Chapter 3
The mark of a great man, some would say, is his ability to navigate through impossible situations with great ease. Willow’s husband appeared to be such a man. Other than his initial slip in countenance, one that had pleased her more than she cared to admit, not once did he betray emotion, even though he must be furious. It was simply impossible to tell from looking at him. But he had known. Somewhere during the ceremony, something had alerted him to her deceit.
And still he married her.
Bittersweet emotion centered in her chest.
She was wed to the stick-in-the-mud Duke of St. Ives. But she was married. She had done it. She had pulled it off by the skin of her teeth, but she had done it. Whether she would remain wed, Willow supposed, was another matter. Annulment was still an option.
Of course, that would leave her entire family in ruin. The papers would have a blast with this scandal as it was. Willow could just imagine the title should the duke annul the marriage. The Great Deception: Miss Middleton jilts The Duke of St. Ives only for the duke to jilt Miss Middleton.
Willow settled into the carriage just in time for the arrival of her sobbing mother-in-law. She shot the dowager a disapproving look.
The woman was making everything worse with her tears.
And then, to Willow’s amazement, the dowager collapsed into a pile of heaping skirts.
The scene was truly remarkable.
The duke swore and rushed to his mother’s side. Two footmen hurried to assist while another woman, with a hat that resembled a furry creature, revived the dowager with smelling salts.
Willow let out a sigh. The day had only just begun and she was ready for it to end.
Seconds later, her mother-in-law was settled in the carriage next to her son, who installed himself across from Willow.
A crowd had gathered, tittering behind their fans, rudely speculating about the turn of events. Just before the carriage door shut, Willow glimpsed Poppy, her face pale as a sheet of paper, eyes round with shock.
I’m sorry, Willow mouthed before Poppy was replaced by the drawn velvet curtains of the carriage door. Remorse clawed at her heart. The sisters told each other everything. And today they stood divided. Holly did not know what Willow had done and she, in return, did not know where her sister had run off to. Poor Poppy, she knew even less than the both of them.
The entire morning had been a hellish whirlwind. At least the duke had not been deserted at the altar. That ought to count for something. But one glance at his hard features told Willow it would not be as simple as all that.
“How could this have happened?” The Dowager cried. “Oh, the horror!”
Willow studied the woman in silence, peering at her from beneath her lashes. Mostly to avoid the scrutiny of St Ives. Years of pampered lifestyle had done nothing to halt the fine lines of the woman’s timeworn skin. Her salt and pepper hair should have afforded her a more seasoned appearance. Instead, her milky, fatigued eyes suggested a more dismal spirit.
“We must dissolve this travesty immediately!” The dowager carried on.
Willow gave her a sharp look. She did not want the dowager to influence the duke’s mind about dissolving their marriage. Holly had mentioned the Dragon Duchess had commandeered the wedding arrangements, hence the name. Would the woman attempt to commandeer the outcome of this marriage, too?
Willow risked a glance at her husband, startled to find those black eyes scrutinizing her, noting every little nuance of her reaction, she was sure.
She held his gaze, refusing to be intimidated. If Willow were to remain his wife, he ought to be aware she did not cower under frosty glares, and refused to be bullied by anyone, even a man as powerful as he.
“The marriage will not be dissolved.” His eyes never left hers. His voice brooked no argument.
Willow was not about to argue.
“Oh! The shame!” The dowager sobbed.
It was enough to provoke a flash of annoyance.
Apparently, the duke thought so too for he sent his mother a look of displeasure to which the duchess sniffed and looked away—silenced.
“Where is your sister?” St. Ives asked, turning his attention back to Willow.
“I’ve no idea,” Willow said, shivering when those black eyes fixed on her. For the first time, she wondered how she was going manage a husband if he proved completely unmanageable. Up until now, she had stood firm in her mind that she could. She already knew he was imperious, but what if he was unbendable?
What if he would not give an inch?
And she needed him to give at least two inches—to gain his trust and to save her sister from the brunt of his anger. Beyond that, it did not quite matter, she supposed. She wanted a child. He required an heir. The math was simple.
“I find that hard to believe,” the duke was saying. “She was present when last I reported the time. So, I imagine, were you.”
“Holly is unaware that I took her place,” Willow admitted. “I was supposed to draft a note for my father to find and leave.”
The duke said nothing, just stared at her.
God help her, her gaze dropped to his lips for the briefest moment before shooting back to his eyes again. A knowing glint flashed in their depths. They were in a battle of wills, she realized. And she had lost this round.
Willow sat up straighter. She could not lose composure again underneath his gaze. Even if it pained her. Which it did. Ramrod stiff had never been her chosen position and at that moment, with the wailing Dragon Duchess on one side and a temperamental husband across from her, Willow wondered whether this would be the premise of their relationship. Her life.
Chaos.
“So instead of penning a note, you married me instead? To save your family from scandal, I presume?”
“Something like that,” Willow murmured.
“On my life, this family is going down in infamy!” The dowager responded with a sulk.
It took an infinite amount of willpower to not roll her eyes. If anyone was going down in infamy, it would be Willow.
“So your sister does not know you took her place and you don’t know where she ran off to,” St. Ives clarified. “Is that correct?”
Willow lifted a haughty chin. “Yes. But even if I did know, I would not tell you.”
“Such loyalty,” he murmured. “One way or another, wife, I will find her.”
Willow inhaled a low, deep breath. Her husband was a striking man. One might easily forget just how bossy he was by staring at the man.
“I am in possession of a name, you know.”
He jerked, the movement subtle, but Willow noticed the slight jolt. “You do know my name, do you not?” she remarked dryly.
A sudden air of stillness surrounded him, and Willow saw the exact moment he concluded that he, in fact, did not.
“You cannot recall my name, can you, Ambrose?” she echoed incredulous. “I am in complete shock.”
“Of course I know your name,” he snapped, and smirked. “Willa.”
“That is a nice name, Willa, but it’s not mine.”
His brows drew together in a fierce scowl, and this time Willow suppressed a smile. If he wished to learn her name, he’d have to ask. Or hope for someone to call her by her name. Because a man like him would never ask.
“Winnifred.”
Unbelievable.
“I’m not acquainted with anyone by that name.”
The dowager moaned. “Oh, how will I ever set foot in society again?”
They both ignored her.
“Wendy.”
“Really, Ambrose, you should stop.”
“It has something to do with a tree,” he muttered.
Honestly.
“It also rhymes with pillow.”
His features contorted into a dark scowl. “Damnation, tell me, then,” he growled.
“Why do you wish to know the whereabouts of my sister?” Willow countered. She suspected she wasn’t going to like the answer. Holly had to be protected at all cost.
“Your sister made a spectacle of me,” St. Ives answered.
“You weren’t jilted,” Willow pointed out.
“Do you imagine just because you stepped in, your sister will be released from the consequences of her actions?”
“Yes?” Willow drew out the word.
“Have you any thought on how it feels to be so publically made a fool?”
Willow’s heart dropped to her stomach. No, she did not. But all the same, beyond her own reasons for marrying the duke, she must protect her sister.
“I took her place, is that not enough?” she implored.
“That won’t absolve her from the consequences, no.”
His dismissive tone sparked her temper. “And what consequences are those?”
He shrugged. “She will marry my brother, Jonathan.”
She jerked forward in her seat. What?
The man had just discovered the deception! How had he already plotted a plan of reckoning?
“And how long did it take for you to decide that?” Willow demanded.
“About as long as my astonishment lasted when I discovered I had been betrayed by my betrothed.”
Willow snapped her brows together. His astonishment, as he called it, had lasted only a blink of an eye. “That seems harsh, does it not? Can we not come to another sort of understanding?”
“It seems perfectly appropriate that she marry my brother as I have wed her sister, do you not agree?”
“An eye for an eye, you mean.”
“If that’s how you wish to see it.”
“Your logic is archaic,” Willow rejoined.
“Maybe,” the duke returned. “But if saving your sister from the consequences of her actions was why you happily took her place, you have grossly underestimated your position.”
“Well,” Willow said with a petulant pout, “I would not go so far as to say happily. But I had thought you would spare my sister your anger. Plus, I am the oldest sister. By rights, I ought to have been married first. And before you attempt to bully me, you should know that I will always protect my sisters. Nothing and no one can force me to do otherwise, including you.”
“Commendable.”
Willow quelled a shiver at the deep timbre of his voice. Lud, she had to be careful. He might be her husband, but in this matter, he was her adversary. “So what happens now?”
“We attend the wedding breakfast.” His eyes turned frosty. “You will sit, smile prettily, and not mention a word of what transpired today. For all intents and purposes, it was you I courted. As far as anyone is concerned, you were always meant to become my wife.”
You were always meant to become my wife.
In another life, with another man, those words would have melted her insides. From him, only coldness settled in her belly.
“As you wish. But why punish my sister? Won’t that raise unnecessary questions?” Willow attempted to call on his logic.
“It’s a matter of principle.”
“You mean pride.”
“Call it what you wish, the outcome remains the same.”
Oh, it will not, Willow vowed. One way or another, she would change his mind. “Perhaps you can tell me why you wanted to marry in haste in the first place?”
“Perhaps you can tell me the whereabouts of your sister,” he countered.
Willow sighed. The man was determined to be difficult. Not that she could blame him; his pride had taken a blow.
“And just so we are clear, wife,” he said with an infuriating amount of authority, “I am not a man swayed by the tears of a woman, if you were thinking of using them on me.”
“No, I suppose you are not,” she said, sparing a glance at her sniffing mother-in-law. No indeed, he was not. The poor woman had swooned and the only emotion it had elicited from her son was annoyance. Credit, it was annoying, but nonetheless.
Willow studied her husband from beneath the rim of her lashes. Somewhere inside him, an honorable man resided, she was certain of it. Even if it was dim hope, she was determined to find and appeal to that man.
Once again, she found her gaze dropping to his lips and then jerked them down to her hands. She had developed an unhealthy obsession with her husband’s mouth. It was that kiss. Merciful heaven, it had overpowered all of her senses.
She wondered if the dowager would swoon again if the duke kissed her now, right here. Or how would they both react if she kissed him? Willow pushed the tempting image from her mind. There was still a wedding breakfast and her family’s questions to get through. Not to mention, saving her sister from the duke’s plot.
Settling deeper into her seat, she shut her eyes, closing the curtain on his penetrating gaze. If he expected her to wilt under his scrutiny, to bow her head and capitulate, to lay down her arms . . .
She would not give an inch if he did not.