“You are marrying me?” She was still disbelieving of what she’d heard.
“Was that not your demand? I cannot give you the satisfaction of Anthony’s hand, nor can I meet you on the field of honor at dawn. And I certainly do not wish to be shot in my own library. I thought you said I would do?”
“I…I am merely startled by the ease of your capitulation, Your Gr…Sebastian. I feared I would at least have to shoot you in the arm for my intentions not to be doubted.” She glanced uncertainly at the closed door. “You sent for the vicar.”
“Yes…he will marry us upon his arrival.”
Jocelyn laughed, the sound thin and high. “You jest, I’m sure.”
“Do I detect unwillingness? Is there a chance I mistook your meaning when you demanded satisfaction?”
She surged to her feet. “No, you did not.”
She paced the library in a daze unable to stay still. “The scandal of wedding so quickly without my family present, or a courting period of a few weeks at least—”
“Denied.”
“I beg your pardon?” She plucked up her veil and top hat, and clutched them to her chest.
“I do not bow to the conventions of society, Jocelyn. Nor did I imagine that you did, after the way you stormed my estate waving your derringer.”
Her feet sank into the thick carpet as she resumed pacing. The duke leaned against the bookshelf and watched her.
“I cannot credit that you would have us wed so soon. It’s impossible. The banns will need to be read and—”
“I will procure a special license and we will wed tomorrow morning at nine.”
She gaped at him. “I do not think it possible to obtain a license so soon, Sebastian.”
“I am the Duke of Calydon. It will be done.”
She blinked at him owlishly, unsure if she could even scoff at his arrogance.
A slow, devastating smile slashed his features and she swallowed at the strange flutter it caused inside her.
“Are you at least twenty-one, Jocelyn?”
“Yes”
“Then I will have my solicitor visit Doctor’s Common and procure a special license for us.”
A disconcerting thrill went through Jocelyn at his words. He was willing to marry her.
Disbelief and a deep excitement unfurled within her. She stopped her pacing abruptly, staring at him with wide eyes. He prowled over to her as myriad emotions tumbled through her—doubt, fear, relief, followed by unguarded joy. Her family was saved.
But it didn’t take long for the fear and uncertainty to return. Could she really do this? “I…”
“Yes, Jocelyn?”
“My father will object to such a short notice. I fear he may—”
“You will spend the night here at Sherring Cross and we will wed in the morning. There is no need for you to return home to face his objections.”
Jocelyn stared at him, scandalized. She had not forgotten what he’d said about taking her. Even if he provided a paragon with the most virtuous of sensibilities as a chaperon, she would not spend a night under his roof. “Please disabuse yourself of such a ludicrous notion. I have a cousin who resides in Cringleford. I could visit her, and send a note informing my father of my decision,” she ventured carefully.
“Does that mean you consent to marrying me tomorrow?”
She had no choice. She must, for her sisters. To give them all a chance at happiness. That had been the plan all along.
Taking a deep breath, she said the most momentous words of her life. “Yes, I will marry you tomorrow, Your Grace.”
She didn’t dare analyze the shadow of primitive satisfaction that swept across his face.
Nor did she have time, since he quickly angled his head down, gently fitting his lips against hers, sealing their agreement.
And as she melted into his too-tempting kiss, she just hoped those words would not also prove the most calamitous of her life.
Chapter Three
Jocelyn’s capitulation had ignited a fire in Sebastian’s cock and he could still taste her on his tongue. After taking luncheon with her and conferring with his lawyer, he had used the remainder of the day to draft their marriage contract. He’d spent the night restless, wondering if she would return to Sherring Cross. This morning, he dared not analyze the feeling of pleasure and satisfaction that permeated every cell in his body when his butler announced her promptly at eight o’clock.
She was dressed in her freshly laundered riding habit with her hair pulled back in a severe bun. Sebastian thought she looked delectable.
She graciously consented to break her fast with him despite her apparent nervousness. Conversation for the following hour was very stilted, but Sebastian did not mind. He felt contented observing her and envisioning the upcoming night.
He suppressed a flare of need as he watched her eat the last morsel on her plate. She darted her tongue to capture a crumble of cake from the corner of her mouth. Her lips had a lush sexuality, and he swallowed a groan at the mental image of her tongue caressing his thick shaft. He doubted he’d ever anticipated being deep inside someone as he had her.
The emotions that stirred as he’d watched her for the past hour were not welcome. And yet, her boldness pulled him, and the mirrored need in her gaze intrigued him as she watched him covertly and with a soft hunger. He wasn’t given to fanciful notions, but if he was not careful, he could find himself steadily craving her. A state he would never welcome.
Despite her innocence, given her easy capitulation to his brother’s charms, Sebastian fully expected her to be unfaithful in marriage. Wasn’t that what women did? They couldn’t be trusted. He’d learned that the hard way from the two women he had loved and given his trust.
A savage surge of denial filled him at the thought that she might betray him to such an extent. His fingers clenched tight around his knife. He forced himself to release it, and leaned back in his chair. He would not suffer disloyalty or betrayal from her.
Her nervousness grew notably when his butler announced the vicar’s arrival. Her gaze flitted around the room, glancing everywhere but at him.
He rose and sauntered toward her, enjoying her discomfort. Next time, perhaps she would be more cautious in her demands.
“Come. The vicar awaits us in the library.” She scraped back her chair and came to her feet without waiting for him to assist her. She walked before him with short, easy strides, graceful yet determined, and the rounded curve of her backside had arousal teasing him once more. Thrusting his hands in his trouser pockets he wondered how best to deal with her. He knew full well she was only marrying him for his wealth. Not that he cared. He did not know if there had ever been a time when marriage had been about something other than money.
A sensual smile curved his lips. Though, indeed, marriage did have certain other benefits. He would ensure the lady had no time even to think
of taking a lover, if that was her wont. He would keep her—and himself—well pleasured, day and night, riding her long, slow, and deep. If she then still had the withal to find a lover, he would either tip his hat to her or banish her.
She swept into the parlor and halted when she saw the two young ladies who waited. She glanced at him.
“These are Vicar Primrose’s wife and daughter, Miss Alicia and Mrs. Felicity Primrose. They are our witnesses,” he explained.
They rose to their feet, twin blond heads bobbing to greet them.
Jocelyn nodded mutely in acknowledgement, and he signaled the baffled vicar to begin.
He wondered fleetingly if he should halt the proceedings to grant her a courtship period and a wedding that befitted a duchess. Was he denying her a dream that he could easily accede to? Constance, his sister, reminded him every so often that it was an atrocity not to be married in a wedding gown fashioned by Worth from Paris. But he dismissed the notion immediately. This was a business arrangement. She wanted his money, and he wanted an heir. Dreams didn’t enter into it.
The vicar cleared his throat and asked them to face each other. Satisfaction rushed through Sebastian when she squared her shoulders, lifted her chin a notch, and met his eyes unflinchingly.
As the vicar’s voice droned on, he only partially listened to the words of affirmation and commitment. He responded when needed, a smile quirking his lips whenever he noted the wild fluttering at Jocelyn’s throat that belied her serene expression. He couldn’t help but admire her aplomb.
“Your Grace, the ring.”
He withdrew it from his pocket and her hand shook when he slid the turquoise encrusted, rose-cut diamond ring on her finger. He could feel her surprise at it, no doubt wondering how he had come to procure such a beautiful ring so quickly.
A light sheen of disbelief then glazed her eyes as he tightened his fingers on hers, and said, “I thee wed, Jocelyn Virginia Charlotte Rathbourne.”