When the Duke Was Wicked

Chapter 17





As Grace sat at her vanity while Felicity pinned her hair, she gave her gaze freedom to wander over to the red vase filled with her favorite flowers—red roses. They had arrived first thing that morning with a missive.

Because they’re your favorite, you should have them today.

—L

Her heart had done a little somersault. It had been six weeks since the Midsummer Eve’s ball. Lovingdon’s wound had healed. When he needed fresh air, he had invited her for an open carriage ride through the park. As he’d grown stronger, they walked.

And talked. They spoke of everything. Their upcoming wedding. The trip they would take to Paris. All the exhibits they would see.

While rumors concerning what exactly had transpired following her family’s country ball were scarce, everyone was well aware that the Earl of Vexley was persona non grata in the eyes of London’s most powerful families. He’d lost his membership at Dodger’s. No woman with any dowry welcomed his courtship and he courted no woman who had no dowry. He was seen about London sporting two black eyes and a broken nose. As he had taken to mumbling when he spoke, many thought he might have a broken jaw.

They were right.

Grace knew the nose was the result of Lovingdon’s punches in the church, and she suspected that Vexley’s broken jaw was the result of Drake spending a little time with him in gaol. As a lord of the realm, Vexley had neatly sidestepped arrest for abducting her and shooting Lovingdon. He’d claimed self-defense on the latter charge, asserting he was convinced Lovingdon meant to kill him. Considering the murderous rage she’d seen on Lovingdon’s face when he flung himself at Vexley, she suspected the earl’s assumption was correct. But with the other families delivering their own messages to Vexley—and no doubt additional blows—she was convinced he’d suffered enough. He was ostracized. She doubted he’d ever regain his place in Society, and was rather embarrassed to admit she’d ever found him charming.

Her attention wandered again to the red roses and the vase that held them. She would have them delivered to her new home so they were waiting for her when she arrived this evening. The other glass pieces were already there, as were most of her belongings.

Today she was going to become a wife, but more than that, she was going to marry a man who loved her, imperfections and all.

When her hair was done, she stepped into her wedding gown of lace and pearls. Felicity gently padded the left side. Grace knew that Lovingdon wouldn’t care if it was flat on one side but she liked the symmetry, and on this day, at least, she was vain enough to care.

Carefully, she placed the pearls at her neck, pearls her mother had given her, pearls given to her mother by the man she believed to be her father. Grace sometimes found it difficult to believe the life her mother had led, the life that had brought her here to capture the heart of a duke.

Now she possessed her own duke’s heart.

She had no doubts that Lovingdon loved her. Even if he hadn’t known her favorite flower, she had no doubts where his affections lay. It was strange to think that she once doubted her ability to gauge love, but Lovingdon had told her to trust her heart, that it would know. By Jove, but he was right about that.

Flowers, listening, gazing into her eyes, touching her, small but important things he had cited as examples—Lovingdon did them all, without thought or artifice. He didn’t need her dowry, but apparently what he did need was her love. He possessed it in abundance.

A rap sounded on her door all of three seconds before her mother opened it. She smiled. “Don’t you look beautiful?”

“I feel beautiful. He makes me feel beautiful.”

“As well he should. Are you ready to be off to St. George’s?”

“I’ve never been more ready for anything in my life.”

Lovingdon stood at the front of the church, Drake and Avendale beside him, while he waited for Grace. He didn’t want to think of Juliette, and in fact could only vaguely recall the last time he had stood here. He’d been so much younger, more boy than man, filled with promise and promises.

He was more tempered now, not quite so eager or brash. More cautious about life. More determined to never take Grace for granted. His wound was healed. He was as fit as ever. He’d need that fitness tonight. While he had been with Grace since the night he rescued her from Vexley, he’d had very few moments alone with her—a kiss here, another one there, but nothing beyond that. He ached to touch all of her again, to sink his body into hers, to know her again as he’d known her in the little cottage, but not quite the same. There would be a deepness and richness to their lovemaking this time. He’d once thought that he loved nothing more than being nestled between a woman’s thighs. But now he knew he loved nothing more than being nestled between hers.

The organ began to play, and he looked up the aisle to see her maid of honor and bridesmaid leading the way: Lady Ophelia and then Minerva. Minnie winked at him and smiled. He wondered how much longer it would be before she was a bride.

The music rose in crescendo, and he turned his attention toward the back of the church. With her arm tucked around her father’s, Grace glided up the aisle, taking his breath. The hair she had once despised was the most colorful part about her. She was a vision in white, a gossamer veil covering her face. Such a silly bit of frippery that would prevent him from gazing on her fully. Then she was near enough that he could inhale her lavender and rose scent. The rose was a little heavier, as she held a bouquet of red roses.

Yes, he’d known her favorite flower. He’d always known, from the moment he’d likened her to a red rose and she gave him a gap-toothed grin. He’d known her all of her life, had so many memories of her growing up. It still astounded him to realize that he had managed to overlook her blossoming into the woman he once promised her she’d become.

What a fortunate man he was that her suitors had not seen beyond the dowry, did not recognize the beauty that he did.

When the Duke of Greystone turned her over to his keeping, Lovingdon felt a tightness in his chest. The responsibility, the fears, the doubts, they were all there. That he would make promises he could not keep. He’d done that once before.

But then Grace smiled at him, and he saw the determination and the understanding in her eyes. She had been forged by her own fires and was stronger because of them. She’d not require that he watch over her, but watch over her he would.

He listened intently as she recited her vows, then he recited his with a sure voice. When he was told he could kiss the bride, he lifted her veil to find her blue eyes fastened on him.

“You never looked away from me,” she said in wonder.

“That’s because I’m in love with you.” He lowered his mouth to hers, wishing hundreds of people weren’t about.

Soon, very soon, he would have her all to himself.