CHAPTER TWO
Timothy was, in fact, not bluffing.
It was her wedding day, and Alice stood at the entrance of the grand chapel, her heart hammering in her chest. The very plan she had painstakingly crafted — dropping subtle hints, planting doubts in Timothy’s mind — had never even gotten off the ground. In fact, she hadn’t had the chance to utter a single word of protest. Timothy, as always, had moved swiftly, and now, here she was.
Getting married to a beast.
Her plan? Completely irrelevant now.
"Papa, are we in financial distress?" Alice asked, turning to Timothy standing by her side, ready to walk her down the aisle.
Timothy raised an eyebrow, glancing at her with a mix of confusion and impatience. "What? No! Whatever gave you that idea?"
"There has to be a reason for this madness," Alice whispered fiercely. "Why else would you sell me off to a man who’s practically a myth? For all I know, the Duke is a figment of the gossip columnist’s imagination! A beast conjured from nightmares. A...A?—"
"Watch yourself, young lady," Timothy cautioned. "Do not speak ill of your fiancé. You’re being married into an influential family. A great match. You should be thankful."
"Thankful?" she asked. "Papa, there are rumors that this man has killed people. Do you not worry about my safety? I could die in his hands!"
Timothy raised an eyebrow, clearly irritated. "Alice, such tales are mere trifles. Idle gossip spread by those with nothing better to do."
"But what if they are not mere tales?" she asked. "Am I to be a lamb led to slaughter? What if he truly is as dangerous as they say? There is no smoke without fire, Papa."
Timothy sighed heavily. "Alice, you indulge too much in farfetched notions. The Duke is a man of standing, well respected despite whatever whispers surround him."
"He was the last option on your list. Surely, you must have had your doubts about the man," Alice said, her gaze darting nervously toward the grand chapel doors ahead of them. "I have never met this man, Papa. There was no formal introduction, or courtship. If we are not struggling to make ends meet, I see no reason why you are so eager to marry me off to the Duke of Ravenmoor despite his awful reputation."
Timothy sighed. "It’s about opportunity. You’re marrying into one of the most powerful families in the land."
"I am marrying a ghost," she whispered. "A murderous ghost."
"Well, as you will soon come to realize, he is flesh and blood, and today, he’ll be your husband," Timothy said. "With you married to the Duke, our family’s standing will be greatly enhanced. You are to think of the benefits, Alice. The position, the wealth, the influence."
Alice swallowed hard and shook her head. "Position, wealth, influence," she echoed. "Just know, that if anything happens to me, you will have yourself to blame, Papa."
"You will be all right," he answered, pulling her gently forward as the music began to swell inside the chapel.
Alice drew a nervous breath, fighting back the tears threatening to fall. She had accepted her fate, as heartbreaking as it was. She feared she had no fight left in her. No reason to resist what was to come. What did it matter anymore? The wedding was set, theguests had gathered, and she was standing at the threshold of a life she hadn’t chosen.
A life that scared her more than anything.
If there was any consolation in the moment, it was the exquisite beauty of her wedding dress. It was exactly how she had imagined it would look if she ever got married. It was made from the finest ivory silk, flowing smoothly down to the floor. The bodice was decorated with intricate lace that highlighted her figure, while soft, tulle sleeves draped gently over her arms. A modest train trailed behind her, embroidered with delicate flowers with a simple lace veil resting on her head.
Alice sighed, feeling a weight on her heart. If only the man waiting for her at the end of the aisle matched the beauty of her gown.
Alice kept her gaze forward with her eyes fixed on the altar, although her mind seemed to drift somewhere far away. She pulled back instinctively as the gap between her and the altar began to close. She could feel Timothy’s grip tighten slightly, as if urging her to remain composed. But Alice felt anything but composed. Deep down, she wanted to turn on her heels and flee, but it was already too late.
Finally—after what felt like an eternity walking down the aisle—Alice stood at the altar. She couldn’t lift her gaze. The man she was bound to spend the rest of her life with loomed before her, an imposing figure radiating power and dominance, but she couldn’t lift her gaze. His tall, muscular frame seemedto command the very air around him. She couldn’t discern whether it was confidence or something more unsettling, but an undeniable sense of intimidation washed over her.
"Dearly beloved," the priest began. "We are gathered here today in the sight of God and this company to join together..."
He is just a person, Alice! Do not show fear!
Reluctantly, she lifted her head as the priest began the ceremony, feeling her throat dry up in the process. Her breath caught when her gaze locked onto his. His dark green eyes, deep and unwavering, bore into her, rendering her momentarily speechless. It took Alice a few seconds to remember how to breathe again. Though every instinct urged her to flee, she found herself frozen in place, trapped by his piercing gaze, as if his very presence held her captive. A chilly wave of apprehension washed over her, and she wondered how she could possibly go through with the wedding when all she wanted was to escape. To run for her life.
As her heart raced, she couldn’t help but take in the rest of him. The Duke stood tall – her neck was starting to hurt from looking up at him. His broad shoulders filled out the tailored lines of his coat, and she could only imagine what powerful physique lay beneath. His slicked-back black hair, polished to perfection, framed a chiseled face that was both striking and intimidating. He didn’t strike her as one who smiled often and looked quite mean. Like the rumors had foretold.
But the moment she was about to breathe a sigh of relief, reckoning that he didn’t look quite as fearsome as the rumors exaggerated, her gaze dropped to his neck, and her eyes widened at the sight. Jagged scars, like angry whispers of battles, crisscrossed over his skin. Her heart quickened, and she felt a chill run down her spine as she considered the stories those scars could tell. What had this man endured to wear such horrid marks?
