Chapter 7
By Kathleen Ayers
I’m about to become a duchess.
There wasn’t a woman in all of England who would shy away from such a role, especially when the duke in question was Charles Harrington, the Duke of Kenbrook.
The marriage license had been secured almost as quickly as the loss of her virginity.
The archbishop, a round-faced man with red cheeks, was most accommodating, given that Charles was a duke and a distant relation.
Now Felicia stood, trembling hands hidden in her skirts, beside the only man she’d ever wanted, a vicar droning on about the benefits of marriage.
She glanced at her soon-to-be husband, heart fluttering as she took in his chiseled profile.
The memory of the utter devastation he’d wreaked upon her only a short time ago in the carriage made her knees weak.
Not to mention the seduction of her person, accomplished with little complaint.
Felicia had willingly given herself over to the enemy more than once.
There wasn’t any doubt she’d do so again.
Good lord. What am I doing? Bewitched by a clever pair of fingers and a handsome face.
“Felicia,” Charles nudged her, nodding at the vicar.
She blinked at the sound of her name, thoughts a jumble, thinking of twisted naked limbs and the feel of his mouth. “What?”
“Your vows,” he murmured. “You must say them.”
“I—” Her lips clamped shut, throat closing.
“A moment,” Charles said to the vicar, a smile pasted on his handsome face. He took hold of Felicia’s arm and tugged her gently away.
Vicar Mason shut his bible with a beleaguered look. He’d been enjoying his tea and a plate of fresh-baked scones when she and Charles had arrived, license in hand, and he was obviously not pleased to be disturbed.
“Felicia?”
This was all happening far too fast. She hadn’t had time to think.
Or discuss anything at all with her father, but perhaps he already knew, given Loxley had seen them.
Did it matter? One night in a hayloft, and she was about to become the Duchess of Kenbrook.
A wife. Better than being branded a harlot, she supposed.
“You didn’t… ask me,” she finally stuttered. “Merely assumed that since I allowed your seduction of my person—”
“You didn’t object,” Charles reminded her. “Voiced no complaint.”
He didn’t understand. Couldn’t possibly appreciate her position. Yesterday, she’d been Felicia Monclair, proud daughter. Determined to settle matters over a piece of land for her family. Prove to Father that she was capable. Astute in business.
And now… Well, she’d been reduced to nothing more than a wife.
Charles spoke of wanting her but little else. What would happen when his lust for her waned? Would he seek out other companionship? Regret the bargain he’d made?
Felicia lifted her chin. “I did not. In that, you are correct.”
Dark brows drew together, the lovely blue of his eyes drifting over Felicia at her tone. A wave of hair fell over his forehead, making Charles far more appealing than any man had a right to be. But that was hardly the point.
“What worries you?” he asked, glancing back at the vicar. “Is it that we are being wed so expediently? I think it prudent under the circumstances.” One side of his mouth lifted. “You might already be carrying my child.”
Felicia did not return his smile. This was what she feared, being reduced to nothing more than a wife.
A mother. Not that she didn’t want to be those things, but there was so much more Felicia wished to accomplish.
Vanquishing Loxley was the least of it, and though certainly a priority, it was not her only goal.
She could do more. Be more. Couldn’t Charles see as much?
“So I’m to step aside and allow you to manage everything? Merely because you conveniently and expediently ruined me in a hayloft?”
He shook his head with a sigh and took hold of her hand, pressing a kiss to her fingertips. “Oh, my love.”
The word pierced Felicia’s heart, probably because she longed for it to be true.
The vicar shot them an exasperated look and started to pace back and forth.
“Ignore him for the moment.” Charles pulled her close. “You were not the only one to be ruined in that bloody hayloft. I have been compromised as well.”
Felicia snorted. “You? A duke?”
“Yes.” A kiss landed on her temple. “Body and soul. Ruined completely, but not the least expediently by Felicia Montclair. I’ve longed to be ruined by you for years, but you weren’t paying attention.”
“You’re only being honorable.”
“Honor is the least of it. I am not wedding you out of duty or for a piece of land. Nor because I despise Loxley as much as you do. Not even out of some need to avenge my family on the dreaded Montclairs.”
“I suppose that much is true. Leaving me compromised and unwed, witnessed by Loxley, would do far more damage.” His words warmed her, forcing away some of her distress. “So this is not merely a convenient marriage for you?”
Charles took gentle hold of her chin, tilting her face upward.
“There is nothing whatsoever convenient about you, Felicia Montclair. I have known the truth of that since I was a lad. I would not change it. I prefer you just as you are. I always have. And whatever challenges the future presents, whether it is Loxley, our families, or anything else, we will handle it together.”
“You say that now, Charlie—”
“Do I strike you as a fool, Felicia? Why would I want such a clever woman for my wife if I don’t intend to make excellent use of her intellect?
I confess…” His tongue flicked out, touching the curve of Felicia’s ear, sending a delicious quiver down the length of her body.
“That I fully intend to make use of your other talents as well.”
“Do you mean that?” Felicia wanted to be treated as an equal, a partner in her marriage with Charlie. But she wanted his heart as well.
In time.
“I do. Now, let us return to Vicar Mason and finish what we’ve begun. We have plans to make. Loxley to expose.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “And a marriage to celebrate. Agreed?”
“Agreed.” Felicia allowed him to lead her back to the impatient vicar. “I’m ready.”