Chapter 4
The wedding breakfast of blazing stares. That had been the total sum of Willow’s thoughts at the wretched affair—and it was thankfully over. It had been quite unnerving to behold. She had never seen so many withering glares across one table. A cold, tiring affair, indeed. But then, that wasn’t surprising given this day had not meant to be hers.
Nonetheless, her beloved cousins, Bradford and Quinn, had taken turns sending her new husband dark, threatening looks. Her father, bless his soul, had shot them warning glances. This, Willow suspected, was to insist on keeping the matter civil—the matter no one had spoken a word about.
But it hadn’t ended there. Poppy had peered with narrowed eyes at the Dragon Duchess whenever the dowager sniffed and groused on about dignity and length of wedding dresses. And between her woeful bemoaning, her mother-in-law made sure to cast Willow dirty looks. As if she alone was responsible for all the wrongdoing in the entire world.
Willow, for the most part, only glowered at Poppy, who purposefully goaded her mother-in-law with snappish remarks about said wedding dress.
St. Ives, for his part, had glared at everyone. Or at least Willow thought he had. In his heart. One couldn’t rightly tell by looking at him, mask and all.
It was fortunate, Willow mused, that no guests had been invited to the breakfast. A detail she had learned the duke had insisted upon. The unspoken truce would never have lasted under the pressure of the shrewd eyes of theton. And even then, there were servants to be concerned with as far as gossip went—ergo, their silent agreement to not mention Holly’s name. And, Willow thought too that perhaps everyone had tacitly agreed to a small period for emotions to cool, whatever good that had done them.
And Willow supposed no one had wished to incur the wrath of St. Ives since he had every right to be furious. It was inevitable, of course. Everyone had waited for him to explode—which to his credit and everyone’s relief, he had not.
While frosty glares had been the main dish of the day, Willow still held hope that not much lasting damage had been done. Holly was tucked away somewhere safe for the moment and, with time, her husband would come to see reason.
God willing.
So with nothing to be done but wait or join in on the glaring contest, Willow’s thoughts had turned to her impending wedding night. And then promptly turned away.
Towards the champagne.
Glass after glass.
Of course, St. Ives’s hawk eyes hadn’t missed this, and his lips pursed tighter with each sip she took. She noted that small sign of displeasure because, like a moth drawn to a flame, her eyes were drawn to those full sultry lips. And every time she looked at them, she took another sip. It apparently mattered little whether she liked him or not; every time those eyes fell on her, they set her blood on fire.
Then, as if being obsessed with his lips wasn’t enough, she found herself wondering if their consummation would be as hard and unyielding as the man, or if there was another side to him, a more sensual side.
Cue more champagne. But no matter how much she sipped and sipped, her thoughts stayed with her. Indeed, they had accompanied her straight through the breakfast and into her new bedchamber—her present whereabouts—feet planted firmly in the center of the room.
She cast an uncertain glance at the bed, then at the door adjoining their chambers. Would her husband expect her to wait in his chamber? Like, say, reclining on his bed? Naked?
Wouldhebe naked?
Willow was no prude. A child had to be produced in some fashion. But the rest, the little intimate details of the deed, well, that remained a mystery.
She started at the sudden creak of the door. Expecting her husband, she whirled.
Poppy slipped into her room, shutting the door after her. “There you are! I have been looking everywhere for you!”
“Poppy!” Willow rushed over to her sister. “What are you still doing here? I thought everyone had left.”
“They did, well, all except for father and Bradford. They are in the study with your husband, so I decided to loiter around and eavesdrop.”
“Of course you did,” Willow murmured, bemused.
“Not to mention one of my sisters ran off on her wedding day, and the other took her place,” Poppy said, and then made a generous motion toward her face. “And, might I add, all without informing me to ready my jaw movements for the big reveal. Are you all right? I didn’t want to leave before speaking with you.”
Willow collapsed on the edge of the bed. “I’m terribly sorry, Poppy.”
“There is no need to apologize, dear. Just tell me what happened. How did all this come about?”
Willow took a deep breath. “When I went to go check on Holly one last time, I found her quite put out, Poppy. She was in a complete state of panic. Not only did she not wish to marry St. Ives, but she said that he’d deceived her horribly.” She paused, glancing at her sister. “I told her to go and I . . .”
“Decided to take her place?” Poppy said, giving her an appraising look.
“Yes.”
