Andrea Kane (9 page)

“Are you so certain your future bride craves the same things Vanessa did?”

Trenton’s expression softened. “To the contrary. I’m certain Ariana craves far different things than Vanessa did. But she’s quite young and has obviously lived a very sheltered life. She has yet to be exposed to the wonders money can buy. She’ll change.”

Dustin regarded him thoughtfully. “Tell me about her.”

“Ariana?” Trenton’s mouth curved into a slow smile. “She’s a tantalizing little bundle of contradictions: innocent, trusting, idealistic, an inquisitive child, a breathtaking woman.” His smile faded. “Loyal to her brother and her family.”

“She sounds enchanting,” Dustin replied, missing not one iota of his brother’s inadvertent response.

“She’s a Caldwell.”

“Not for long, apparently.”

Trenton stood, walking rigidly to gaze out the window. “Her name will change; her blood will not.”

“And so you will punish her?” Dustin fished.

“I’m not going to harm her, if that’s what you mean.”

“Not intentionally, perhaps,” Dustin returned slowly, assessing the extent of his brother’s feelings. “But your anger is sure to be conveyed to her nonetheless.” He came up to lay a hand on Trenton’s taut shoulder. “Are you sure this is what you want, Trent?”

“I’m sure it’s what I must do.”

Dustin fell silent, weighing his next words carefully. “Is this duty alone we’re discussing?”

“Duty, yes. And retribution.”

“Nothing more?”

Trenton’s jaw tightened fractionally. “If you’re asking me if I want her, if I’m burning to feel her under me, the answer is yes. Even
I
am not so noble as to marry a woman I didn’t crave in my bed.”

The passion behind Trenton’s admission brought a new concern to Dustin’s mind. “Trent … if she’s
that
young …” He cleared his throat. “How does she feel about this union?”

A wry smile. “The union? Or me?”

“Both.”

“She despises the idea of a forced marriage. And me? She loathes me. She’s bewildered by me.” Something flickered in Trenton’s eyes. “She wants me.”

Dustin swooped down on his brothers final words. “Are you sure?”

“That she wants me?” Trenton’s expression was a picture of smug certainty. “Very sure. Surer even than Ariana herself.”

“By any chance …” Dustin paused, knowing he had to ask. “Does Ariana resemble Vanessa?”

Trenton swung around, his mouth drawn in a tight line of fury. “That has
nothing
to do with my decision.”

“You’ve just given me my answer.”

“Leave it, Dustin.” Trenton stalked the length of the room to pour himself a brandy. “I’m marrying Ariana. Period.” He tossed off his drink, slamming the glass to the table.

“All right,” Dustin agreed, astutely recognizing that his remaining questions would have to wait. “What can I do to help?”

Trenton turned his head, his expression softening. “You can make the church arrangements. Then you can help me open up Broddington and ready it for guests.”

“And for living quarters?”

Trenton stared thoughtfully at the carpet. “Yes,” he said at length. “There’s nothing at Spraystone for a young woman. Ariana will want to experience parties, theatre—all the finery of her new role as a duchess.” He nodded, decisive and resigned all at once. “Yes, Dustin, for the time being, my bride and I will be staying at Broddington.”

“Very well.” Dustin hid his surprise, remembering the Trenton who had vowed never to return to Sussex. “I’ll begin making arrangements at once.”

“And Dustin?” Trenton regarded his brother solemnly. “I have one other favor to ask of you: Will you stand up for me as my groomsman?”

Dustin grinned. “Need you ask?” Growing serious, he clasped Trenton’s shoulders in his hands, looking him squarely in the eye, reinforcing the gravity of the unalterable step Trenton was about to take. “Don’t sacrifice any more than has already been lost, Trent,” he advised quietly. “The past cannot be undone. And marriage is forever.”

“No, Dustin.” Haunted memories cloaked Trenton’s eyes, twisted his features into a mask of remembered pain and hatred. “What is forever is death.”

T
HE CHURCH WAS NEARLY
invisible, lost on the busy Sussex street amid throngs of people and a line of traveling chariots.

Ariana stared out the carriage window in stunned disbelief. Apparently Theresa had been right: The Duke of Broddington’s black reputation had done nothing to prevent a record number of guests from attending today’s ceremony.

Ariana’s stomach lurched.

Nervously, she sat back against the cushions, praying for God to grant her the courage to proceed with the wedding.

“Are you all right, sprite?” Baxter leaned forward to squeeze Ariana’s hand.

“I’m terrified,” she confessed in a whisper. “Good Lord, Baxter, there must be five hundred people in that church.”

“And that surprises you?” he asked dryly, glancing out the window. “This is, after all, quite an event. Did you truly think anyone would turn down the opportunity to see you wed the infamous Duke of Broddington?”

Something in her brother’s tone made Ariana bristle, and, unconsciously, she tugged her hand free of his. Theresa’s words sprang swiftly to mind, taking on new meaning in light of the enormous crowd.
Human nature is astounding; the idea of resurrecting an old scandal is an enticement few can resist.

“Are all these guests here to enjoy the ceremony? Or to ogle the woman who is marrying a potential murderer?” Ariana’s own cynicism surprised her.

Apparently it didn’t surprise Baxter, for he shrugged carelessly. “Either way, enjoy the attention, little one. You can be a heartstopping spectacle and a martyr all at once.”

Fortunately, their carriage came to a halt at that moment, sparing Ariana the indignity of a retort. But, as an attentive footman swung open the carriage door to assist the bride to the street, Ariana came to a profound, crystal-clear realization.

Perhaps she was walking headlong into a raging, unknown tempest, but she had no reason to feel tied to her life at Winsham. In fact, other than her romantic dreams, she was sacrificing nothing at all.

It was time to leave her childhood behind.

Taking a deep breath, she stepped down, raising her head to face the magnificent columns of the church, following the proud spires to their peaks. With forced deliberation, she looked around her, seeking the tranquilizing effect nature always offered her. She drank in the unfailing beauty of velvet green trees and brightly colored flowers, filling her lungs with the fragrant August air, infusing her senses with joy and her soul with faith.

“Are you ready, sprite?” Baxter alit, taking her arm.

Ariana opened her mouth to reply when, from her peripheral vision, she spied a sudden flash of white winging through the air. Searching intently, she found her mark, sucking in her breath at the instantly recognized, magnificent spectacle. Snowy feathers descended, graceful wings fanned slowly shut, until the glorious owl lit on a thick tree branch and was still.

His penetrating topaz gaze swept the street until it captured hers.

For an endless minute time remained suspended, the heart-shaped face staring solemnly, unblinking, into Ariana’s eyes, emanating power and strength and certainty.

Conveying all to her.

This done, instinct propelled him onward. He raised his head, emitted a loud cry, and, spreading his great white wings, disappeared into the morning sky.

“Ariana?” Baxter’s concerned voice seemed to come from far away. “You’re not going to swoon on me, are you?”

“What?” Ariana turned blankly in her brother’s direction, still seeing the splendid owl. She didn’t doubt for a moment that he was just what he seemed to be: her wondrous symbol of hope.

“You’re white as a sheet.” Baxter gripped her wrists. “Are you going to faint?”

“No … of course not.” Ariana shook her head, returning to the reality of the moment. With a hand that trembled slightly, she smoothed the silk taffeta of her flowing ivory gown, shaking out the lace tiers that draped to her feet. She glanced briefly into the now-deserted skies, then raised her face to Baxter’s. “I’m ready.”

He smiled, reaching down to drape the veil over her face, careful not to disturb the garland of white roses and orange blossoms that adorned Ariana’s upswept auburn tresses. “You look beautiful, sprite. You make me very proud.”

She smiled faintly. “Let’s make our entrance before Lady Pendlington’s neck snaps off from too much craning,” she suggested lightly, noting the expectant faces turned in their direction.

Baxter looked thoroughly relieved. “As the bride wishes.” He offered her his arm.

The strains of Mendelssohn’s
Wedding March
grew louder as the bride and her brother climbed the church steps. Almost in unison, the rows of guests moved forward in their seats to watch the drama of the decade unfold: to witness Ariana Caldwell wed the man who reputedly caused the death of her majestic and treasured sister, Vanessa.

Walking slowly through the doors and down the aisle, Ariana could feel their scrutiny, read their expressions. And the fact that a roomful of people thrived on cruelty and gossip both appalled and sickened her.

Fixing her gaze on the altar, she found she wasn’t alone m her sentiments.

Trenton Kingsley’s gaze locked with hers, delved deep inside her. On some level, Ariana was aware of the total effect wrought by his massive, intimidating presence: the way his dark frock coat hugged his broad shoulders, how his doeskin trousers outlined the powerful muscles of his thighs.

But all she could think about, focus on, was the potency of his fiery cobalt stare, which burned with a cynical force that defied her to turn away, dared anyone to question his motives, mocked the insipid shallowness of their guests.

There it was again. Ariana blinked as she caught a glimmer of that same emotion she’d seen in his eyes twice before: be it gentleness or vulnerability or compassion. She hadn’t imagined it; it was real. She watched him shift a bit, glance briefly about the room, then look back at her, the feral ruthlessness back in place.

He was expecting her hostility.

The perception struck Ariana with the same intensity as her earlier realization about her life at Winsham. Trenton Kingsley knew what everyone believed him to be and was waiting for Ariana to reinforce their conviction by being every bit the reluctant, terrified bride society anticipated.

There are many sides to a man.
Theresa’s voice sounded in Ariana’s memory.
Each of them is part truth and part illusion. It is up to us to discern the difference.

Straightening her shoulders, Ariana swallowed her trepidation and let instinct guide her past illusion to truth. Gracefully she glided toward the man Theresa had called her future, looking every bit the radiant bride.

Seeing the unwilling relief on Trenton’s face as he recognized the subtle change in her manner, as well as its significance, Ariana felt a wave of compassion sweep through her. He had endured total ostracism these past years. Despite his rebellious behavior and impenetrable veneer, he had been affected by the indignity of public rejection. For a proud man like Trenton, the flagrant scorn of his bride on their wedding day would be the supreme humiliation.

Accordingly, Ariana tilted her head back, held her chin high, and vowed to let the guests—and the world—think what they would. She would provide no fuel for their vicious fire.

“Your bride is breathtaking,” Dustin Kingsley murmured beside his brother’s ear.

Trenton nodded slowly, his throat clogged with some intangible emotion. “Yes. She is.” He dragged his eyes from Ariana, strangely moved and equally unwilling to display it. His gaze settled instead on Baxter, and all tenderness fled. Without hesitation, Trenton walked forward, ready to claim his bride. Much to the disappointment of the crowd, Baxter offered no resistance, relinquishing Ariana’s arm and stepping away.

Profoundly aware of Trenton’s presence beside her, Ariana’s insides clenched with nerves. Battling for control, she stared straight ahead and was greeted with a broad, understanding grin. Shyly, she smiled back, knowing immediately that this must be Trenton’s brother, Dustin. The two men were of the identical height and build, possessing the same hard good looks and dark coloring. Only the marquis’s near-black midnight eyes and dashing mustache set him apart—that and the genuine warmth on his face as he acknowledged his brother’s soon-to-be wife.

She felt Trenton’s hand close around her arm and she turned to face him, willing a drop of the gentle warmth she’d spied earlier back into his blazing eyes. She saw none.

The room grew hushed as the ceremony began. Ariana remained poised, repeating the customary phrases without hesitation … until the bishop turned to her and spoke the words
until death do you part.
A suffocating stillness ensued, followed by a tingle of apprehension that swelled to fill the room. A pulsebeat later Ariana continued, reciting the words dutifully, meeting Trenton’s gaze squarely and without fear.

With a congratulatory lift of his brows Trenton acknowledged Ariana’s spunk, his eyes holding her captive as he repeated the identical pledge. Seconds later, he slid the heavy gold wedding band on her finger. Then, raising her veil, he brushed her cold lips lightly with his firm, warm mouth, sealing their joining in the eyes of God and man.

The trip to Broddington was a blur.

A strained silence accompanied them in the coach, Trenton scowling moodily off into space, Ariana anxiously twisting the new, foreign-feeling ring on her finger.

The iron gates were flung open, admitting the bridal procession to some of the most exquisite grounds Ariana had ever seen.

“How lovely!” she exclaimed, the ponderous tension pervading the carriage instantly forgotten as she leaned forward to drink in the vast, rolling hills.

“We have hundreds of acres on the front lawns alone,” Trenton supplied, unsurprised that Ariana, like every woman, was impressed with Broddington. He studied his wife’s face, taking in the turquoise splendor of her eyes when they were alight with pleasure. Without warning, he found himself wondering if those same eyes would darken with passion in his bed.