Royal's Bride. Kat Martin

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      “I suppose making hats isn’t exactly the thing, but I hope one day to open my own millinery shop.”

      “I think if you want your own shop, you will have it. I believe you could have whatever it is you want, Miss Lily Moran.”

      She stared at him and something flickered in her sea-green eyes, then it was gone.

      “I hope you are right. I can hardly live with the Caulfields forever. Once you and Jocelyn are married, I shall wish to go out on my own.”

      He didn’t offer a place for her there. If he did, sooner or later, he would give in to the powerful temptation she posed. Lily deserved more than a brief seduction and so did the woman he intended to wed.

      “Most women think to marry,” he said softly. “They want a husband and children.”

      “I want that, too … someday.” She grinned, giving him a saucy look that made him want to kiss her. “But not until I have my shop!”

      Royal laughed and so did she. He cleared his throat. “I suppose I should leave so that you can get back to your work.”

      She looked down at the bonnet in her hand. “I suppose you should.”

      “Have a good afternoon, Miss Moran.”

      “You, as well, Your Grace.” Her eyes held his a moment longer, then she jerked her gaze away and sat back down on the sofa. Royal watched the delicate hands, the slender, feminine fingers working the needle through the fabric, and clamped down on an image of those elegant hands skimming over his naked body.

      Turning away, he strode to the door of the drawing room without looking back. Silently he prayed God would see that the woman he meant to marry arrived at the castle very soon.

       Six

      Amid great fanfare and household commotion, the duke’s future bride arrived. A boy from the village rushed in with the news, giving the duke and his meager staff time for last-minute preparations, his aunt to make her way to a seat in the Grand Drawing Room—and Lily time to compose herself.

      She was grateful for that. She knew what would happen when Jocelyn arrived. His Grace would be stunned by the beauty of his future wife and Lily would become invisible. It was inevitable and yet just thinking about it made her ache a little inside.

      Half the household hovered in the entry as the Caulfields’ fully restored, elegant black traveling coach rolled up in front of the castle. Footmen rushed down the steps to unload the carriage, a groom appeared to help the driver with the horses, and the housekeeper, Mrs. McBride, a short, stout woman with iron-gray hair, appeared in the entry to assist the guests.

      The butler held open the heavy wooden door and Matilda Caulfield marched into the entry like the duchess she meant for her daughter to become. A few steps behind her, Jocelyn swept into the house.

      One of the footmen stopped dead in his tracks.

      The butler’s watery blue eyes focused and stared.

      Dressed in an amethyst gown that matched the brilliant color of her eyes, Jocelyn was stunningly beautiful, her features perfectly symmetrical in her pale, exquisite face. Her nose was straight, her lips the shade of roses. Her thick chestnut hair, pulled back in glossy curls, nestled against her shoulders.

      Perhaps she had stopped at the inn in the village to freshen and change, for her gown was the height of fashion and not the least bit wrinkled or travel-stained. High-necked and long-sleeved, it showed not the slightest glimpse of her voluptuous bosom and yet the tempting swell beneath the gleaming silk was apparent above her tiny, corseted waist.

      Jocelyn spotted the duke, standing in the entry to greet her, and her eyes widened in pleasure at his tall, golden masculinity, equal and opposite to her own feminine appeal.

      Lily felt a sickening lurch inside her as the duke stepped forward. He bowed slightly to Matilda Caulfield and then to Jo. “Welcome to Bransford Castle,” he said. “My aunt and I have been eagerly awaiting your arrival.”

      Matilda Caulfield, tall and broad-hipped, with the same dark hair as her daughter’s but now streaked with silver, managed a pleasant nod of greeting. “As we have been eager to get here.”

      Jocelyn graced him with one of her heart-stopping smiles. “Thank you for inviting us, Your Grace.”

      Formal introductions were made all round. Lady Tavistock was smiling, looking pleased with the bride the late duke had chosen. All Lily wanted to do was run away.

      “I am glad you arrived safely,” the duke said. “I hope your journey was not too unpleasant.”

      “Not at all,” Matilda said.

      “The roads were dreadful,” said Jo with an airy wave of her hand. “I told Mother we should wait another few days, give the roads a chance to dry out, but she wouldn’t listen. We suffered for it, I can tell you. Wet, cold and miserable all the way here.” She sighed dramatically. “At any rate, we are here now and that is all that matters.”

      The duke’s tawny eyes assessed her. “Indeed,” was all he said. He turned to the housekeeper. “I am sure the ladies are tired from their journey. Mrs. McBride, would you please show our guests up to their rooms.”

      “Certainly, Your Grace.”

      The household once more scurried into action, footmen running up the stairs, hauling trunks and satchels and hatboxes, the upstairs chambermaids making a final check of the guest rooms.

      “I hope you will find your accommodations satisfactory,” the duke said. “Your cousin, Miss Moran, has made every effort to make sure you are comfortable.”

      Matilda tossed Lily a glance. “I am certain we will be.”

      Jocelyn hurried over to Lily and took hold of her hand. “I’ve missed you, Lily. Come upstairs with me, won’t you? You can help me unpack and decide what to wear down to supper.”

      Lily just nodded. Waiting for the group to follow the housekeeper up the stairs, she fell in behind the assembly making its way to the second floor. As she passed the duke, she wasn’t the least surprised to see his tawny gaze following Jocelyn’s sensuous figure up the wide carved staircase.

      Her stomach quivered. Ignoring a ridiculous feeling of abandonment, she continued up the stairs behind her cousin.

      That night, Lily took supper in her room. Though Jocelyn tried to coax her into joining the group in the dining room, it was time she returned to the shadows.

      Matilda Caulfield did not press the issue.

      “My God, man.” Sheridan Knowles stood next to Royal in the entry. Halfway up the staircase, Jocelyn made her way to her room on the second floor. Sherry had arrived unannounced, as usual, two days after the Caulfields’ arrival. Royal had introduced him to Jocelyn, who afterward excused herself and was now on her way upstairs for her afternoon nap.

      Both men watched until she disappeared.

      “My God.” Sherry still stared.

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