He tapped his thumbs together, digesting her words. “Very well, Miss Pageant.” He blew out a breath. “Let the games commence tomorrow at St. Paul’s Cathedral.” He rose to his feet.
She did the same. “And I shall endeavor to bring along the appropriate writing utensils.”
He laughed. “To keep tally of your victories?”
She grinned. “I would never be so presumptuous, Your Grace.”
As Donovan took his leave and strode down the front steps, he couldn’t help but laugh at the entire situation he’d found himself in. And for the first time in his life, he had to wonder if he hadn’t just met his match.
Chapter 4
The church of St. Paul’s Cathedral was a mammoth, domed baroque structure situated on the banks of the Thames. It rose high above the rest of the city, as it had for centuries and had truly withstood the test of time. It had been destroyed and rebuilt due to the English Reformation starting with Henry VIII and the Great Fire of 1666. Its final design was courtesy of the architect Sir Christopher Wren and was announced fully completed on Christmas Day in 1711.
But while the exterior was breathtaking, it was the arches, sculptures and hollowed ceilings inside that truly caused Emary to stop and stare. It was the first time she’d crossed the threshold of the ancient church. Normally she attended services with her parents in the village near her father’s estate, or at Westminster Abbey in London. Her mother had chosen that location since it had close ties with the monarchy. But she found that, while both were beautiful, she preferred the classic elegance of St. Paul’s.
As her eyes lit on the duke speaking with someone in the middle of the aisle, she had to wonder if the true appeal of the church came in the form of a historical structure, or rather a towering man with a devilish scar who was in attendance.
Emary had worn her best dress today. At least, it was in her opinion. A pastel blue velvet, it complimented her creamy complexion and sable hair. More than one person had told her how beautiful she looked in it, but it wasn’t until Windwood dragged that piercing blue gaze down her form in approval that she finally believed it.
She stood off to the side and admired her future betrothed as he greeted her parents. He wore black and white yet again; the only color he’d allowed being a deep crimson waistcoat and the ruby stickpin. In the lighting from the candles in the cathedral, the glow setting off the golden strands of his hair, he appeared as though he were a fallen angel descended from the heavens.
When he finally turned to her she couldn’t help but fantasize that what was about to happen this day was real, that he was in love with her and they would soon become husband and wife. Although, if everything went according to plan, she could very well be a duchess by Christmas.
“Miss Pageant.” The duke’s voice was low and deep and it curled her toes.
She dipped a curtsy. “Your Grace.”
He offered her his arm and led her over to a pew where his mother was already seated. Emary’s mother took the spot beside her, followed by her father, the duke and herself. It wasn’t long before the rest of the congregation was settled, giving way for the bishop to take his place.
For most of his sermon, Emary was more aware of Windwood’s firm thigh pressed up against her own rather than anything that was being said. She chided herself for her inattention, but with that scorching kiss from the day before still quite vivid in her mind, she found it hard to concentrate when he was so near. Even the clean, male scent of him tantalized her senses. She clenched her Bible in her lap and took a calm, steadying breath, praying that she could keep her reserve until the end of the service.
“It is now my responsibility to announce that the following couples have declared their intentions to marry.”
Emary instantly sat up straighter as several people were listed off. She bit the side of her cheek anxiously until she heard her name mentioned. “Miss Emary Pageant is currently betrothed to the Duke of Windwood, Donovan Wainwright. They are to be wed in three weeks hence on the twenty-fourth of December of our Lord God eighteen hundred and fifteen.”
Emary released the air she’d been holding, but then found herself breathless when a warm, masculine voice whispered in her ear, “If I didn’t know better, I might have thought you didn’t hold faith in me to follow through on our bargain.”
She turned to him and forced a smile. “I never had a doubt, Your Grace.”
When they were dismissed, her mother instantly accosted her. “How could you keep something of this magnitude from us, you sly girl!” She drew Emary in for a hug, which she returned.
“We wanted it to be a surprise, Mama.” Emary returned evenly, pushing aside the twinge of guilt that her words invoked.
“Well, it is certainly that,” Donovan’s mother said stoically with a level look at her son, which he returned evenly. Emary wasn’t sure she even wanted to interpret that silent conversation. Holding out her hands to Emary, the duchess added, “Welcome to the family, Miss Pageant. I daresay I had nearly given up hope of my son ever settling down and starting a family. I’m so pleased that he chose you.”
Once the well wishes had been spread throughout the members of the congregation who had come up to express their pleasant surprise, Emary finally walked out into the cool day on the arm of her fiancé. It was odd to imagine that she was an engaged woman with the matter of a few spoken words, but she reminded herself that she was supposed to break it off before the ceremony took place. If the duke thought that she had no intentions of doing so, she had no doubt he wouldn’t ruin her reputation by breaking it off himself. He would no doubt be rather angry at her deception, and she couldn’t blame him if that were so. While he believed she had three weeks in which to finish a novel for publication, the truth was, she had only three weeks to convince him to fall in love with her and to make their engagement one in truth.
The question was, could she do it?
She glanced at the man at her side, admiring the strong line of his smooth shaven jaw, the oceanic quality of his gaze, and even the rakish air of his scar, and prayed that this was one wager she would win.
“What are you playing at, Donovan?”
He glanced up from his desk at the irate tone of his mother. “I regret that you have me at a disadvantage, Mother.”
Once they had returned home after Sunday services, he’d gone into the study to catch up on some correspondence. He didn’t know that his mother had intended to brave the lion in his own den, or enter without so much as an invitation.
“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” Caroline returned firmly. She stood across from his desk and looked down at him, as if the pose might intimidate him. Fortunately, he was a man grown at nearly thirty years of age, so her tactics that might have chastised him when he was a boy no longer worked.
He sat back in his leather chair and crossed his arms over his chest since it was apparent he would have to listen to whatever it was she had to say before he could get back to work. “I suppose you’re referring to me and Miss Pageant.”
“That’s precisely what I’m speaking of!” she returned in annoyance. “I don’t want you playing with that girl’s affections. I can’t imagine what made you even consider something so outlandish as having marriage banns read after only one encounter!”
He held up a hand. “Actually, it was two. I called on her yesterday afternoon, if you recall.” He shrugged. “Besides, it’s not so unheard of. People in history who suffered from an arranged marriage seldom even met before the day they were wed.”
“This is not Medieval times!” she snapped. She laid her hands on the desk and leaned forward, the blue eyes that mirrored his own, bright and direct. “End this ruse now before it gets out of hand.”
Donovan didn’t like his honor being taken into question by anyone, even his mother, but her heartfelt plea kept him from reacting too harshly. “Who says it’s a ruse?”
The duchess was slightly taken aback. “How can you claim the opposite? I know you well enough to ascertain that you haven’t formed an attachment to Miss Pageant in such a short acquaintance. Why, the night of the ball you made it abundantly clear that you weren’t to have anything to do with her, and now this!”
He lifted a brow. “Can I not change my mind? I seem to recall that you do it frequently enough.”
She eyed him steadily for a time, and then stepped back. “Very well. I can see you are set upon this course, but I implore you, as my son, do not do something that you will regret. I am truly fond of Miss Pageant and don’t wish to see her get hurt simply because of your stubbornness to back down. The Bible says, ‘Pride goeth before a fall.’ Your father could never let go of his. Don’t make the same mistakes he did.”
As his mother left, Donovan scrubbed a hand down his face. Any mention of his father was a sore subject, which his mother knew quite well. Whenever she thought he was being unreasonable, she always played that hand.
