Page 16 of His Duchess' Mischief

Why would a murderer need friends?

Her fingers jerked away involuntarily as he offered his hand, and she had to fight every instinct to force her fingers against his palm.

The Duke’s body radiated heat, his fingers like a brand against her skin as she glanced his way. He did not look at her, dead, cold eyes watching the vicar as he stepped forward.

Alicia held her breath, forcing down the scream that threatened to erupt from her lips.

All the planning and preparations in the lead-up to this moment had not felt real. Somehow, she had still convinced herself that the wedding would not take place, that something would destroy the alliance.

Yet here I am, about to fall into the abyss.

“If any of you knows cause, or just impediment, why this union should not take place, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

Alicia bit her tongue so hard that she tasted blood. The Duke was a statue, silent as a grave beside her.

She fancied that if someone had dropped a handkerchief onto the stone floor at that moment, it would have been the loudest noise in the world.

But no one spoke, not even her sister.

The vicar gave her a reassuring smile as he looked down at his book to continue.

My fate is sealed, then. I will be bound to this man, this criminal, forever.

As the vicar pronounced them man and wife, Alicia’s blood pounded violently in her ears, a throb filling her whole body as she turned to the Duke.

She knew that as soon as she faced the crowd, she would have to smile and pretend to be thrilled at what had taken place, but she would not waste any smiles on this man.

The Duke looked down at her, stepping toward her as he had done in her bedchamber, his big body carrying the same warning it had earlier.

I could well imagine this man ending someone’s life if they had wronged him. What will he do if I do not meet his expectations?

Seth stared at his bride, feeling numb.

The wedding had been a blur, his thoughts muddled and confused as he stood beside her, the vicar’s words barely registering in his mind.

His bride.

It did not seem real. The idea of a wife, of marriage, had been abstract until this point in his life, and even now, as he lookedat her, he could hardly believe that they were bound to one another.

He held her hand in his, his eyes drawn to it, her slim fingers and delicate palm giving him pause.

She was tiny. Everything about was her delicate and petite. Her palm was half the size of his own, his hand dwarfing hers as he stared at her elegant fingers and round nails.

Seth realized that he was staring, and he glanced up to find her watching him in confusion.

There was a sense of anticipation in the air. Had the vicar spoken?

“Your Grace?” the vicar prompted. “You may kiss the bride.”

Ah yes… of course. That appalling tradition.

Steeling himself, Seth felt the eyes of the guests on him as he pulled Alicia forward a little more. Her face was upturned already, and he found himself fixating on her plump lips.

What would it be like to taste her here, ravage her for all the world to see? Would she let me?

The same defiance lurked in her gaze, and he pushed away the resentment that flared at the obligation of the kiss and lowered his mouth to hers.

Alicia’s eyes were open until the last minute, the same fury raging within, and he was surprised to find he was holding back a smile. She did not want to kiss him any more than he wanted to kiss her, which suited him very well.

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