My Dangerous Duke (The Twisted Dukes #2)

Chapter 5

“ E leanor, you look absolutely radiant!” Marina gushed, throwing her arms around Eleanor tightly. Despite her nerves, Eleanor let out a light laugh and returned the hug with just as much fervor. It was done. The banners had been read, and the vows were spoken. She was now the Duchess of Larsen.

“More like glistening,” Eleanor retorted, pulling back so she could dab her kerchief on her forehead. “I am sweating like a farmer; it is absolutely horrid.”

“No one has noticed your sweat, darling,” Cordelia replied sweetly, handing her friend her kerchief. “They were too focused on your beauty.”

“Truly,” Marina agreed quickly, delicately fluffing out the skirt of Eleanor’s shimmering wedding gown. “I have never seen you prettier. Your new grandmother has excellent taste.”

“Indeed, I do,” Margaret Harrison, Dowager Duchess of Larsen, and Eleanor’s new grandmother-in-law agreed as she joined the conversation. The older woman, dressed in a very regal emerald gown with a gold overlay for the occasion, smiled proudly at Eleanor as she squeezed her arm. In return, Eleanor smiled genuinely and reached for the woman’s white silk-gloved hands.

“You were a vision of grace and beauty up there with my grandson,” Margaret praised, her grey eyes shining with truth. “You did well, my girl. Very well.”

“Thank you, Your Grace,” Eleanor graciously replied.

“Now, now, no more of that,” Margaret chuckled, giving Eleanor’s hands. “It is Grandmama to you now.”

Margaret’s happy expression suddenly shifted into a furtive glance, and she leaned in closer.

“Though that kindness does not extend to your mother or sister,” the Dowager muttered into her ear.

At this, Eleanor could not help but laugh. She had liked her new grandmama right away, and one of the many reasons was that she was strong-willed enough to put her pompous family in their place. When the Dowager Duchess had first arrived to meet her grandson’s bride-to-be, she had immediately showered Eleanor with affection and praise, but shortly after that, she set about dashing her parents’ dreams of a large, gaudy wedding.

“This is not how our family shows success or happiness,” Margaret had said simply and stiffly. “All of this-” she paused, flitting her hand through the air- “Will simply not do. We shall have a small ceremony in four weeks, not four months. I do not know how it is you have gotten my grandson to propose but I am not giving him any time to back out.”

“Four weeks!” Her Mother had exclaimed. “That is too soon! People will think there is foul play afoot.”

“Nonsense,” Margaret had quickly retorted, looking at Mrs. Langley as if she were a simpleton. “My grandson is to be one and thirty this year. He should have been wed ages ago. At this point, waiting is moot and the whole Ton knows it. So, we shall hold the wedding four weeks from now. We may keep the church if you like, but the guest list will be small and the reception will be slightly larger.”

Eleanor had felt no guilt for the glee she reveled in when she watched her arrogant parents have their control taken away, and since then, had silently pledged allegiance to her new fairy grandmother.

“Now I know it is custom for the bride to have a few minutes alone with her friends between the wedding and reception to refresh,” Margaret stated presently, an air of authority to her tone, “But such time has passed. Gather yourself, child. You and your husband must receive your guests so that we may get this wedding breakfast going. Remember, we must be on the road to Larsen by nightfall.”

A rush of emotions hit Eleanor as she dabbed at her forehead one last time before letting the Dowager lead her back out into the reception hall. Despite her annoyance over not speaking to Xander since their little moment of passion in her father’s study, she had found herself looking forward to her wedding day. But, as her father walked her down the aisle, and she met the eyes of her future husband, she saw a look she could not decipher.

Other than to say the words required from them by the priest, Xander had said nothing. Had he changed his mind? Had he realized she was right about the better women out there, and now regretted this strange deal? Eleanor had asked her father about Xander’s proposal just as he had suggested, several times in fact, but each time she did so her father’s mood would darken and he would berate her for her ingratitude. During her last attempt to finally find out what was going on, he had threatened to lock her in her room until her wedding, so, she had finally stopped asking.

“I have our bride,” the Dowager announced as she led Eleanor back into the reception hall. “And where is our groom?”

“Right here.”

Xander’s words sounded so close to Eleanor’s ear that it startled her, and she gasped as she whirled around; nearly smacking her nose into her husband’s wide, tuxedoed chest. Xander’s hands came around her shoulders immediately, preventing her from stumbling, and set her firmly back on her feet.

“What are you doing scaring your bride like that?” his grandmother huffed, swatting her grandson’s arm. “Where are the manners I spent years teaching you?”

Xander’s dark eyes lightened and glittered with amusement as he kept them on Eleanor.

“I did not mean to scare you, Honey ,” he said softly, his one brow rising slightly as he tilted his head. “Forgive me?”

The tone of his voice and the directness of his gaze were sending a cacophony of interesting sensations through her body, but Eleanor ignored them all and allowed her annoyance at him to rise.

“For this transgression, yes,” she replied sweetly, mimicking the tilt of his head. “For avoiding me and conversation? Not yet.”

Xander smirked and rolled his eyes at her as Margaret let out a loud, sharp laugh and clapped her hands.

“Such pluck! I love it!” She crowed, reaching up to pinch Eleanor’s cheeks.

“You will be good for my grandson, my girl,” she praised as guests began to gather around them, “You are just what he needs.”

“I am so disappointed that your cousin, Richard, could not be here,” Xander’s grandmother despaired for the hundredth time as she walked with him and Eleanor toward their carriage.

“Is it not you, Grandmother, that always says we must be gentle with poor, Little Richard?” Xander retorted, casting his grandmother a mischievous look. She tisked her tongue as she swatted at his arm, and he chuckled.

“It matters not,” he continued, pushing to be off the subject, “He is in Larsen and so shall we be in a few short hours.”

The subject dropped, and Xander let out a muted sigh of relief. The day had been stressful enough without his foolish cousin’s presence. Xander had arranged for Richard to enter the Royal Navy but he had not told his grandmother yet. Eleanor, who, aside from being startlingly beautiful in her wedding gown, had also been driving him startling mad with questions every spare second they had been given. Then of course, if it was not Eleanor, it was her parents, her sister, or his grandmother. All of whom demanded something different from him.

“I am sorry that your parents did not stay to send you off,” his grandmother apologized to Eleanor as she kissed both her cheeks, “But they seemed in a most urgent hurry.”

“Your offer to them of your country house was quite gracious,” Eleanor replied respectfully as she accepted his grandmother’s affections, “They were most excited to take advantage of whatever they had left of week’s end hours, I am sure. Besides it is of no matter to me, I am happy to go.”

Though still annoyed from her earlier pestering, Xander felt a swell of compassion and pride at his wife’s response. It was obvious that she understood who her parents were and what they wanted. Very much like himself, now that she had been properly played, she was being discarded. Xander could understand why he was being used, but what he did not comprehend was how little Victor Langley truly cared about his youngest daughter’s wellbeing.

“Well put, young lady,” the Dowager praised, stepping away from them both. “All right, farewell my darlings. I shall see you soon.”

“She is not coming with us?” Eleanor asked him as he opened the carriage door for her.

“She will be along in a few days,” Xander explained. “Unlike me, she does not have an aversion to London society.”

“You do not like London society?” Eleanor asked, still standing by the carriage.

“I do not believe I like any society,” Xander replied bluntly, nodding toward the entrance. “Go on, get in.”

Eleanor raised a brow as she took a step back and crossed her arms. “Are you not going to help me in?”

Xander’s hands, like they had all day, itched to wrap around his wife’s small waist once more- but he did not trust himself. If he started there, he did not know where he would stop. Ever since time in the study, no matter how battered his body had gotten in the ring, no matter how full of rage he was over Richard’s flagrant disregard for life, he dreamt of her every night.

Xander felt his jaw tick as he ground his teeth and drew in a deep breath, and without a word, he lifted his bride easily off of her feet- which produced a pretty gasp that caused an immediate stir in his groin- and deposited her as quickly as he could into her seat. Just as he feared, a primal need had shot through his fingertips and down his arms the moment he touched her; both infuriating and arousing him greatly.

Damn you, woman, Xander cursed silently as he quickly followed her into the carriage. After taking the opposite side, he rapped his knuckles on the roof, and the driver immediately alerted the horses. As the carriage began to move, Xander settled back into his seat and cast his eyes to the floor.

He was a man of control; had lived his life by a certain set of strict standards, and because of that, he had succeeded greatly. As of late though, it seemed his ability to maintain that grasp on control had been slipping. First with being unable to control Richard, and now unable to control the reactions of his damned body. What the hell kind of man was he turning into?

“So, we are just not going to speak then?” Eleanor asked, pulling him out of his wallowing. Drawing his eyes upward, Xander met his bride’s honey eyes and saw they were glittering with annoyance and hurt. A mixture of pity, annoyance, amusement- and arousal- shot through him. Why did she have to be so beautiful when she was angry? It was like her entire body filled with fire and she began to illuminate. Even her hair seemed to crackle and come alive when she was annoyed.

“What is it you would like to talk about?” Xander, biting back a grin as he sat up straight.

“Well, for starters, why you were acting so cross today,” Eleanor immediately replied before going into a long list of his bad behaviors. “Do you not think people will deem it odd that you did not talk to me all day?” She asked then, adorably and fully worked up now. Xander was trying his best to take her seriously.

“Of course, I talked to you,” Xander replied with an escaped chuckle. “Plenty of people saw it.”

“What if it was not enough?” Eleanor pushed.

“And why are you worried?” Xander quipped back, raising a curious brow. “In your father’s study, you seemed not to care what others wanted or thought. Was that an act?”

“Well, no,” Eleanor countered. “But are you not worried about rumors of unhappiness? Most will think I trapped you in the marriage.”

Not entirely untrue, Xander mused silently.

“Which means the unhappier you appear, the more they will believe that to be true,” she finished.

“And?” Xander drawled, smirking at her.

“You want people thinking you are trapped?” She asked, giving him a look of pure surprise. Xander shrugged his shoulders.

“I do not care what people think of me,” he murmured. It was true. He did not give a damn what people thought of him personally. But he would do anything to protect his grandparents’ legacy. Such as marrying a honey-eyed fire goddess for example.

“Perhaps you should,” Eleanor muttered, “It might surprise you.”

“I think you are not being truthful,” Xander stated bluntly, wanting to get off of the particular subject. “What really has you vexed so?” He pushed, rubbing his jaw as he rested his elbow on his knee. Eleanor looked back at him for a moment, as if she were struggling for an answer. Finally, she let out a huff, flopping ungraciously back into her seat, and rolled her eyes- an act Xander found quite amusing.

“This is just not how my wedding day was supposed to go,” she confessed, letting her hands flop down into the lap of her dress. “I know we are not marrying for love, but it all felt so- impersonal. Cold. Like a poorly cast play almost.”

At this, Xander could no longer hold in his laughter.

“I do not know if I would say poorly ,” he chuckled.

“Do not laugh at me,” Eleanor demanded, her peach cheeks flaming to crimson.

“Apologies,” Xander offered, then broke into another chuckle, which only served to fluster his bride more.

“But I must ask. How many weddings have you been to?”

Eleanor’s annoyance shifted to embarrassment as she suddenly looked away from him.

“Just my sister’s,” she admitted begrudgingly.

“Mhmm,” Xander hummed. “And how was it?”

Eleanor shrugged.

“Pomp and circumstance,” she said, then finally looked back at him. “But that was not the same. My sister and I are completely different and want different things-”

“Agreed,” Xander interjected quickly. At this, he saw a brief smile flitter across Eleanor’s frown but it quickly vanished as she continued talking.

“ She was marrying a baron. It had to be official. You are not a baron. Do not smile at me like that!”

“Apologies,” Xander replied quickly but made no effort to stop. “But I must ask,” he went on, leaning further toward her, “If you think a wedding would have to be official for a baron, why would you not think it would have to be official for a duke? I am, after all, of higher noble rank than he.”

Xander watched her in amusement, thinking he was about to see her give another adorable pout. Instead, her beautiful molten eyes hardened into an emotionless mask, and she pressed her lips together tightly. With an assured nod, she wrapped her arms tighter around her small ribcage and looked out the window.

Her body language screamed defiance and resolution. He was attacking her, he realized. Silently, he had been all day. Other than saying the words demanded of him, he had not spoken to her as a husband would speak to his wife. These things seemed petty to him, but to her credit, he could understand her disappointment. When it came to being a husband, he had already admitted that he would be lacking.

“You look beautiful today,” he spoke, his deep voice radiating in the silence.

It was not much, but he did not know what else he could offer her. Eleanor raised a brow but did not deviate her gaze from the window.

You have done this to her, Xander thought, feeling guilt well up. You are no better than her father.

You do,” he assured her, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “I apologize if I have been… cold. I can be quite business-minded and with your father’s contract it just felt like-”

“Business,” Eleanor finished for him. The steel in her voice was sharp as she said it. Then she turned away from him to face the window with a stoic expression.

“Yes, this union is business,” Xander agreed begrudgingly. He felt another surge of guilt and he did not like it. What was there to feel guilty for? This blackmail business deal was all Victor’s doing. Not his.

“Thank you for the compliment, Your Grace,” Eleanor sighed, “It was most welcome. If you do not mind, though, I am feeling quite weary. I believe I shall try to rest my eyes.”