Read The Devil Duke Takes a Bride Online
Authors: Rachel Van Dyken
The Devil Duke Takes a Bride (21 page)
Bile choked his throat in direct proportion to his anxiety as he considered one more time what the old crone could possibly want with him.
Baldwyn should have been safe in Scotland. After all, his cousin, the Duke of Banbury, was well within her reach and could surely keep her meddlesome hands occupied for several months.
Why hadn’t he accepted that commission when he had the chance? He could have been away on the Continent fighting against the evils of the French rather than the evils of her grace’s machinations. Staring down the barrel of Napoleon’s cannon would have been preferable.
He closed his eyes and rested his head against the wall of the coach. It would be wise to rest now. No doubt his grandmother had already arranged for him to attend a winter event that evening and would have him racing to ready for it the moment he set foot in her front door. Taking a slow, deep breath, he soothed his frazzled nerves and allowed himself to drift into a fitful sleep, propped against the blue satin-lined wall.
****
“Your grace.” The voice of his valet broke through his haze of sleep. “We have arrived.”
Baldwyn groaned with anguish as he opened first one eye and then the other.
“Munro,” he muttered in disgust, “I have told you of my feelings on being awakened with bad news, have I not?”
“Yes, your grace,” Munro offered. “However, in matters such as these, I believe your wrath is less daunting than that of the dowager’s.”
Baldwyn sighed. One couldn’t argue with that logic.
The massive stone structure rose ominously above him, as he stepped down from the carriage and squared his shoulders in preparation for the onslaught he knew he was about to endure.
His Hessian boots suddenly felt like they were encased in the stone path as he endeavored to move toward the stairs leading to the front entry. Dread weighed in the pit of his stomach. Where was Napoleon’s cannon when he needed it?
At the door, his grandmother’s loyal old butler answered Baldwyn’s hesitant knock almost immediately, as if he had been stationed there with the express purpose of tethering the duke the second he laid eyes on him.
“Good afternoon, Perkins,” Baldwyn managed to grunt.
“Your grace.” Perkins bowed and held out the tray for his hat and gloves. “Her grace awaits you in the blue salon.”
“May I not refresh myself before the torture commences?”
Perkins’ emotionless expression was fixed firmly in place. “Her grace wishes to begin the moment you arrive.”
Petulant little man
.
Baldwyn directed an ironic smirk at the smug butler. He knew, of course, it wouldn’t have any effect. Perkins would be far more concerned with what his mistress would do to him if she discovered her instructions had been ignored than anything the Duke of Paisley might threaten to do.
He turned to the blue salon, and with one last deep breath of free air, he threw the doors open and strode in with Scottish bravado.
“Guid efternuin, Grandmother! Ye ur lookin' brammer as ever!” He knew the native brogue would infuriate her; nevertheless, he raised his voice to a ridiculous volume as well, knowing full well she would take it as a direct insult to the condition of her hearing.
“Bite your tongue, boy. We are not deaf. Nor are we in the presence of the wild Scottish savages you spend your time with these days.” Her icy steel blue glare bore into his face. Oh, yes, he had succeeded in incurring her wrath in less time than it would take to seduce a whore.
Inwardly, he winced but showed no sign of contrition as he drifted to her and planted a light kiss on her pale cheek as though he was as innocent as the driven snow.
She waved him off.
“Oh, posh!” A bemused grin tainted one corner of her mouth.
For all her fearsomeness, Baldwyn knew she adored him.
However, all the adoration in Europe would do nothing to shield him from her matrimonial schemes. Which, no doubt, was the only thing short of Napoleon laying siege to Mayfair that would incite her to send for him in the dead of winter. Cursed ducal obligations to propagate the family name. He groaned and shook his head.
“You shall cease those unearthly sighings, young man, and sit down. We have important family matters to discuss. And there is no time to waste. The Montmouth Winter Ball is this evening. Word has already been sent that you shall be in attendance.”
Baldwyn slumped into the royal blue wingback chair and eyed her with suspicion.
“What are these important
family
matters, Grandmother? Please. I wish to be enlightened.”
“Your tone says otherwise, Baldwyn. Remember to whom you are speaking.” She was seething now. He had pressed her too far.
“Of course, Grandmother. I apologize. Please, continue.”
The dowager lifted her head and glowered down her aristocratic nose at him. Again her steel blue gaze sliced right through him, sending a sudden chill stampeding down his spine. He took the cup of tea offered by the maid and sipped, hoping to cover his momentary lapse in ducal composure.
“I have wonderful news for you.”
That is debatable
.
“I have arranged a betrothal.”
The tea turned to sludge in his throat and he choked, spewing the mouthful he had just drawn from the cup all over the table before him. He glanced up in time to see the fresh brew dripping from the dowager duchess’s chin.
Her stoic glower told him all he needed to know. Death awaited him.
The maid was at the old woman’s side in an instant, fear radiating from her crisp green eyes as she dabbed at the duchess’s tea-bathed face. Baldwyn rose to offer his aid, but his grandmother’s hand shot up, freezing him in place.
“Sit down, Baldwyn. We shall complete the business at hand.” She wrenched the linen cloth from the maid’s hands and swatted her away. As she continued, she patted her forehead, cheeks, chin, and neck with the cloth.
“As I was saying, I have arranged a betrothal contract between you and the daughter of Lord Marks.”
Baldwyn’s blood curdled in his veins. Shock held him prisoner where he was, tying his tongue until finally he forced out, “Betrothal! You’ve gone mad!”
“I
said
sit down
.
” Her gaze leveled on him once more, compelling him to his seat.
“How did you—? What makes you think—? You have no right!” he stammered like a fool.
“I have every right. Lord Marks and I have come to an agreement. You shall marry the girl. You shall produce an heir. And you shall conduct yourself as the duke you are expected to be.”
“Lord Marks’ daughter is a child, Grandmother. A child with mousy brown hair and braids. And straight as an—” He stopped mid-sentence. It was humiliating enough without divulging his preferences to his grandmother.
She arched a malevolent eyebrow.
The last time he had seen the child had been five years previous upon a visit to Lord Marks’ country estate to discuss a business venture. She had loitered about underfoot the entire afternoon, vying for his attention. Her father had indulged her every whim and seemed to view everything she said or did as an enchantment of sorts. Baldwyn had simply rolled his eyes, concluded his business, and took his leave at the first opportunity.
But the girl was not content to be pleasantly tolerated by a gentleman nine years her senior. She preceded him out of doors and lay in wait behind a hedge, and as he rode past she ambushed him, hurling crudely formed mud balls dangerously close to his head. Fortunately, her aim left something to be desired, though by pure dumb luck, one of the misfired projectiles struck square in his horse’s eye. The animal reared, taking Baldwyn by surprise and sending him flailing all the way to the ground. The few strategically placed bruises would have been humiliating enough, but through some horrifying twist of fate, his horse had recently dropped a steaming pile of dung in the precise location he found himself sitting.
Naturally, no doubt to the delight of the devilish pixie, he had to immediately return to the house to clean up and change before he could leave again. But it was already late, so he was forced to remain for the night, enduring an evening of unending prattle as the girl begged for his particular attention.
Even now as he thought on the tragic memory, his head ached and his backside throbbed.
Baldwyn massaged his temples in slow deliberate circles, hoping to erase the reminiscence from his mind forever.
“Lady Anastasia is no longer a child, Baldwyn. And you have responsibilities.” His grandmother’s voice broke through his anguish.
“Regardless, Grandmother. It would have been nice to have a choice in the matter.”
“You were given ample time to select a suitable bride. It is I who had no choice.”
“Are there no other options?”
“None. The deal has been made. The announcement shall be made tonight.”
Chapter
One
December 2012
"Okay, it's not funny anymore. Let me out.
Please?
" Izzy took deep breaths, grasping her fingers together until they tingled and threatened to go numb. Her legs and lips would be next. She hated the out-of-control feeling panic attacks gave her. Visiting this old estate had been her first mistake. The second? Trusting the snotty women on her tour group.
She should've known their giggles weren't a good thing when she walked into what they'd assured her was a den. With little light in the room, she'd sucked in a gulp of stale air when the door had slammed shut and the key had clicked in the lock. The room had turned out to be a closet. A small one. Not the best place for a claustrophobic.
Izzy slumped to the floor and tried to calm her rapid heartbeat. Maybe visiting England hadn't been such a great idea, even though she'd dreamed of it for years and used up a lot of her savings to pay for it. All she'd wanted was to have an adventure and learn something new. And somewhere in the back of her mind, she'd secretly hoped for a little no-strings-attached romance. But the way her trip had gone so far, none of that was happening.
Now she was locked in this blasted closet! She tasted salt from her upper lip and knew she'd started to perspire. Hot sweat collided with frigid chills, as her body couldn't decide which way to turn. At times, her panic attacks left her wringing wet. Would this one be the same?
Breathe, Izzy.
Clutching her tan chinos with numbing fingers, she grasped at anything she could find in the dark. Her short fingernails snagged on a hole in the knee of her slacks. Had it happened when she hit the floor? Somehow, holding onto something gave her a tiny sense of control, even if what she held on to was herself. Stagnant, dusty air coated her throat and her eyes dampened. The air smelled… old, like her grandmother's trunk in the attic when Izzy
visited as a little girl. Had the peculiar odor come from the huge fireplace? She'd been admiring how the stones fit together when the women suggested she check out the "den".
But the smell didn't make any sense. The house had been around for a century, but surely the people who ran the tours kept the building clean. She hadn't noticed it during her sightseeing or even when she was first shoved into the closet. Only
now
. Was she losing her mind trapped in the small space? How long would it take for someone to find her and let her out?
Why had those wicked women done this? They'd been somewhat catty to her the entire trip. Yet Izzy had been stupid enough to trust them when they'd told her they'd seen something interesting behind the door. Her curiosity hadn't done her any favors. What a dunce.
Izzy strived to be independent in life and her work, so she didn't have many close friends. Since she was mostly alone in the world, she had sought out companionship on this trip though. Who wanted to experience a foreign country by herself, having no one to share it with? Obviously, she hadn't chosen wisely with those witches.
A scratching sound low on the other side of the door caused her to dart her gaze that direction, even though there was barely enough light from the tiny crack by the floor to see much. It made her think of animals clawing, trying to get through the door and attack her. She gasped. What now? Were those women scratching to add insult to injury, or to make her feel even more like an idiot? She wasn't sure it was possible at this point. As she tilted her head closer to the door, she realized she could no longer hear their laughter. What was going on out there?