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Present day
Brahm Tremont, the sixth Marquis of Warton, watched as a slight figure darted out of the vestry with an unmistakable sense of urgency. Tilting his head, he found her actions curious: plastering her back against the wall, glancing wildly around, dashing to the nearest door, discovering it locked, plastering her back against the wall again. All this while clad in nothing but a chemise, her face partially concealed by a pretty piece of cloth.
Nevertheless, he recognized her instantly.
Holly Middleton.
The bride.
The chit had managed to snatch a duke. It was quite the advancement from being a silly girl to attracting the attention of the most sought-after bachelor in England. Indeed, Brahm recalled only too well a time when she had chased after him in a ballroom, shouting his name for all of Christendom to hear. Thankfully, her attention had been an attempt to distract him from his sister’s mad scheming. But in what must have been the most paralyzing moment of his life, he’d believed Holly Middleton was on the hunt for a husband and had set her cap at him.
Now he was ready to wish Miss Middleton and St. Ives all the luck in their marriage, except he couldn’t understand why Miss Middleton was creeping down the hallway of the church.
He glanced at his pocket watch.
The wedding should be starting right about now. All the other guests were seated, but Brahm was late. Of course, he had intentionally arrived tardy because he loathed weddings, which was why he had taken his time smoking his cheroot outside and delaying the inevitable. No need to suffer through the eye batting and coy smiles of every unattached lady in his vicinity more than he had to.
His shoulders flexed to uncoil the tension gripping him there. If there had been any way to dispense with attending the wedding entirely, Brahm would have. He claimed no friendship with St. Ives or the bride. Unfortunately, his sister did, and that was all the connection needed.
Trouble always lingered in a woman’s wake, as was again evident in the mysterious actions of Miss Middleton, who still stood plastered against the wall. Then she disappeared.
Into thin air.
Just . . . poof.
Brahm blinked. Surely she had not just become invisible? But there was no sign of a door. One moment she had been pressed up against the wall, and the next . . . He wondered if perhaps there had been something other than tobacco mixed within his cheroot. Had he just imagined Holly Middleton running around half naked?
Before he could determine his sanity, another movement caught his eye. This time it was a woman clad in a wedding dress.
Brahm shook his head.
Surely that wasn’t Holly Middleton? He couldn’t tell, not through the veil. But her skirt was too short, revealing a generous amount of skin, more so with each step. He watched as she paused and inhaled a deep breath, smoothing out any wrinkles in her gown with her palms.
Brahm scowled in her direction.
Something very Middleton-esque was going on here.
Could that trio never behave?
He waited for this Middleton to move away from him before he set out to the space where he witnessed Holly Middleton disappear. He halted at the same spot, more or less, and pressed his back against the wall, just as she had. Seconds later the wall gave way to a hidden passage.
One corner of his mouth quirked up.
He hadn’t imagined things after all. Which begged the question, just how had the little conniving creature known this secret panel existed?
Mindful of being as silent as possible, he shut the panel and followed the path, glad for the cracks of light filtering through the wooden wall. And there appeared to be no sign of rats. He hated rats—almost as much as he loathed such tight spaces.
Brahm hadn’t quite known what to expect after following her through the secret panel. Certainly not Miss Middleton perched precariously on a footstool, peeking through two holes.
Though he shouldn’t have been surprised.
Still, even with his annoyance over being the one burdened to discover whatever this latest scheme was, he couldn’t stop his lungs from constricting as his gaze followed the outline of her flimsy garment until his eyes finally stopped at her posterior.
Brahm felt the ground give way under him.
What in the blazes?
This was Holly Middleton.
Not an angelic temptress.
He had no business noting her derriere or the way the skirt attached to her corset clung to her hips, enticing him to . . .
Brahm cursed.
He had never held any favor for the Middletons, mostly because they stirred up headaches wherever they went, and he sure as hell had no business suddenly lusting after one, especially one supposed to be betrothed.
Displeasure swiftly replaced any forbidden woolgathering. These desires were simply not to be borne, and neither was whatever trouble Holly Middleton was in the midst of creating.
“What on God’s green earth are you doing?” he boomed.
Miss Middleton whirled, losing her balance and toppling over.
Brahm shot forward, catching her in his arms, her soft body pressing up against him, melting away some of his annoyance.
At the same time, the full-toned resonance of his voice echoed throughout the entire church, and a notable hush fell over the ceremony, unmistakable even from behind the safe confines of the hidden room.
Miss Middleton’s eyes rounded, and she scrambled from his embrace to take up position on the footstool once more, effectively dismissing his presence. Not to be excluded, and having learned his lesson from speaking in this hidden room, Brahm moved beside her to the air vent and peeked through.
Sure enough, the entire ceremony had come to a halt, and the duke’s face had reddened to that of a ripe tomato. The bride, almost nervously, glanced back, searching for the man who so loudly voiced his outrage. After a breathtaking moment of anticipation, in which no one claimed responsibility, the bride shrugged and continued forward; the orchestra followed her lead and chimed in again. Even the duke visibly relaxed, though his eyes remained alert.
Calm . . . for now, Brahm mused.
How did the duke not know the difference between the two women? Even Brahm could tell the dissimilarity between them. For one, Willow Middleton was much milder and level-headed than her wild sister, a trait that could be easily spotted in the way she held herself, even in the way she walked. Holly Middleton had more of a spring to her step and did not possess a regal bone in her body. That alone should have tipped off the duke, and if not that, then the obvious difference in height.
The entire ceremony held him captive. He wanted to look away, wanted to scold the Middleton standing next to him, but could do neither. He knew what was coming, what was transpiring before him, but damn if he could tear his eyes away.
And who was he to protest? The last thing he wanted was to become embroiled in the lives of these three chits, notorious for their lack of grace and wild, reckless behavior.
“Dearly beloved, we are gathered together here in the sight of God . . .”
“Lord Almighty,” Brahm heard Miss Middleton whisper as the ceremony commenced.
“. . . have and to hold from this day forward . . .”
“This cannot be happening,” she whispered again.
“. . . if any of you knows any impediment, why you may not be lawfully joined together in matrimony . . .”
Miss Middleton let out a low croak as they both waited for someone, anyone to voice an objection, but only soft murmurs of assent filled the room.
Brahm held his breath, as did Miss Middleton, he imagined, both of them engrossed in the entire affair.
“. . . have this woman to be thy wedded wife, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony? Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honor her, and keep her in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all others, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?”
“I will,” spoke the voice of the duke, firm and resolute.
Brahm’s gaze swung to the bride.
“Wilt thou have this man to be thy wedded husband, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony? Wilt thou obey him and serve him, love, honor, and keep him in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all others, keep thee only unto him, so long as ye both shall live?”
“I will.”
A soft gasp came from Holly at Brahm’s side.
God help him, but he had stumbled upon a scandal in the making. In retrospect, it was amazing how they got away with it. But then, who would ever suspect a bride swap?
Finally, after a drawn out ceremony, it came down to the moment when the duke lifted the veil of his bride. If the man felt any shock at finding an entirely different sister behind the lace than the one he’d been betrothed to, it didn’t show on his face.
Troublemakers, the lot of them.
Good luck to you, St. Ives. You will need it.
A soft whimper reminded him that he too was stuck with one of those troublemakers. What the devil had possessed him to follow her? If they were caught together, his head will be slipped in the noose as well.
Brahm raked her with a scowl. “You are in serious trouble, Miss Middleton.”
“She wasn’t supposed to take my place,” Miss Middleton said, her voice filled with misery. She turned to him. “Willow was only meant to leave a note.”
“Be glad that she did. The duke’s fury might have been the ruin of your entire family. Advice for the future, Miss Middleton: when you do not wish to marry someone, decline their offer.”
“Perhaps the marriage had been arranged by my father.”
Brahm snorted. “You are not the oldest, are you? Besides, if your father had wished for you to marry, he’d have gotten rid of the lot of you years ago.”
Her outraged gasp caused the people nearest to the wall to look around.
“Would you settle your feathers?” he scolded, his eyes burning into hers. “Given your state of undress, lest you still want to be married, keep your voice down.”
Those temptingly full lips snapped shut.
Good.
The last thing he wanted was to be fastened to her for the rest of his life.
Pivoting on his heel, he turned to leave. But years of courtesy drilled into his skull caused him to hesitate. Confound it! Now was not the time for chivalry. But he looked back at her. Damn if she didn’t resemble an abandoned alley cat. Her small shoulders drooped in defeat. She was a little thing, and with his size, he dwarfed her. But it was her blue eyes, so full and trusting in her delicate face—though there probably wasn’t an innocent bone in her body—that got to him.
“Can I escort you somewhere?” Brahm offered.
She perked up. “You would assist me?”
“Against my better judgment,” he muttered, noting how with each breath she inhaled her corset pushed up the delights that lay beneath. While not large, her breasts were just the right amount to tempt a man to settle his lips there. Of course, that obliterated the childlike image of her that he had carefully constructed in his mind.
“Blast it,” he swore, shrugging out of his coat and offering it to her. “Just cover yourself up, for Christ’s sake.”
“You curse a lot.”
“Only when I’m vexed,” Brahm snapped.
“Which is a lot.”
Brahm narrowed his eyes on her. “And you talk a lot for a lady in need of assistance.”
She snatched the jacket from his fingers and turned her back on him in a haughty whirl. “Fine.”
For the tenth time that day Brahm wondered what madness had possessed him to involve himself. And since when did he find Holly Middleton attractive? It was as though in the span of a moment she had transformed into an exotic fruit, and he could not help wanting to take a bite of her sweet nectar.
God save him.
Sweet nectar?
His head felt as though it had been split in two, yet he hadn’t taken a blow to it. Not even a quarter of an hour in her presence and she’d driven him to complete, utter madness.
The chit wasn’t even his type. Not that he claimed to have a type, but he did prefer his women tall and busty, not frail little creatures such as she. And he favored women who, to be frank, resembled a woman and not a child. In fact, he had always seen the sisters as just that: children, nursing at the teat of a wet nurse, suckling on velvety cream breasts—
Christ.
He turned away and busied himself by glaring at a pile of stacked books, finding it more prudent than watching her shrug into his jacket. When she finished, she came to stand before him, a small smile curving at the edges of her lips. Of course, his gaze just had to drop to those soft mounds to see if they were well and truly concealed.
“What are you staring at?”
Brahm’s head snapped up. “I . . . er . . . just asserting that your interesting choice of apparel is covered.”
“Oh! They are marvelous, are they not? My cousin Belle had them designed for me.”
Well, that explained everything, then.
The muffled pitter-patter of footsteps moving alongside their hiding place drew their attention back to the matter at hand.
“I must speak with Willow,” Miss Middleton implored in a solemn voice. “Will you help me?”
Brahm shook his head. “Not possible, I’m afraid. You must leave town at once if you wish to avoid the backlash that’s to follow this scandal, and if you are wise, Miss Middleton, you will stay away for a lengthy time. Or at least until the duke has forgiven this deception.”
“I’m well aware of the consequences, sir. But I must know if my sister is all right.”
“And if you are caught?”
“I’m ruined, not a fugitive of the crown,” she snapped.
“Besides the fact that St. Ives won’t leave your sister’s side, it will be best to first determine whether he will be out for blood,” Brahm said, resisting the urge to glare her down.
Her hands had lifted to rest on her hips, and her blue eyes narrowed on him in a way that strangely stirred up a desire to kiss her.
He almost groaned.
“You are right, of course. But where will I go? I do not wish to burden my family, not until I know what the duke plans to do.”
“Have you no one you can visit in the country?”
She shook her head. “I’m a social outcast now, remember.”
His jaw slackened. “There is absolutely no one? What of friends?”
“Of course I have friends. But none I’d ever put in the position to lie for me! This is such a dreadful mess.”
Brahm concurred. “I own a cottage in Dover,” he found himself saying. “It’s not much, but it remains vacant, so you will be shielded there until the dust settles.”
Hopeful eyes shot to him, and for one mad moment, he desired to do more than just provide her a safe place to stay. He wanted to offer her something intimate, like brushing his lips against hers. Then he instantly dismissed the notion. He was not her damn hero, and kisses would not be considered. Granted, by dispatching her to one of his estates, he might just have reached the height of insanity. It also meant she’d fall under his protection.
God help them both.
“I will be most grateful for your assistance.”
“It’s nothing,” he muttered gruffly. It was deuced hard not to react to the relief in her voice when his protective instincts were already so fired up. He clenched his hands at his side. “I will secure a ticket with a mailing coach. It should be sufficient.”
“You will not escort me?”
It was on his lips to say no. The reply had already formulated in his brain, but, then, “Do you wish for me to escort you?”
“Only if it’s not too much trouble.”
Brahm scowled, more to himself than at her. Damn those big, blue eyes staring up at him! It was simple. Just say no. No. But while his mind remained clear on the matter, his mouth apparently did not.
Before he could react, Miss Middleton threw herself into his arms, and he grunted as his breath left his body. The chit packed some mighty strength into her petite frame.
“Thank you! You shall not regret this.”
He pulled her off him, holding her at bay by the shoulders. “No need for that, Miss Middleton. Any gentleman worth his salt would aid a lady in need of his assistance.”
She cocked her head to the side. “I daresay not any gentleman would be brave enough to risk the wrath of a duke.”
“Then I am unique,” he muttered. Because here he was, dead in the center, about to do something altogether out of character: aid a Middleton in a mad scheme. For once, his sister would be pleased. And that—Josephine’s fondness for the Middletons—was the only reason he was assisting Holly Middleton in the first place.
Or so he told himself.