How to Catch a Duke in Ten Days by Violet Hamers

Chapter Twenty-Two

Hermione was staring at the door, but it remained firmly closed. She stood from the chair where she had been waiting and moved to the nearest mirror. She had pulled the curtains across to cover the windows and lit the room with three candles that were dotted about on different surfaces, casting her chamber into an apricot-tinged light. In the middle, she stood, wearing only her night-rail.

Short sleeved and reaching down to the tops of her calves, the white cotton material did nothing to hide her figure at all, cinching in below her bosom and around her waist. Her blonde hair she had left down around her shoulders, and she now fiddled with it, trying to make sure it fell flat.

There was a sound in the corridor, urging her to look to the door with excitement. She had pleaded with Antony to come to her that night, and yet he had been unable to answer her, using an excuse to part from her instead. He hadn’t said he would come, but neither did he say he would not, giving her hope.

She had already planned what to do. Despite Antony’s promise not to ever love her, she knew she could make no such promise, for she was already lost. She was already devoted to him. That day as she vowed to love him forever, it had hit her. I love him, even if he can never love me.

She intended to tell him that when he came to her. She would also explain everything about her past, about what happened in London, the truth of why they were there, and how she fell in love with him anyway. She needed him to know the truth if she was ever going to stand a chance of earning his affection. There was a knock on the door.

“Yes?” she said, rushing toward it with hope. She turned the door handle and pulled it back, shocked to find that Antony was not on the other side, but Cordelia was. “Aunt, why are you here?” Hermione asked, wrapping her arms around her body to hide her state of undress.

“To talk to you,” Cordelia said, waving her arms at Hermione to bid her to be let in. Reluctantly, Hermione gave in, stepping back and letting Cordelia hurry in, wearing her night-rail and a dressing gown over the top. Once the door was closed, Cordelia turned to Hermione with her hands laced together. “I take it your new husband has not come to see you yet?”

“Aunt, do you not think this conversation is a little too private for us to be having?” Hermione asked, gesturing to the door for Cordelia to leave again. “This is hardly the way I imagined spending my wedding night.”

“It is an important step; I just wish to make sure all is in order.”

“What does that mean?” Hermione asked, startled by the words. Cordelia practically rolled her eyes before stepping toward Hermione and lowering her voice.

“I am meaning, consummation.”

“Aunt! I do not need you to say the word,” Hermione turned away, feeling embarrassed as she walked across the room. “Please, leave me be.”

“I must speak with you first. You must consummate this marriage, Hermione.”

“For goodness’ sake, I am not having this conversation,” Hermione insisted, turning back to face Cordelia who was now shifting between her feet.

“I was thinking of what you said as to whether the Duke would file for separation from you when he discovers what happened in London,” Cordelia spoke in a hurry. Hermione winced and looked down at the floor, tired of fearing the same thing. “If the marriage is not consummated, then he could file for annulment instead.”

“Annulment?” Hermione repeated as she lifted her head back up. “You mean… he could have the courts declare the marriage is invalid?”

“Exactly,” Cordelia said pointedly, crossing the room toward Hermione again. “Then there would be no access to money. Any loan the Duke makes your father would be called back, and he would be in debt just as greatly as before, if not more so!”

“I cannot believe we are talking about money now,” Hermione recoiled away from her aunt and moved back toward the chamber door, determined to make Cordelia leave at once.

“It must be spoken of,” Cordelia followed her, taking hold of Hermione’s arm by the door. When the grasp moved to Hermione’s injured wrist, she snapped it out of Cordelia’s hand, wincing at the pain. “We cannot allow all our hard work up until this point to be for nothing.”

“Hard work?” Hermione scoffed at her aunt, wondering what Cordelia or Rufus had put into this plan other than their anger and orders. “Please, leave me now.” She gestured to the door.

“You must do this, Hermione, for your father,” Cordelia begged again as Hermione took her aunt’s shoulder and flung the door open, pushing her out. “Hermione! You are not listening to me–”

Hermione shut the door on her aunt before any more could be said. She heard Cordelia make a few more complaints, muffled by the sound of the closed door, before she hurried off down the corridor. Once her aunt was gone, Hermione rested her forehead against the closed door, thinking on what Cordelia had said.

Her aunt and her father had no idea how much she truly cared for Antony, and that she longed to share a proper a night with him. As far as they were concerned, they were treating her like a courtesan at a club, harloting her out to Antony in order to secure themselves more money.

She would not let it work. Come what may, she had to stop them from ever getting their claws on his money. All she had to do was wait for Antony to come to her that night, and she would tell him everything. Once he knew, he would be certain to ensure no money ever graced their palms.

* * *

“This is not quite how I thought you would be spending your wedding night,” Fergus’ voice greeted Antony across the room.

He still sat in the great hall of their house where they had held the wedding breakfast. The tables and chairs were empty, with all the food cleaned up and all remnants of the celebrations tidied away and only Antony’s presence as a reminder of what had taken place. He was sitting in the very center, with one candle beside him for company as Fergus hovered in the doorway.

“I could say I thought the same,” Antony acknowledged, feeling a little tipsy in his chair from the amount of brandy he had consumed, “but I am not sure that is the truth.”

“Want some company?” Fergus asked, holding up a second carafe of brandy that was still full, unlike the empty one at Antony’s side.

“Yes please,” Antony said. Fergus walked forward and slung his jacket over a chair near where Antony’s was, before sitting opposite him at the table and pouring out two more glasses for them. Antony chinked his glass against Fergus’ then sipped on the burning liquid and tipped his head up to look at the ceiling that was only barely visible in the candlelight.

“Aren’t you going to visit your new wife?” Fergus asked after a minute of silence.

“No, I am not,” Antony said decisively. He had seriously considered Hermione’s request for some time before deciding against it. It all came down to his heart that was still scarred. He could not risk a fresh wound, so he decided to stay away.

“I am somewhat surprised,” Fergus said, hiding a smirk behind his brandy glass. Antony just caught sight of the smirk as he lowered his head back down to look at his brother.

“I do have some self-control, you know,” Antony said in jest, watching as his brother laughed.

“Do you?” he asked. “I’ve seen you often enough at the gentlemen’s club, remember?”

“You have gone about as many times as I have,” Antony pointed out.

“That I have, but may I remind you that the last time we went, you said no woman there was particularly exciting you. Something tells me your new Duchess may be different.”

“Why?” Antony asked tightly.

“Because you couldn’t resist her enough not to fool around with her in our library when we had almost a hundred guests in the next room,” Fergus said with a laugh. Antony merely shook his head at Fergus’ words, despairing of the truth in them as he sipped the brandy some more.

It was the first time anyone had described Hermione as ‘his Duchess,’ and it did something to him, enough to sip even more of the brandy than he had been intending to drink.

“How much have you had?” Fergus asked, gesturing to the carafe.

“Enough to make your face difficult to focus on; enough to make sure that my legs can’t carry me to my new wife’s chamber either,” Antony said, surprised by his own honesty toward his brother.

“Antony,” Fergus said, his voice softer and yet more serious than usual.

“What?” When Antony didn’t turn to look at his brother, he felt Fergus tap his wrist instead, urging him to do so. “Hmm?”

“Care to tell me what you are doing?” Fergus asked, gesturing toward him.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean tormenting yourself by staying away from your new wife, a woman you obviously care for–”

“The word care is subjective,” Antony said with surprising feeling, placing his glass down on the table and pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Is it really? Or is it surprisingly simple? Do you care for her or not?”

“Whatever I did feel for her, does not matter now,” Antony said, lowering his hand again.

“You are making no sense, Antony,” Fergus said, shaking his head.

“It is difficult to understand.”

“Well, I want to understand it, so come on,” Fergus waved a hand in the air, beckoning him to continue. “Explain it to me.”

“She got under my skin, Fergus,” Antony said as though that explained everything. When Fergus still looked at him with a lost expression, he went on. “It was only ever supposed to be a flirtation to me, and yet she still managed to work her way under my skin. Now, I’m married to her.”

“These all sound like good things to me,” his brother said, frowning as he topped up both of their glasses. “You’re going to have to get to the problematic bit.”

“I vowed not to fall in love again.” Antony spoke simply, watching as Fergus hovered with the carafe in the air. The dawning realization on Fergus’ face made him shift in his seat under his gaze.

“That’s why you promised never to marry,” Fergus said. “It was just out of fear of loving someone else?”

“I went down that route once; I will not do it again,” Antony said firmly. “I have told Hermione, all this can ever be is convenience, and that is that. I cannot risk falling in love with her.”

“Because it will hurt again? I don’t think Lady Hermione is planning on leaving you–”

“You do not know that. You cannot know that for certain,” Antony said with feeling, snatching the glass back up off the table and taking a big gulp.

“Really? Can’t I?” Fergus asked, his eyes wide. “Because I watched your Duchess today take a vow before God to love you until the day that she died. She didn’t look like she was lying to me. She meant it.”

“Dianne said she’d marry me too,” Antony said the woman’s name at last. It had been so long since he had said it; he was rather surprised not to feel the customary pain that came with her name. “She promised to marry me, then look what happened.”

“Do I have to point out the obvious bit that you and Dianne never actually got to the ceremony?” Fergus asked, growing more animated. “Dianne never stood up in front of God to make a vow to you. Your Duchess did today.”

“Stop calling her ‘My Duchess.’”

“Well, she is, isn’t she?” Fergus chuckled, though Antony could see no humor in it. He was simply growing more annoyed that Fergus couldn’t understand things from his perspective. “Hermione is not Dianne, Antony.”

The words cut deep. The annoyance Antony was feeling was stripped away. He turned in his seat to rest his elbows completely on the table and stare down at the glass in front of him.

“I know she isn’t,” he said with conviction, despite the quietness of his tone. Hermione was entirely different to Dianne and had managed to worm her way into his thoughts even more than Dianne had ever done. He was incapable of staying away from Hermione, incapable of not flirting with her. He had even pleasured her whilst a ball was going on because he so badly needed her!

“She has more power over me than Dianne ever did,” he confessed his fear at last. “I cannot let it go any further. If I let myself fall in love with her, and then she leaves too, how will I ever pick myself up off the ground again?”

He felt a clap to his shoulder from Fergus, urging him to look up from the glass. “I’ll be there to help pick you up off the ground for one thing,” Fergus said for a smile. “For another thing, I’m holding true to my belief. I do not believe your Duchess has any intention of ever leaving you.”

* * *

Hermione gave up staring at the door and retreated toward the bed. She blew out each of the candles on route, casting the room into darkness before she clambered onto the bed and pulled the covers up to her neck, trying to find sleep.

Yet sleep did not come, just as Antony had not. For a while, she gazed at the ceiling, thinking of what could have happened between them had he come. She thought of what had passed between them in the library on the rug and let her imagination wander to what else could have happened, especially now that they were married. There were no rules anymore, no boundaries. They could have made love.

An image flashed in Hermione’s mind of what it would be like to have Antony above her, smiling in the way he always did, flirting with her as he made love to her. She could picture pulling at his hair in the heat of the moment, tugging on it playfully then scoring lines down his back with her nails as she reached the same peak that he had given her before.

There was a sound in the corridor, and Hermione turned her head toward it. She kept her eyes on the door for many minutes, praying that, at some point, Antony would walk through it.