Page 4 of To Steal a Duchess

The emotionless title made Eloise move back again, fighting a wince. “I—I know, but⁠—”

“But nothing,” her mother hissed. “We can do no more for you now, do you understand? Lord Starling was your last chance.”

“A man with an illegitimate child at that!” Eloise countered, trying to keep her voice as hushed as it could, given that the last of the guests were still leaving, their heads turning once more toward the altar, desperate for the last scrap of scandal. “I would rather be a spinster, Mother, than be married to a man who will not take responsibility for his actions!”

“Oh, no man ever does,” her mother groaned. “No man does, Eloise, and you must let go of this notion that somebody⁠—”

Her words halted as a shadow fell over the altar, and Eloise realized the Duke of Oldcliff had returned.

“Some men take responsibility for what they cause,” he said coolly, and Eloise turned to him, her brow furrowing in question.

“Exactly,” Eloise’s father boasted, his chest puffing up. “For I shall take responsibility and find my daughter another match. Thank you for bringing this to light, Your⁠—”

“You will not need to find her another match, Lord Wittby,” the duke told him lowly. “For I will marry Lady Eloise.”

Chapter Two

“I—I must… Your Grace, I must ask you to repeat yourself.”

Dorian Pike, the Duke of Oldcliff, only stared back at Lord Wittby.

In his periphery, he could see Lady Eloise, the earl’s only daughter. He hated to see her almost pushed onto the Marquess. Fortunately, it had been easy for Dorian to chase the scoundrel away with a simple, buried truth. Her curls gently brushed her face and collarbones, stray strands caught in the wind, coming loose from the unfolding of her wedding day.

“I do not understand,” Lord Wittby pushed. “You… you wish to what?”

“As I said,” Dorian told them, his voice level, “that you do not need to find your daughter another match. I will marry Lady Eloise.” He paused, trying not to smile indulgently at the open-mouthed Earl and Countess of Wittby as they stared at him, as they clearly, slowly, processed the concept of their daughter marrying a duke.

He glanced back at the lady herself, trying not to notice the exact shade of her wide, panicked eyes. She had clearly overheard him, too.

Dorian turned back to her parents. “Well? Nobody wishes for spinsterhood for Lady Eloise, and I am certain you would not deny her the life and security I can give her with my financial standing.”

He was ensnaring them, making sure that they fell into step with his game, just as he had planned for them to. So far, his plan had worked. Only, he hadn’t expected Lord Sarling to flee so soon. Deep down, Dorian wanted more fun with the blubbering man whose secrets had been exposed.

He wanted to see him more afraid.

Dorian had wanted to control the whole of the marquess’ unmasking, had wanted to see him squirm as his shameful behavior was revealed, and to be denied that… it was not comfortable.

But this—this was something else worth chasing control over.

No, not chase, because he hadn’t. Not really. Control over this had practically fallen into Dorian’s lap, and he had snatched it hungrily.

In his direct line of sight, Lord and Lady Wittby both blinked at him before they looked at one another. Their shared gaze lasted mere seconds before they seemed to silently understand each other. They turned back to him as one, almost uncanny in their tandem. Then again, they had likely been married for several decades. A person had the potential to become almost mirror-like with their spouse.

Dorian hoped he never experienced that.

“You are most considerate, Your Grace,” Lady Wittby all but purred, moving forward to offer her arm for him to link. “Let us walk a little. It is far too stuffy in here.” Dorian stiffened, wanting nothing more than to decline her request of both walking and her arm to be taken, but he did so in order to not cause any further tension; he had set the day veering off course enough already.

Tensely, he placed her arm into the crook of his elbow. Lady Wittby gave him a languid smile as if she was pleased with him. Lady Eloise was soon tugged toward Lady Wittby’s other side, their arms linked, too.

Yet he could see how tightly she cinched her daughter’s elbow to her side, how the line of Lady Eloise’s shoulders, just visible above the neckline of her wedding gown, was tight.

“Come, Thomas,” Lady Wittby ordered her husband, and the four of them descended down the aisle, leaving behind a confused priest.

Dorian looked at the light outside the open chapel doors, realizing that most of the guests had left in their carriages. A few milled around, likely eager for gossip, but it was quiet enough.

The fresh air did not hold his attention for long enough, for he couldn’t stop glancing at Lady Eloise behind Lady Wittby’s back.

He could say very little right now; he could say and do nothing but make his case because of what he had been pleaded for. Whatever it took to relieve Lady Eloise of this scandal, he would do it. He was too involved now to walk away and leave her reputation shattered by his hand.