Chapter 7
Willow scaled down the side of her new home with little effort—it was a skill she and her sisters perfected when they were twelve years old. Her new home was built in much the same way their country house was, and the distance from this chamber to the ground was not at all different from her chamber in Derbyshire.
The only real difference in this particular house was that it housed a most suspicious, arrogant, misguided male, who would try to stop her. So for that reason, she tried to keep her grunts and heaving to a minimum.
She dropped to the ground with an easy thud, her chin lifting to gaze back up to her window. She wouldn’t be able to make it back up again. And there was no tree near her window she could climb. She would have to find another way inside or slip in when the servants woke.
If her husband learned of it, he’d be furious.
Willow shrugged.
Oh well.
What would he next threaten to deny her if he learned about this? The sour cur!
Well, he’d learn. She could live without that pleasure. In fact, she could live without a great deal many things if his seed had taken root. Indeed, if tonight had accomplished her goal, then she’d be the one to withhold rocking his world.
See how he enjoys that!
One thing she was not about to do was give up all her dignity and let him plow away for his own pleasure. She wasn’t that desperate. If she was not with child . . . Then she would wait until she and Ambrose were on more agreeable terms.
Nevertheless, she was curious to see just how serious he was about his declaration. She needed to take stock of his word, push the boundaries, and discover what sort of character her husband possessed and work from there.
With a resolved nod, she dashed across the lawn.
The thudding of her boots against the cold cobblestones kept her on high alert. It had been less challenging to slip out than she first thought. Right before her sister had departed, Poppy mentioned that the duke planned on stationing footman at her door, or so it was rumored, and Willow hadn’t wanted to take the chance to slip out that way. But even in choosing to go out the window, part of her had expected to be caught in the garden.
Keeping her head low and her cloak tightly wound, she spied Warton’s carriage in the distance. The footman spotted her and jumped from his perch to open the door.
She gave a curt nod in acknowledgment.
“Milady,” he nodded back, ushering her inside—all very cloak and dagger.
Willow found herself peeking through the window every two seconds, half expecting her husband to give chase on the back of a fire breathing dragon. Or God forbid, follow from a discreet distance and catch her in the act of meeting with Holly.
Luckily, the ride to Warton’s residence did not take long.
But it wasn’t until Willow stood across from Holly in Warton’s drawing room that her heart settled back into a steady rhythm.
“Holly?” Willow murmured, her voice cracking just a bit.
Then her sister was in her arms, drawing her into a tight embrace.
Tears gathered in Willow’s eyes as she fought to regain some control over her emotions, which appeared to be scattered all over the British Isles. The weight of the day’s events bore down hard on her heart, as did the fear that her sister may be angry with her and even feel betrayed by her actions.
“I thought I wouldn’t see you before we left,” Holly murmured.
“Nothing could keep me away,” Willow said, drawing back to take a good look at her sister. “However, my husband made it slightly more difficult when he supposedly stationed two footmen outside my bedchamber. To keep me in or to keep you out, who is to say? It seems he does not believe I would risk scaling down the side of a house to see you.”
“Forgive me, Willow. If I’d known you would do something so insane in an attempt to correct my imprudence, I would never have left you alone in that room. Was he furious with you?”
“Oh, he was quite beyond that, but nothing I couldn’t manage. The Dragon Duchess, as you so suitably named her, on the other hand . . .” Willow shuddered. “That woman’s wailing almost drove me through the walls. Her incessant caterwauling gave me head pains. She needs to take to the waters of Bath.”
“I am so sorry.”
Her sister appeared truly torn up by the events, as though she was to blame. When in fact, the choice had been Willow’s. And she did not regret it. Well, maybe a tiny bit after tonight. Clearly, she hadn’t understood what she was marrying into or she might have run faster than Holly had. Maybe. But she was in this marriage now and had to make the most of it. Middletons did not give up.
“Oh, hush, I would never have allowed you to marry that beast, not after what you told me. Besides, I have my own motivation for wedding the man.”
“You wanted to marry St. Ives?”
“Of course not. My reasons have nothing to do with the duke himself.”
“I am confused. The reason you married him has nothing to do with him?”
“Yes,” Willow said with a slow nod, her heart jumping into her throat.
“But the man is a beast,” Holly pointed out, a worried look flittering across her face.
“He is something, all right,” Willow murmured, giving her a soft, reassuring smile. And while it was certainly an infuriating something most of the time, Willow also had to admit that the “something” also included a peculiar presence. An aura surrounded the duke that Willow felt drawn to—and she was certainly attracted to the man given their most recent interaction.
But she couldn’t admit any of this to her sister. Holly had been in love with St. Ives mere days ago.
“I believe what your sister is saying, Miss Middleton,” Warton spoke up, his eyes resting on Holly, “is that she wished to marry and took advantage of an available groom.”
Holly’s gaze flew to Willow. “Is that true?”
Willow nodded, relieved that Warton had so easily come to the right conclusion. She gave her sister a sheepish smile. “But please know I never intended on stealing your betrothed before that moment.”
“I suppose that is a comforting thought,” Holly said, her eyes sparkling. Then just as suddenly, her amusement faded. “Has St. Ives spoken to father yet?”
Willow nodded, allowing Holly to tug her to the sofa.
“So, does father mean to lock me away in a tower or perhaps, dare I ask, a dungeon?”
It would be just like her sister to find that thought most intriguing! “I’m afraid not. The duke has requested father’s permission to establish a betrothal agreement for you and his brother, Lord Jonathan Griffin.”
“I must not have heard you correctly, Willow, because it sounded like you said the duke wants me to marry his brother?”
Willow gave her a solemn look.
“I cannot marry your brother-in-law, I do not love him!”
“Regardless of anyone’s feelings, St. Ives has men searching every inch of the city. He suspects, or at least I think he does, that you might return to Derbyshire. He has already dispatched men there, as well.”
“But why? Lord Jonathan is on tour. He even missed the wedding.”
“He is expected back any day now, I’m afraid.”
“Surely Lord Jonathan will not stand for this?”
“I thought so as well, but what if the duke threatened to cut his brother off?”
“He could marry an heiress.”
“It will still require him to marry. So why not marry you and keep his brother happy?”
“Has father agreed to this arrangement?”
“Not as of yet.”
“Well, then, St. Ives must have demanded father agree, and Lord knows father hates to be told what to do.”
“No man does,” Warton muttered from behind them.
Holly let out a small sigh. “Is it not a crime to wed a relation by marriage?” she asked.
“Unfortunately not,” Willow said. It would have made things much easier.
“A pity.”
Willow gave her sister’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “I won’t let it come to that. But it might be best if you put some distance between you and the city.”
A lot of distance.
“The marquis has agreed to escort me to one of his properties in—”
Willow held up her hand, stopping Holly midsentence. “Do not tell me where you are going. I don’t want to take the chance of spilling your whereabouts, however unintentional.” She glanced at Warton, considering him a moment.
He was a man of passionate temper, but a gentleman of honor. They made quite the pair, these two. Almost like pork and apples, an odd combination, but somehow the flavors worked. “What of your servants? Are they aware of your destination?”
“I assure you, madam,” Warton drawled, “my servants do not gossip.”
How utterly male of him to assume that.
“Servants gossip among each other, if nothing else,” Willow pointed out. “And you’ve given yours the night off in the wake of a huge scandal. They may not realize the significance, but others may draw suspicion from that.”
“Point taken,” Warton grumbled.
Willow suppressed a smile. She wondered what could have driven Warton to help Holly. It wasn’t precisely in line with his reputation or character. The man was a well-known grump. By all accounts, the marquis ought to have dragged Holly back to their father and washed his hands of her, not dive straight into the hornet’s nest.
Was there something more to it than simply help? He was difficult to read, but she noticed how he always seemed to keep his eyes on Holly. That, if nothing else, would likely keep her out of trouble.
And Willow trusted Warton.
“We shall be careful to remain undetected,” Holly reassured.
Willow nodded. “Stop only where you are confident no one will recognize you. For the time being, the duke doesn’t suspect you have a protector. That gives you an advantage, Holly, so use it wisely. I will do what I can from here, but we must think of an alternative plan in case I fail to convince the duke to let the matter go.”
“No one will catch us off guard,” Warton griped.
“Thank you.” Willow knew she needed to assure him that they were all grateful for his aiding Holly. “I owe you a great debt for aiding my sister.”
He grunted. “The duke will not get his hands on her.”
Willow turned to her sister, one brow arched. She said with her eyes what she could not speak out loud with Warton within earshot: Now is not the time to fall in love with this man.
Holly shrugged noncommittally and Willow fought the urge to huff out in frustration. She adored her sister, but Holly was too quick to fall head over heels.
“How will you appeal to St. Ives to accept an olive branch?”
“I have no clue, but I shall figure something out. The man is as stubborn as an ox, intent on dictating the lives of others. It shall give me great pleasure to bring him down a notch or two.”
“He has not hurt you?”
Willow heard the fear in Holly’s tone, but she truly didn’t think that her husband was that kind of man. He would’ve shown those colors already if he was. Instead, he’d threatened to deny her pleasure. Intolerable behavior, certainly, but she felt that his “rules” and “boundaries” were the worst of it.
“No, dear, I do not believe he shall. He seeks only to control me, and I daresay, should he discover me gone, it will give him quite the fit! But that’s the most of it.”
“You are so terrible, Willow,” Holly said with a smile. “Best hope he does not realize you are gone.”
“It might do him some good to discover his wife is in possession of a fine backbone.”
“I cannot express enough how sorry I am,” Holly murmured.
“Stop apologizing,” Willow demanded. She glanced at Warton. “I came to see if you were all right, and I am pleased to find you have chanced upon a champion of sorts, however shocking.”
Warton lifted one dark brow.
“Well, it is,” Willow reaffirmed. “If I penned down all of the least likely gentlemen to aid my sister, you would have been on the top of that list.”
“And why is that, Duchess?”
“Oh, you are known to have a brooding temperament and a quick temper. Not to mention you lack the subtle charm that most gentlemen possess.”
“I have charm,” he muttered.
Holly was clearly smothering a smile. “I’m sure Warton regrets the curiosity that led him to stumble upon me,” she teased.
Willow glanced between the two. Warton only grunted in response, but the small pull of his lips told Willow he found their remarks amusing. But the smile her sister sent his way was more than mere gratefulness. Willow knew her sister well, had spent a lifetime learning the small expressions that gave away the beginning of an infatuation. This was one of them.
Willow’s brow puckered. She felt it her sisterly duty to advise against any infatuations for the time being. “Please do not accept another proposal before the dust has settled.”
The slight color of Holly’s cheeks turned molten. “Do not be silly; I have no wish to fall into the same trap again. And I doubt there’s a man in England who would ask for my hand after today,” she muttered in a hushed tone. “In any case, I’m practically betrothed to Lord Jonathan Griffin now, am I not?”
“You are not betrothed yet, and with any luck, you won’t be. Best not to provoke St. Ives further until this matter with his brother is resolved.”
“Do not worry; I shall not fall in love on a whim again.”
Willow stifled a snort. She hoped so. But mostly she hoped that if her sister did fall in love again, it would not be with the wrong man this time—and it would be lasting rather than fleeting.
“That is all I ask,” Willow murmured. “In any event, I can see that you are in capable hands. Come, I must be off.”
“So soon?”
Willow gave a reluctant nod in reply. She knew she’d already been absent long enough.
“Take care of my sister,” she told Warton. “The next time we meet, I hope it will be under better circumstances.”
Warton inclined his head.
That he was her sister’s reluctant champion was truly remarkable in itself, Willow thought once again. The Marquis was known for his low tolerance for silly antics, and the Middleton sisters were often synonymous with silly—at least in the past.
“Be well,” Holly murmured.
She planned on being just that. Beyond relieved her sister was safe and happy, Willow could now shift her attention toward her husband.
Anticipation rippled along her spine. She should be furious—and part of her still was—but she was thrilled, as well. She planned on peeling away the layers of the duke until she found the man beneath the mask.
Who would’ve guessed she loved sparing with her testy duke so much?