Her Stranger Duke (The Debutantes’ Vow #1)

Chapter 1

“For goodness’ sake, Catherine, it is your wedding day, not a funeral. Smile!” Lady Margaret Harwood, Marchioness of Danford, demonstrated with a broad, wide smile that did not reach her eyes.

Catherine clenched her fists, curling them around the smooth blue silk of her wedding dress. The heavy gold necklace draped across her felt more like a collar than jewelry. She forced herself not to tug at it as she met her mother’s gaze.

Everyone said that Catherine looked just like her mother.

Her eyes were the same dazzling blue as the Marchioness’s.

Her blonde hair, tied in an elegant bun and set in place with a tiara by her lady’s maid, would one day turn silver like her mother’s.

Her smile, the one her mother had made her practice since childhood, was charming.

Catherine forced her shoulders down and straightened as her mother quirked an eyebrow at her.

“Perhaps if this were a match born of love, rather than necessity, I would feel more inclined to good cheer. As it is, I see little reason to be joyful. It is only scandal that has brought us together; why add to the pretense?”

She did her best to keep her tone neutral, but from the furrowing of her mother’s brow, she could tell she had missed the mark. “Because that is what it means to be in society, dear. Besides, plenty of women would die to be in your shoes.”

“Find me one, and I will happily trade places with her,” Catherine replied as her temper got the better of her.

It is not as though being the perfect lady has served me well.

From the look her mother gave her, Catherine half expected the woman to roll her eyes, but of course, the marchioness would not do anything so common. “Do not be so ungrateful. It is lucky for you that the Duke is as honorable as he is.”

“Oh yes, what luck! I am to marry a man who did not even have the decency to ask me for my hand; he simply negotiated with my father and told me that we were to be wed in a fortnight by special license.” Sarcasm dripped from every word.

“You can hardly expect the man to do anything more; he is a duke after all, and one of the most powerful men in the ton.” The corner of her mama’s lips curled upward. “What he did was perfectly proper.”

“Because propriety sets every young woman’s heart on fire.” Catherine shook her head, the slight smile on her mother’s face undoing any semblance of composure. “Who wants love when they can be tied to a man so cold that he makes a marble plinth seem warm?”

Her mother arched an eyebrow at her, folding her arms across her chest. “A bold statement from a woman who has only met him once.”

“I have ears; everyone knows of his reputation.” Catherine tried not to think about how her friends had gasped and clutched their chests when she told them about her marriage.

“And our meeting was hardly a warm one. It would not have been worth mentioning if your friend, Miss Harris, had not happened upon us and somehow jumped to the conclusion that something untoward had occurred.”

“Why dwell on that? What is done is done. All that matters is that you are marrying a duke!” Her mother made a motion with her fingers as though flicking away a particularly irritating fly.

“Because of your machinations! I know you were the one who orchestrated the whole thing. Just admit it.” Catherine glared at her.

To her surprise, her mother did not look embarrassed; if anything, she looked proud of herself.

“Of course I did. It is high time you got married, and what better match could you hope for than being married to a man like the Duke of Coldmere? I will confess, my plan turned out even better than I expected. I just wanted you to spend a little time with each other, but instead, you have a husband.”

“How can you sound so pleased with yourself? He may be a duke, but that does not mean he is a good man. How do you know he is not cruel? That he is not some philandering letch?” Catherine took a step toward her mother, gesturing around them wildly as her heart thundered in her chest. “You know I wanted a love match, and this is the furthest thing from that.”

“And do you think love would protect you from cruelty or betrayal, Catherine?” Her father, Charles Harwood, Marquess of Danford, interrupted, his deep voice resonating through the room.

“How many women have let their hearts lead them astray only to discover the truth when it was already too late? Besides, do you believe your mother and I are such poor judges of character that we would marry you to a monster?”

I do not trust you to see past his title and fortune. Catherine bit back the angry words, knowing her father was not the sort of man who would tolerate such disrespect. She swallowed, wrestling with the anger still roiling within her.

“You should be grateful, Catherine. Few women could have accomplished what your mother did, and goodness knows, plenty have tried.” Her father put an arm around her mother, his face softening into a smile as he looked at his wife.

Catherine’s chest tightened. All I wanted was a husband who would look at me like that. She felt fury give way to a cold numbness. That future would never be hers.

“But why force the matter?” Catherine’s voice shook. “It is not as though I have not had suitors. Why push me into a match instead of waiting just a little longer?”

Catherine had many young men try to court her, though, admittedly, none were dukes, and each young gentleman failed to ignite a spark in her heart.

“And yet none have stuck. You are entirely too picky for your own good. There is no perfect man, but there are good ones. Your mother has found you a good one and spared you the shame of spinsterhood.” Her father’s voice was cool as he pulled out his pocket watch.

“Now, it is time that we go into the church. The Duke should not be kept waiting.”

Both of her parents moved to stand beside her. The Marquess linked an arm through Catherine’s while her mother cast one last look upon her and then nodded in satisfaction.

They led Catherine out of the room, down the corridor, and into the waiting carriage. Her parents sat her away from the door, as if they feared she might try to fling herself from the carriage during the ride to the church.

The thought had crossed her mind, but she had firmly suppressed it. How could running help? She had nowhere to go. There was a real risk she would hurt herself, tear her dress, and end up looking a complete mess. It wouldn’t stop the wedding; it would just add to her humiliation.

At least I will have my dignity. She straightened in her seat as the carriage halted outside the church. Crowds of strangers lined the streets. She felt her chest tighten, her heart skittering wildly.

She barely felt her father pull her from the carriage. Her feet moved instinctively. There were no bridesmaids; her parents did not trust Catherine’s friends not to interfere in the wedding, and they were not willing to risk it.

“Good, we are perfectly on time,” her mother muttered as the church bells rang out and the door opened. “I shall make my way to the front and have the organist start the music.”

Catherine felt her mother slip away from her, heading toward the pew reserved for the bride’s family. Her father’s grip on her arm was tight. The music started, and Catherine’s stomach dropped.

“I suppose there is no getting out of it now,” she muttered to herself as she began to walk down the aisle.

She swallowed, feeling the weight of every eye in the chapel on her. Or rather, almost every eye. Her husband stood by the altar, hands clasped behind his back, and he did not turn to face her.

Even on our wedding day, he refuses to look at me.

“Just look at that dress!” a voice murmured, though Catherine could not tell if it was a compliment or an insult.

“I still cannot believe she is marrying him,” a woman muttered to her companion.

That makes two of us. Catherine bit the words back, focusing on the man in front of her as the whispers intensified.

The numbness spread through her, making it surprisingly easy to smile.

It was as though another person were walking down the aisle.

Another woman, marrying a man who would not even turn to look at her.

I suppose years of being the perfect lady are good for something at least.

The Duke towered over the priest, his commanding figure silhouetted against the light streaming through the stained-glass windows. Catherine suspected that few men were as tall as he, let alone taller.

Has he always been so tall? She pursed her lips, squinting as she tried to remember. Her eyes took in his perfectly tailored clothes, not a speck of disorder in sight. His short brown hair barely brushed the top of his shirt and coat collars.

“Hold your head high, Catherine,” her father murmured as he slipped from her side to join her mother.

Is that supposed to be a reminder or a word of comfort?

Catherine stepped toward the Duke, but as she did, she misplaced her foot. She stumbled, her arms flailing wildly as she yelped. She was going to hit the stone steps.

Strong arms caught her, pulling her to her feet. The scent of amber and cedar enveloped her as she looked up into the Duke’s face.

“Be careful.” His voice was deeper than she remembered as it sank into her chest.

Catherine’s mouth was bone dry as she stared into the Duke’s piercing green eyes. They reminded her of a forest, deep and mysterious. Her eyes dropped to the sharp line of his jaw, the firm set of his mouth. His hair framed his face perfectly, making her think of an artistic masterpiece.

Her heart pounded so loudly in her chest, she was sure he could hear it. The scent of amber and cedar fogged her thoughts as she gazed at the handsome man before her.

His eyes darkened as he surveyed her, making Catherine feel like a nearly finished piece of embroidery being checked for the most infinitesimal mistake. “Are you hurt?”

The heat of his hands holding her burned into her skin. He was waiting for her to say something. She licked her lips, wishing her mind did not feel as though it were full of molasses.

“I... I am fine.” She cleared her throat, remembering her manners at the last moment. “Thank you.”

He had caught her. He wanted to make sure she was all right. Perhaps I misjudged him? Was the Duke as cold as everyone claimed he was?

“You should be more careful.” He released her and stepped back, his face impassive, voice so low only she could hear him. “That is twice now I have come to your rescue. There will not be a third time.”

Anger flared within her, and any goodwill he might have gained was snuffed out like a candle flame. “I have no wish for any such thing,” she hissed, barely moving her lips.

“And yet here we are.” He turned from her, adjusting the lapels of his coat. “Let us begin the ceremony, Father Evans; after all, we do not have all day.”

He spoke with the quiet authority of a man accustomed to being obeyed. Catherine saw the priest jump, and she imagined herself leaping to obey her husband’s demands. It fueled the anger that had burst through the numbness.

Catherine fumed, forcing herself not to glare as she felt the full weight of the congregation staring at her. She plastered a smile on her face, suppressing the anger that blazed in her heart.

I will not be controlled.

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here in the sight of God,” Father Evans’s voice washed over her, weedy and thin compared to the rich baritone of Duke Coldmere’s.

A moment later, her hand was placed in his. The warmth of his touch sent an unexpected shiver through her. She glanced up at him, searching his face, but the duke remained perfectly composed.

When it was her turn to speak, the words caught in her throat.

“I, Lady Catherine Harwood, take thee, Alaric Deverell…”

Her voice caught around a lump in her throat; she thought she saw the Duke’s eyes widen just slightly, but she knew it was just her imagination.

Do not be ridiculous, Catherine.

She swallowed and spoke more loudly and quickly. “To love, to cherish, and to obey, till death do us part…”

I will never love you. She met the Duke’s green eyes with her own, wanting him to see her silent vow. I will marry you, but you will never control me or my heart.

The Duke’s face was as cold as marble, his green eyes piercing into her. The light shining through the church windows dimmed as a cloud drifted across the sun.

“With this ring I thee wed, with my body I thee worship.” The Duke’s words made Catherine’s cheeks flush a deep scarlet, panic filling her.

She had been so focused on the wedding that she had completely forgotten about what came after. When they left the wedding breakfast, it would mean one thing.

The consummation of our marriage.