The Duke's Shotgun Wedding (Scandalous House of Calydon 1)

I am looking forward to our wedding night.

Since she hoped that meant he was prepared to enjoy it, she decided on curiosity.

She would not believe a gentleman would lead her straight to the event after travelling for hours in the chaise. Not without time to ready herself.

But then, he was not a gentleman, as proclaimed by his own words.

She was nervous, even though she had nearly convinced herself there was nothing to be afraid about.

Nearly.

She gulped as heat rushed through her at the memory of her father’s talk. He had tried to tell her what to expect. She had been amazed, then stupefied as he had taken a seat before her, his complexion florid, and wheezing like a bellows. She had thought he was on the verge of a heart attack. Unfortunately, the only words he managed to utter did not reveal much about the act itself.

“Be brave,” he’d said. “Be brave.”

Then Mrs. Winthrop had not helped at all by telling her that she must not gainsay her husband, even if he wanted to do wicked and immoral things to her. Jocelyn could not imagine what could go on in a bed chamber that was wicked and immoral. She had rolled her eyes and said as much.

Mrs. Winthrop had then warned her in the most ominous voice, “Beware the devil’s trap, girl.”

She hadn’t known that Mrs. Winthrop had it in her to be so dark and gloomy.

She and Sebastian reached the landing without him speaking. He seemed lost in thought…possibly plotting the wicked and immoral things he would do to her. The idea sent an unbidden curl of excitement through her body.

He stopped at a massive oak door carved with an intricate design of a dragon. “Your lady’s maid will be here shortly to assist you.”

Without another word he spun around to leave.

“Wait!”

“Yes, Jocelyn?”

“Will you…um— Will we…?”

The sensual smile that creased his handsome face was her answer.

She inhaled shakily, wrenched open the door, and stumbled hastily into the room.

Immediately, her gaze zeroed in on the bed. Good lord. She had never seen a bed so massive. Fashioned of the finest exotic woods, it was raised on a dais, and surrounded by dark blue and silver drapes hung from a high wooden frame and gathered at the corners with silver cords.

She blinked as she studied the room. The sheer size of it was boggling, but the design exquisite. Persian carpets covered the floor and all the furniture was oak with the strange dragon motif emblazoned on them. The colors of the decor, from the carpet, the billowing drapes, and sofas, were shades of deep blue with silver. The elegance of the room awed her.

But— Surely this was not her chamber. She walked over to the bed and flushed at the garment splayed in its center. She lifted the pale blue chiffon peignoir and swallowed at its sheerness. She dropped it and stepped away from the bed.

She spun as the door opened and a maid swept in with a curtsy. “Yer Grace, I am Rose, your lady’s maid.”

“Hello Rose.” She smiled warmly, and started to unpin her hair as Rose hurried over to start unpacking her valise, which had somehow appeared.

“Would ye like a bath, Yer Grace?”

She gave her a tired nod, and sank into one of the sofas in the room. A moan slipped from her lips at the wonderful feel of the deep, soft cushions. Rose bustled with a jaunty kind of efficiency, disappearing several times into the adjoining room to prepare her bath.

“Are all the rooms this large, Rose?” Jocelyn called.

“No, Yer Grace, Mrs. Dudley says His Grace had this room specially designed.”

“Oh? Is the duke’s room just as large?”

She paused in rubbing the tightness from her neck at the bird-like look of inquiry that Rose threw her way.

“This is His Grace’s room, Yer Grace.”

Jocelyn surged to her feet, nervously searching the walls around her. “I do not see a connecting door to my own chamber.”

“There is no duchess’s chamber, Yer Grace.”

“I beg your pardon?” The look on Jocelyn’s face must have betrayed her shock.

Rose rushed to explain. “Mrs. Dudley says on account o’ His Grace’s parents’ cold marriage with lots o’ closed doors, he tore down the wall separatin’ the duchess chambers from this one, so they made one big room. Mrs. Dudley says it must be on account o’ the duke not wantin’ such a cold marriage.”

Trepidation surged through Jocelyn at this bit of information. “I see.” She remained quiet as Rose undressed her and led her to the bath chamber. “Oh, my!”

“It’s a beauty ain’t it? His Grace had it fixed up with the latest modern plumbin’ a few years ago.”

Jocelyn hastily stripped off her dressing gown, stepped into the marble Grecian bathtub, and sank into the welcome heat of the water. She rubbed the scented jasmine soap over her arms, neck, and chest, her mind swirling with the idea that Sebastian did not want a cold marriage with separate chambers from his wife. Still, it was never prudent to listen to servants’ gossip. For all she knew, he’d removed the walls and connecting door for some completely unrelated reason.

She sank deep into the tub, all but purring in enjoyment as the heat of the water soothed the tenseness from her body, and she savored the luxurious bath to its fullest.

She refused to dwell with fear on the coming night, when her new husband would return to the chamber…to do wicked and immoral things to her.

…

He’d acquired a duchess.

Standing at the open library window, Sebastian dipped his hand in his trouser pocket, touching the locket that Anthony had given her. A wry smile twisted his lips and he raised his glass in a mock toast to his mother and drank.

His mother had given Sebastian the locket several years ago, telling him to bequeath it to his duchess for a future daughter, as it had belonged to the first born females in her family for several generations. As turned off by the notion of marriage as he was, he had gifted it to a reluctant Anthony for his first born daughter, instead.

When the locket had clattered across his desk to him, Sebastian had been stunned to realize the feeling that powered through him at the sight of it was relief. The necklace was back in his possession. It had never occurred that the heirloom meant so much to him.

He had sworn never to marry, comfortable to pass his several entailments to Anthony, even though Sebastian knew that wasn’t a burden his brother wanted. Anthony wanted to live free, sail the oceans, and visit the Americas and the Caribbean with his Miss Peppiwell. He continually expounded to Sebastian that he wanted to be unencumbered, to live his life as he wished, not be shackled to a handful of family piles containing only bad memories.

Unfortunately, Sebastian shared the sentiment.

The clock in the library chimed, signaling the midnight hour. He wondered if Jocelyn had fallen into slumber. He had secluded himself in the room where he felt most comfortable, to give her time to prepare, and had become lost in his thoughts for at least an hour. Was she waiting on him with virginal anxiety clothed in the provocative peignoir he’d had his lawyer acquire for him in London? Or had she fallen asleep, too exhausted from the day’s events to care about her wedding night?

His mouth curled in disdain.

A virgin.

He took a healthy swallow of the whisky that burned all the way down, filling him with the warmth that was desperately needed in the library. He stood with the tall windows open, the chilly air whistling in, deep and biting. He could never understand why he liked the cold so much. The fireplace that roared behind him did little to dull the ache that filled his bones, its only purpose to shed light into the room. The wind howled, and flecks of snow blew in, stinging his face and neck.