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Three days, two hours, and approximately eleven minutes—that was how long Holly had been imprisoned in this room. Or at least she thought it was. It was hard to say. Her eyes had hardly left the clock since she had awoken to find St. Ives at her bedside, but she didn’t know how long she had been asleep after they first brought her to the room.
She sat on the floor before the bed, staring at the luxury around her in mild contemplation. After the duke had left, not one other person had entered the room except for the footman who brought her food. Whenever he left, he locked her in. She supposed the next time she’d see anyone else would be at her unwanted wedding.
St. Ives must not have told anyone that he had found her; he practically admitted he had no intention of telling Willow. If he had, she knew her sisters would have found a way to free her. And being a captive for three days, Holly had ample amount of time to consider her fate. It had become startling clear that there would be no escaping it.
She had tried, of course. To escape, that is.
She had tried her damndest.
But the duke had thought of everything. She shot a glare at the window, which had been bolted shut. From the outside. She had even considered smashing the glass, but what use would it be, since there were nails mounted into the wall on the outside.
Damn you, St. Ives.
Her eyes flicked to the door, her lips pulling up in annoyance. She had tried to pick the lock, too. But her hairpins hadn’t done the trick, and there was nothing strong enough in the room to pick the sturdy lock.
There was nothing to signal for help, either. The windows faced a private garden and no other houses.
At one point, she did contemplate knocking out the footman with a food tray and making a dash for it, but she simply wasn’t a violent person, and given their size difference, she doubted it would work.
If a maid had visited, she could have pleaded her case and begged her to send a note of her whereabouts to her sisters. But only the footman came into her room, as sour as the duke himself.
She had even stood by the door screaming for hours on end for the staff to let her out.
She eyed the golden tray with ambivalence.
She had reached the moment of truth: she would launch a stealthy attack on a footman and make her grand escape or soon be the wife of Lord Jonathan Griffin. Not a bad match, if only her heart did not hurt so much over it.
She reached for the tray.
Holly missed Brahm. Missed his thunderous expressions, his dark scowls, and the way his lips twitched whenever she amused him. But, above all, she missed the strong circle of his arms.
Her fingers traced over the patterns etched into the plate.
Hope was a damnable thing.
When all else failed, it allowed her to fantasize of being rescued by Brahm. But then she would remember he had left her, and those fantasies would turn to dust. An hour later, she would entertain them again, but this time her sisters would be the administrators of her rescue, and Brahm would ride in on his knightly steed and whisk her away just as the duke caught up to them again.
Holly was and would always be a romantic at heart—she loved a good, happy ending.
It wasn’t over yet.
Not while she had this tray. She clutched it tightly against her chest.
However, the truth remained that Holly was the sole administrator of her escape. Brahm believed she was firmly nestled at the cottage, and by the time her family discovered her presence here, she might already be wedded—and bedded—if her bolt for freedom failed.
Holly’s head fell back against the bed.
The thought of rolling around in the sheets with Lord Jonathan left her feeling cold and numb. The only man she wanted to be seduced by had run away from the seduction.
She sighed. Holly had wanted to believe him different from all the others. It had certainly felt different than all the others. She’d truly believed she stood a chance with Brahm. That it had been true love.
She had been wrong. Again.
Holly wondered how her sister fared as the overbearing duke’s duchess. Here, locked away in this stellar room, she had caught a glimpse of the life she had escaped but doomed her sister to. At least St. Ives had seemed flustered by Willow’s presence in his life.
This routine would kill her yet. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner were delivered to her room at exactly ten o’clock, two o’clock, and eight o’clock, respectively. Not a minute earlier or a minute later.
Every day it remained the same. Her surroundings may be elegant and lovely, but inside, Holly felt as hollow as the small vase stationed expertly on the—empty—writing table.
She had begun to wonder what would happen if the footman brought her food two minutes early. Would he wait outside her door until those excess minutes passed? Which begged the next question: Was the entire staff in possession of pocket watches?
Honestly, she could just imagine the servants regularly checking their pocket watch to ensure their timing was always impeccable. And what if their timing was a bit off? Would their faces then distort in justifiable horror? Or would their hearts slam against their chests as their footsteps either slowed or quickened?
It must have driven the duke near mental to discover he had not wedded the Middleton he’d chosen. It appeared he valued control above all things. The man was mad, completely insane. And if nothing else, her initial acquiescence to his proposal certainly revealed her utter lack of skill when it came to spotting dubious predators.
Desperate to fall in love, the duke had said.
He was right, to some degree.
Holly was desperate—but not to fall in love, just to find the man her heart longed for. And as the days passed and she was left to her own devices in the confines of these four walls, she often wondered what Brahm was doing at that precise moment.
Like now, when she was seated on the ground, captured, was he perhaps sleeping in? Or was he seated behind his desk in his study, attending estate matters, a scowl darkening his brow? Did he spare her any thought?
Holly had been so confident he was The One.
There had been a connection between them, she was sure of it. There had been a spark of passion, too, which she had thought could lead to more—to love.
If only the storm hadn’t let up so soon. Perhaps then . . . But such ruminations were neither here nor there. It would not save her from her current problem.
The sudden heavy fall of footsteps alerted her that she was about to have a visitor. The duke? She would like to box his ears if he so much as came close to her this time. It seemed she was capable of some violence, after all.
She clutched the tray tighter.
A moment later, a key turned in the lock and the door swung open.
A tall, lean figure with a mop of brown hair and brown eyes appeared in the doorway. His gaze searched the room before it settled on her, where she sat on the floor. Then his lips stretched into a wide grin.
Her eyes narrowed on the man. “And who might you be?”
She had her suspicions.
“Ah, yes, that’s right. We have never been properly introduced. Allow me the pleasure. I am Lord Jonathan Griffin,” he made a sweeping bow, “and I am delighted to meet the woman my brother has captured for my wife.”
I knew it.
So this was Lord Jonathan Griffin.
The duke’s wayward brother.
Spare to the heir.
Her intended fiancé.
“Come to inspect the merchandise?”
If anything, his smile broadened. “In a manner of speaking . . . I have come to see whether you are just as defiant as the new duchess.” He gave her a crooked grin. “I see that you are.”
“I’m glad I can amuse you.”
Holly watched as he leaned back against the wall, his arms crossing over his chest as he studied her. He was young but powerfully built. Quick wit shown out from his eyes, as did good humor.
Overall, though, her largest impression was simply how unlike his sibling he was. In fact, had Holly met him first, say in a few years’ time, he might very well have been a man she might have come to admire.
Well, if she’d never spent time with Brahm, that is. Now all she could think about was that he hadn’t shut the door.
“The entirety of the situation amuses me,” Lord Jonathan began. “I came as soon as I received word of my brother’s upcoming nuptials. Unfortunately, the weather in Scotland took a turn for the worse, and I was delayed. I did, however, arrive in the nick of time to discover my brother wedded to the wrong woman.”
“Wrong is a poor choice of word,” Holly snapped.
“But correct, isn’t it? Nonetheless, I was shocked to discover my brother planned retribution—to marry off his former betrothed to me.”
“Not keen for second helpings, I take it?”
“Not keen to marry—not yet.”
Holly’s head perked up at that, and a seed of light sprouted in her chest. Not hope, precisely, but something else, like a bud, which might yet blossom into hope. “I suppose this is where you stand aside and tell me to run for it?”
His laughter rang through the room. “Would you trust me if I said yes?” He motioned to the tray clutched in her hands. “Whack me over the head for good measure, heh?”
Holly’s face flamed.
He chuckled. “Thought so.”
“I may be a prisoner of your brother, Lord Jonathan, and so far my attempts to escape have been futile, but I refuse to lie down and await my fate like some docile creature.”
He shifted on his legs, his nose wrinkling. “Fate. I have always despised that word. It suggests I have no control over my future.”
“Then you and your brother are more alike than I first thought.”
He gave her a wolfish grin. “On the contrary, my dear, I have never enjoyed captive birds. I find beautiful creatures should not be caged. It is why I am here—to set you free.”
Holly’s eyes widened in disbelief. That tiny bud was blossoming in her chest when another thought struck her. What if this was a trick to test her? Yes, that must be it. For when something sounded too good to be true, it usually was—and it often came along with a harsh lesson. The bud closed again.
“I see you do not believe me.”
Holly rose to her feet. “Of course I do not. With your family, one never knows quite where you stand or what motives are behind your actions. For you to set me free from the mad clutches of your brother would mean you go against his wishes. I find it hard to believe that you, knowing him your entire life, would defy him.”
Lord Jonathan nodded in thought, pushing back from the wall. “Here is the thing, Miss Middleton. My brother does not scare me as much as your sister does.”
“Willow?” Holly asked, confused.
He nodded. “My lovely sister-in-law is quite the force to be reckoned with. I believe Ambrose will have a hard time controlling his new wife. In fact, for that very reason, I have decided to stick around.”
Holly arched a brow. “That gives me more pleasure than you can know.”
He winked at her. “And just so you know, Miss Middleton, if I were up for marrying at present or if someone else had not already staked his claim in a rather adamant fashion, I would have been happy to court you. I find you Middletons bold, and it’s terribly engaging, I must say.”
Holly scrunched her brows together. “I’m afraid I do not understand. Who staked a claim on me?”
“That surly beast of yours—Warton, I believe?—is on the warpath.”
Brahm knew the duke had her? How?
“The marquis staked no claim,” she denied.
“No? He quite boldly declared his intentions, and let’s not forget the part where he threatened to disembowel me if I married you. I rather enjoy my private parts intact.” He shuddered.
Holly blinked and then choked back a laugh. Brahm had threatened Lord Jonathan?
A thrill of pleasure shot through her. A man would not defend a woman in such a way if he did not care for her. He must carry some affection for her, then.
“He has a temper,” Holly agreed.
Lord Jonathan snorted. “A temper results in fisticuffs, not threats to castrate.”
All the more reason to love Brahm more.
“But what of your brother, the duke? Surely his wrath is not worth the betrayal.”
“My brother has lost his mind. In any case, I believe Ambrose is about to discover just how inconvenient it is to continually meddle in the lives of others.”
“Would he harm my sister?”
“I would not worry about your sister; she’s quite the hellcat if she doesn’t get want she wants.”
Holly laughed. “I’m sure she would enjoy that reference immensely,” she murmured with wry amusement. But with his words came relief. She had been so worried that she had ruined her sister’s life, but this was confirmation rather than just hope that Willow had her marriage well enough in hand. “Are you not mad at me for jilting your brother?”
He shrugged. “On the contrary, it gives me great delight. The day he ventured into Middleton domain was a great day indeed. Though, had it transpired differently . . . well, I might feel otherwise.”
Holly nodded. Willow had well and truly saved their family by marrying the duke in her place. No one was jilted, and it appeared, if Lord Jonathan was to be understood, that his brother had met his match.
“You are a rogue, are you not?”
Lord Jonathan leaned forward, as if to impart a great secret, his eyes sparkling with mirth. “The secret to being a rogue is to not admit one is a rogue, for that would defeat the entire purpose of being a rogue.”
Holly shook her head. The lord had charm, for certain, but she had come to prefer the brooding sort.
“Do you believe your brother will forgive us in time?” she murmured after a moment.
“I believe,” he said, considering his words before he continued, “given that Warton threatened to disembowel him and me, Ambrose will come to see the light eventually. Warton is not an enemy you want at your back.”
“He threatened the duke as well?”
Lord Jonathan nodded. “I thought that Warton was full of bluster, but then I saw a powerful group of individuals at his back.”
This time hope did not blossom, it soared. The man she loved had not abandoned her. He was fighting for her.
“Surely your brother has powerful friends as well?” she asked.
“Oh, yes, though it is curious why he hasn’t rallied them to his side.”
Curious, indeed.
“Wait, so everyone knows about my relationship with Warton?”
“It would appear so.” Amusement sparked in his gaze.
Dear Lord. She did not know whether that was a nightmare or a relief.
A sudden idea occurred to her.
“Lord Jonathan, perhaps I can prevail upon you to aid me with something.”
“I’m all ears, Miss Middleton.”
“Please, call me Holly; we are family now, after all.”
“No need to remind me. I shall be the uncle that regales my nephews and nieces with the tale of how the duke once attempted to marry me, his brother, to his sister-in-law,” he teased. “Tell me what you require, Holly.”
“I need to pin a card.”
“Might I inquire as to the nature of this card?” Jonathan asked, his eyes flashing with good humor.
Holly’s lips stretched into a brilliant smile. “Why, indeed—it’s an invitation to marriage.”