Page 22 of Mad Duke March

Emily opened her mouth to respond, and he impatiently raised his hand. “By God, woman, you can’t be disagreeing again! I agreed to give you everything you want.”

Emily clamped her lips shut and glared at the duke. He was right. He’d given her everything she’d wanted. Which meant that she was right as well. He needed this marriage almost as much as she did.

Why?

She shook the question away. She wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

His grimace turned smug as he straightened, smoothing his cravat with his gloved hand. “Splendid. I shall get a special license and we’ll be married by the end of the week.” He flew past her, almost toppling over Harriet as she entered the room with a plate of biscuits in one hand and a rag in another. He threw her a brief nod and stormed out of the house.

Harriet blinked, looking from the now-empty doorway to a stunned Emily.

“I suppose we are staying in London,” Emily said with a nervous chuckle. “And we need to get ready for the wedding.”

Chapter Seven

“Itake thee, Alexander Blackwood, the Duke of Tyrone, to be my wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward.” His bride’s solemn voice enveloped him like a soft and cozy blanket.

Tyrone held her gloves hands in his, running his thumb over her knuckles. Her hands were warm and something equally as warm unfurled inside his chest.

Voices buzzed around him, wrenching him out of his thoughts.

“Let’s have another drink!” a slurred voice boomed, followed by loud cheering. Where was that coming from?

Tyrone blinked, and the sun hit his eyes, forcing him to squint once again. He needed to concentrate. He had just been holding his bride’s hands…

“For better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health…” There it was, her voice, again. It soothed his aching soul.

He looked into her deep brown eyes and saw sadness in them.

She had pursued him so relentlessly. He’d thought today would be the happiest day of her life. The day she snagged a duke. He’d expected to see a happy smile on her face, or at the very least, a fiendish smirk. But no.

She was pale, the color drained from her cheeks. Her lips were blue and trembling. And her face was… blank. The face of resignation.

“To the groom!” someone shouted, distracting Tyrone’s attention. The male voices were distorted in the background, and the lights flickered all around them while he and his new bride were plunged into darkness.

Yet her voice continued, solemn and void of emotion, “To love, cherish, and obey, so long as we both shall live.”

Loud music started playing around them, as people danced, laughing and cheering. Then the atmosphere changed in an instant.

The sounds of fists connecting with flesh grabbed his attention. Was someone fighting?

Tyrone picked up a tankard and slammed it against someone’s head. He swayed on his feet and the next thing he knew, he was staring at the ceiling.

What was happening?

It all grew eerily quiet all of a sudden. But the darkness fell away and instead, a sharp light penetrated his eyelids. He squinted and turned away, throwing his arm over his eyes.

Ah, there she was again. His sad but beautiful bride.

She was staring at him with that empty gaze of hers. But after a few moments of silence, she raised her brows, as if questioning him or expecting something.

He looked to the right, at the minister, and he had the same questioning look in his eyes.

“Your turn, Your Grace,” he said with a nod. “Repeat after me.”

Tyrone nodded.

“With this ring, I thee wed,” the minister said.