuddering breath, her heart pumping a million miles too fast. “No matter what it is. Please open the door.”
Her father made some unmentionable comment that at any other time would’ve shocked her, but not tonight. What she was about to see might kill her. Ruin all her hopes and break her heart. Her papa turned toward the ducal chamber like a man going into battle. He grabbed the handle, swinging the door wide and giving them the perfect view of Merrick’s bed. Or at least the perfect view of the woman sitting up in Merrick’s bed. Naked and hair mussed from bed sport.
The blood drained from her face, and the room spun. She stood, mute, shocked to her very core, as Letty smiled her way, triumph written across her every feature.
“Ah, Isolde, I see you received my note,” Leonora said, smirking.
Isolde had once thought her friend pretty, but not anymore. Tonight she was the ugliest creature on earth. She had given her the note so she would walk in and witness them together? What friend did such a thing?
The door handle was cool, and Isolde held onto it like a lifeline as her attention refused to shift from the two people who had ruined all her dreams. Her best friend since childhood and the man she loved had made love, enjoyed each other like a married couple.
It cannot be true… This is a nightmare…
Her gaze blurred, and her stomach lurched. Isolde raced to a nearby potted plant and heaved up everything she’d consumed at dinner. The smell of earth filled her senses, and for a moment she thought she would faint. But the sound of her father’s voice, a ducal roar that was scathing, startled her from succumbing to the malady.
“Get out of that bed…now!” her father demanded, going about the room and lighting every candle he could find. Never had such disgust resonated from her nonchalant parent.
Not Merrick. Please not him.
Her betrothed scrambled to his feet beside the nightstand, his chest as bare as Letty’s and heaving just as fast. Merrick held up a hand. “I’m sorry. I… I don’t know what’s happened here.”
The lump in Isolde’s throat threatened to choke her, and the pain that tore through her would surely maim. Tears ran freely, and she wiped at them without a handkerchief. “Why?”
“Oh, my darling, Isolde. I’m sorry.” He looked toward the bed, stepping quickly to its side and wrenching the sheets up to cover Letty. “Let me explain. Please,” he said, swaying and grasping the post of the bed to stabilize himself.
Was he drunk? Did he think to buy himself out of this mess by claiming to be in his cups? How could he be so cruel? Isolde moved to stand beside her father.
“I don’t understand it myself,” Merrick said, meeting her gaze.
“Pray, tell me, Moore, what the hell you think you’re doing compromising your future wife’s closest friend?” Her father spat the words, his face mottled in anger. “Explain yourself, boy, before I take you outside and put a bullet through your cold black heart.”
Merrick rubbed his hands through the hair on the back of his head, his face as pale as a moonlit night. “I…”
“I will not ask again,” her father said, his patience clearly running out.
Merrick shook his head. “What I have done is unforgivable. My only excuse, as feeble as it will be, is that I thought Miss Hart was Isolde. I thought it a dream.”
“Clearly not,” Isolde whispered. Merrick took a step toward her, and her father stepped between them. She was glad of it. At the moment, Isolde did not wish Merrick to touch her, to come within a foot of her. How dare he treat her with so little respect? Had they not been caught, would he still have married her on the morrow with not a whisper of him ruining her friend the night before?
“Isolde, you must believe me. I didn’t know it was Miss Hart. I would never do this to you.”
He strode toward a chest of drawers and quickly pulled on a clean pair of breeches. Unmoved, she noted his hand shook as he fumbled with the buttons, but nothing he said or did could change what she’d seen this night. What this meant for them. He pulled on a shirt that had been absently discarded over a chair, ruffling his hair to further disarray.
Yet, if they kept what had happened here tonight between those present, marriage was still a possibility. No one ever need find out and, in time, Isolde would one day forgive him his mistake.
“I love you, Isolde. Please give me a chance to explain.” A kaleidoscope of horror went around in her mind. Her betrothed had slept with another, and on the night before their wedding. A slap across her cheek would’ve been less painful. She wiped her nose with the back of her hand, failing to care how inappropriate the action was for a woman of her station. The room was claustrophobic and had an odd smell to it, like sweat and something else she’d never experienced before.
She strode to the window and pulled up the sash, breathing deep the crisp night air. Although it didn’t take away the wrenching pain that threatened to consume her, it did provide some clarity to her mind.
“How long?” she asked at length, turning to face the two people who had once been her world.
Merrick’s gaze darted between her and her father before he answered. “Just this night, but Isolde, I didn’t—”
“Since the night you met at Cranleigh,” Leonora interrupted, shrugging. “It was very wrong of us, but we couldn’t allow our last night together to go without sampling the pleasures we’ve found in each other’s arms. I’m in love with Merrick, as he is with me. We’re very sorry, Isolde, but it is what it is. You must move on from this.” She paused, smiling sweetly. “I do hope we can still be friends.”
“How dare you, Miss Hart, that is utterly untrue,” Merrick said. “She lies, for reasons that are unfathomable to me.” Merrick glared at Letty. “If you have any sense at all, any heart, you’ll speak the truth of the situation instead of spewing these vile falsehoods.”
Isolde shut her mouth with a snap, not expecting so much honesty. Yes, she wanted the truth, but brutal truth with a hint of conceit was beyond her limits at this moment. She took a calming breath. She would not be sick all over the Aubusson rug. How will I survive this?
She straightened her spine and fought to pull herself together. She was a duke’s daughter, a woman of independent means, with sound moral character. Never had she done anything scandalous. All her life she had done what she was told, had acted properly in every circumstance, although she’d never been taught about one like this. She would not crumble before the two people she’d trusted most in the world. The two people who’d betrayed her in the worst way imaginable.
They’d had enough triumph over her this eve. They would not get any more. “Were we ever friends, Letty?” she asked, reverting to the childhood name she had always used for her. “A friend would not do something so deplorable.” Her lifeless voice was void of emotion, and she hated them for making her sound dead.
“For a time I think we were, Isolde.” Leonora met Merrick’s gaze. “The game is up. Isolde knows our dirty little secret. It would be best if we all accept our fates and resume life as normally as we can.” Letty crossed her arms over her chest, nodding for good measure.
Never had Isolde experienced the vile, unpleasant emotion she believed to be hate coiling through her. But she did now. She hated Letty or Miss Hart, as she would forever term her.
“You will release my daughter from the marriage contracts and henceforth she is no longer betrothed to you. Do you understand, Your Grace?” her father said, his voice quivering in anger.
Isolde calmed the panic that warred within her at the thought of losing Merrick. “Father, maybe we should allow Moore to explain fully what happened here. Everyone is assembled for the wedding. We cannot just walk away now.”
Her father was unmoved. “You will renounce any claim on my daughter and free her from this union,” her father said, taking her arm. “I will have my lawyer deal with the legalities forthwith.”
“You will marry me tomorrow, Isolde. Your father cannot set me free from a union I want as much as you. I love you. Please…”
His dismissing of the situation as a mere misunderstanding that could be thrown out along with yesterday’s coals, poked her temper. She shrugged free of her father’s grip and marched over to Merrick.
He lifted his chin, but his eyes were wild with fear. “Marry you without an ounce of explanation?” she said, fighting the tears that threatened. “If you cannot explain away this betrayal to my satisfaction, from this day forward, should we meet in a ballroom, or see each other in London, you will turn about and leave, walk in the opposite direction. You will be dead to me, Merrick. For my love of you will be dead.”
For I am dead… The words whispered through her mind and again, the image of Merrick’s tortured visage blurred before her. She swiped at her cheeks, hating the fact she was crying before two people who had no care for her, in any way.
“Miss Hart tricked me, made me believe it was you who came to my room. I couldn’t see. I didn’t kno–”
She hit him. The crack of the slap echoed loudly in the room, and remorse swamped her the moment she’d done so. Never in her life had she hit anyone. Damn them both to hell for making her someone she was not.
Merrick didn’t say a word. He just looked at her, his eyes brimming with tears. “Please. I can’t live without you. You’re my everything.”
“I am nothing to you.” She shook her head, despair rippling through her like a tremor. “Trickery? Being foxed? That is your excuse? How could you do this to me?”
Merrick shook his head, no words forthwith. Isolde turned to Miss Hart, a woman whom she’d considered as close as a sister. “And you,” she seethed. “We’ve supported you in Society, given you friendship, considered you a member of our family, and this is how you repay that debt?”
“I didn’t know I owed you anything,” Miss Hart said, raising her brow.
“You did not, but loyalty doesn’t cost anything. I would never have done this to you.”
“I love Merrick, and now that your betrothal is at an end and I am well and truly ruined, I will marry him. I, Miss Hart, a vicar’s daughter, will be the next Duchess of Moore.”
“The hell you will be.” Merrick’s fist clenched at his side, and Isolde feared that he would strike Miss Hart, but after taking a deep breath, he seemed to acquire some semblance of control. “I will never marry you, Leonora.”
“You will marry Miss Hart, and it’ll take place tomorrow. You can deal with any legalities when you return to London.” Her father turned a disgusted look at Miss Hart. “Get out of that damn bed and get dressed before I remove you myself. Have some respect for yourself and others.”
Miss Hart quickly did as he bid, not bothering to hide her nakedness from those in the room. Isolde’s cheeks burned. When had her friend become so crude? When had she stepped away from all that was good and proper, to become this vile cheating woman who’d do anything to get what she wanted?
A duchess’s coronet.
Her friend over the past months had been acting odd. It all fell into place now. What Leonora had said was true. Merrick had been sleeping with her friend for some time, declaring sweet love to Isolde, while making it with someone else. Any wonder she’d often caught her friend glaring at her, looking mulish whenever she was in Merrick’s company. Miss Hart was jealous, and rightfully so, it would seem.
Merrick paled, looking to her father. “I cannot marry Miss Hart. I love Isolde.”
The unmasked dread in his voice was surprising. Either the cheat was a brilliant actor, or at least some part of him cared for her a little. As a friend perhaps, as it was obvious he did not desire her enough to ruin her. They’d been betrothed for a year. And there were times when they’d been alone. He could’ve had her if he wished, and she wouldn’t have stopped him had he tried.
But he had not.
“You will marry me, Merrick, and I wish for Isolde and her family to stay and watch.”
“I would rather die than stay and see you marry the duke.”
The comforting presence of her mother came up beside her, taking her arm. “We will be leaving at dawn. You may marry the Duke of Moore tomorrow or next week, but we shall take no part in it,” her mother said, her voice stern.
“You will,” Miss Hart said, lifting her chin in defiance. “Or I shall tell everyone that the Duke of Penworth has been taking advantage of me for years. Touched me inappropriately as a child and passed me about to all his friends as a toy. I will say that when Merrick heard of this little arrangement, he wanted to partake in it as well.”
“How dare you.” Isolde’s father blanched, his eyes wild with anger. “We have given you everything you desired when your own father was unable to. How dare you slander us with such little regard to what your words could do to a family who has loved and cared for you.”
“Pfft,” Miss Hart said, her visage one of disdain. “If my story will win me the Duke of Moore as my husband, I will have no regrets. But I am the daughter of a respected vicar, even if he’s poor. People shall believe me, not all, but most, and it will be enough to ruin both your households.”
“To hell with my reputation and what costs this would have to my name. I will not marry you, Miss Hart. I loathe you.”
“You will, Moore, because if you do not, your denial of me will hurt Isolde, and you’d never wish that now, would you.” Miss Hart smirked, meeting each of them with a level stare.
Isolde wanted to believe Merrick, but she could not deny what her own eyes had seen. “I wish you both very happy,” she choked out, trying to take a calming breath.
“Isolde…” Merrick’s voice trailed off as her mother pulled her toward the door. The passage beckoned like a savior; anything would be better than the room they now found themselves in. A room she’d once longed to see now made her wish she could burn it to the ground.
“You know what you mean to me.” Merrick’s voice broke on a sob, and Isolde paused at the threshold.
The image of them both naked left her physically ill, but so too did Leonora’s words. Who to believe? Merrick seemed genuinely upset, but Leonora may have tired of being a secret, playing to the Duke’s rules, and had forced Merrick’s hand. Had he been playing her a fool, too? Or did Leonora trick them both? Nothing made sense, and all of it was cruel. Heartbreakingly so. She had trusted them. Never did she believe either capable of inflicting such pain. But they had, and now she didn’t know what to do. How could he have done this to me?
“Isolde, please don’t…please don’t leave me. I love you.”
Her father followed them to the door. “You, Miss Hart, have proven yourself tonight to be the worst kind of person. You have no qualms in bringing people down whose only fault has been to love you. We shall attend your farce of a wedding tomorrow to the Duke of Moore, because I shall never let anything hinder my children’s prospects or allow lies, such as you sported tonight, to tarnish my family’s impeccable reputation.” The duke turned to Moore, shaking his head a little. “You, Moore, shall marry Miss Hart without any fuss, if only to make some small amends to the woman who loved you and witnessed that love thrown in her face as something worthless and dispensable. After the ceremony tomorrow, we shall take our leave and never have anything to do with one another again.”
“Take Isolde back to her room. I shall fetch a maid to make up a tisane to help her sleep.”
Her mother nodded, and Isolde did as her parents bid. The solid wooden door of her room loomed before her, and with it came a little relief. Isolde sat before the hearth, only a flicker of warmth coming from the blackened coals. The embers slowly died, and so too did her heart.
Tears streamed down her cheeks, and it was only when her mother patted her face with a handkerchief did she realize how much she was crying. “Mama, what am I going to do?”
“Shush, darling. Do not tax yourself any further. All will be well, although not tonight, not tomorrow, or even six months from now, but one day you’ll be yourself again. I promise you.”
Thinking of Merrick, she started to cry, great gasping sobs that hurt her chest and made it hard to breathe. “I’ve lost him. And I love him still.” Her voice broke at the realization.
Her mother shushed her, pulling her into an embrace. “I know, darling. I know you do. But there is nothing for it now. You will have to return with us to Dunsleigh.”
Isolde thought of all she had lost, not just Merrick, but her future, their plans. Their trip away to the Continent, Paris, Rome, and all the delightful places in between that they were going to visit, crumbled in her chest like her heart. “He’s really going to marry her, isn’t he?” Even saying such a thing sounded absurd, and yet it was the truth. The truth as she would know it from tonight onward.
“Yes, he is.” Her mother’s face was a mask of concern and pain. “I’m so sorry, darling. You did not deserve this.”
Isolde strove to calm down before her sobs woke her sisters and they started with their meddling questions. Her body hiccupped for breath; her eyes, so swollen and sore, hurt when she blinked.
“Come, you must sleep.” Her mother helped her stand, and Isolde didn’t fight her decree. Tiredness would succeed over her mind and, for a sweet moment, she’d forget what had transpired this night. It was enough to make her lie down and try.
She settled under the blankets. The maid knocked on the door and her mother ushered her into the room, taking possession of the glass of whisky and a cold compress. Isolde downed the drink in one gulp, grateful for the burning amber liquid and the cooling cloth against her eyes.
The tears started afresh when the comforting embrace of her mother wrapped around her, pulling her close and holding her as if to never let her go. Not since she was a child had her mother acted in such a way, and some of the despair left her, knowing she had the support of her family. She would need them in the months to come.
She took a shuddering breath. How could a night once filled with so much excitement and anticipation twist into such despair and horror? Rolling onto her side, the ring Merrick had given her pressed into her cheek.
She held out her hand and looked at the cluster of five round diamonds, each of them encased in a bed of silver and sitting on a band of gold that was etched into a leaflike pattern. The ring had been Merrick’s grandmother’s, and it had been the most beautiful gift Isolde had ever received.
But no longer. Now it represented a fractured circle of trust, pulled apart and unfixable.
She yanked it off, unable to throw it no matter how much she longed to. She reached over and placed it on the cabinet beside her bed, looking at it as it twinkled prettily under the candlelight. The ring and its beauty were as fickle as its owner.
“I’m not going back to Dunsleigh, Mama.”
“But darling, I think this is the best option for you, considering the circumstances.” Her mother rubbed her back.
“I’m going to stay at Avonmore. I cannot remain here and watch their union while being looked upon with pity.” At least in Scotland she could escape members of her Society and their false sympathy. And seeing Merrick married would surely bring her to her knees. Of that she was sure.
“I will talk to your father about it and, although I cannot promise, I will try to give you your wish.”
Isolde sighed in relief. “Thank you. That is all I ask.” She closed her eyes and tried to clear her mind of her whirling thoughts—horrible thoughts of Merrick and her friend in a compromising position. Of the sounds that had greeted her upon approaching his room.
She swallowed the bile that threatened and prayed she had the strength to get through this pain. And yet, how could life go on when your soul mate married someone else?
It cannot.
Merrick stood at the altar before the priest, Isolde’s brother at his side, no longer acting as a witness, a close friend in support and joy, but a sober reminder of a future that was no longer in his control.
He loosened his cravat, his body uncomfortably warm in the small church. The guests who had arrived for his and Isolde’s wedding were all gathered behind him, and yet none of them were aware of what was about to transpire.
Instead of the long-awaited wedding uniting two great families, now he was about to marry a woman he’d never looked at in anything other than friendship. It didn’t bother him that Miss Hart was only a vicar’s daughter. If he’d loved her, he would’ve married whomever he chose. But to marry anyone other than Isolde, the woman who held his beating organ in the palm of her hand, was the veriest of torture.
Isolde’s brother mumbled something unintelligible beside him, but it wasn’t hard to decipher. Isolde’s family was upholding the threat that Miss Hart had dispensed on them all. To think that in only a few short hours his life would become something he’d never thought possible. It was unfathomable. No matter how much in his cups he had been, this whole situation was his fault.
How had I not known…?
A woman started playing the piano, and he turned to watch as Miss Hart glided toward him, the triumph on her face not slipping as the startled gasps of the gathered guests exploded in the small church. She walked proudly toward him, in a gown of the lightest blue silk, her chin high.
This cannot be my reality.
He sought out Isolde and met her gaze. The pain he read on her sweet face tore him in two, and he wanted to go to her, comfort her, and assure her what he’d done was a mistake. A trick played on them both by someone they had trusted. But he could not. The threat hanging over Isolde would ruin her family. Merrick did not care for his own reputation as the Duke of Moore, which could be rebuilt. But he would protect Isolde’s with his life, even after this farce.
He noted her eyes were red-rimmed and a little swollen, no doubt from copious tears. He fisted his hands, his own vision blurring, hating himself for the cad he’d been. What had possessed him to drink so much? He turned back around and faced the priest. In fact, thinking over his night with the Duke of Penworth, he’d not drunk that much, and yet he’d been extremely dizzy and tired… Had Leonora put something in his drink he did not know of?
Miss Hart came beside him and placed her hand upon his arm. The priest’s lips thinned in disdain before commencing the service. The man had been displeased when woken early this morning and notified of the change and what was expected of him with accompanying funds to sweeten the agreement. Merrick’s stomach roiled.
He would have his lawyers look into the legalities of this marriage once he returned to London, but for the moment, it kept Miss Hart from ruining them all and allowed Isolde to leave with some morsel of respect to start her life again.
Without him…
His stomach heaved at the thought, and he shut his eyes, breathing deep, lest he vomit on the altar. A selfish part of him never wanted to see Isolde again, for to see her marry another—as he was doing—would kill him stone dead. The thought of some other man kissing her sweet lips, of touching her in any way, drove him to the point of madness.
The priest cleared his throat, and Merrick realized he’d been asked a question. Taking pity on him, the priest repeated the words, and Merrick answered, feeling Miss Hart beside him relax a little.
The remainder of the ceremony quickly followed, and he was glad of it. The sooner this travesty was over, the sooner he could try to forge some semblance of normalcy to his life.
Although, when he looked down at Miss Hart, reading the triumph in her cold gaze, normalcy would not be in the cards for him from this day forward. Not after her escapades of the night before, which had shown what she was capable of. The loathing was unsurmountable. Never would he be able to treat her with respect such as he should. They would be husband and wife, but in name only. He would not forgive her this treachery or his own stupidity.
“I now pronounce you man and wife,” the priest said, smiling a little to buffer what the words meant to Merrick.
He turned to the congregation, not able to look at Isolde, and with a strength he’d not thought he possessed, walked his new wife down the aisle and outside. There were no claps of congratulations. No smiles or happy tears. Just shocked visages of those who’d witnessed something that they had not had the time to process. Merrick understood the feeling well, for he, too, could not believe what had transpired.
Nor would he ever.
