Dorothy’s gaze lifted, and she saw Lord Hensley waiting at the altar. He was tall, his frame rigid and commanding yet not quite as broad as her father’s. His hair was dark, swept back neatly from a high forehead. Those still gray eyes of his, so often fixed on her with that unnerving chill, held no warmth, only a polite smile that never quite reached them, as if he were always measuring her rather than seeing her.
A tremor threatened to break free within her, tears brimming just behind her lashes. The weight of desperation pressed upon her chest like a vice, threatening to shatter her composure.
Then, without warning, the heavy chapel doors burst open with a startling crash that silenced the murmurs instantly. Every eye swung toward the entrance where a figure stood framed in the doorway, a man whose presence seemed to command the very air around him.
He was very tall, his broad, powerful shoulders squared with unshakable confidence, moving with the sure grace of one accustomed to command. His thick black hair fell just so,framing a face strikingly handsome with sharp features. But it was his dark blue eyes, deep and piercing, that arrested Dorothy’s breath. The room seemed to hold its breath, too.
Her father turned slowly toward the man, eyes narrowing. “Good morning,” he greeted cautiously. “If I may ask, who might you be to interrupt such a solemn moment? One of Lord Hensley’s acquittances, I assume? Are you here for the wedding?”
The man’s gaze flicked to her father, then back to Dorothy with an intensity that made her skin prickle. “My name is Magnus Fitzgerald. I am Duke of Walford.”
Dorothy’s eyes widened as the name echoed through the chapel. Magnus, Duke of Walford. The man she had only ever heard of in whispers, an almost mythical figure known for his reclusive nature, who rarely, if ever, left his vast northern estates. His appearance here was as shocking as a thunderstorm in midsummer.
Magnus...
Her heart pounded with a cold dread. Had her lie reached him? Had Magnus somehow heard the gossip? Had the rumor reached his remote northern halls? Was he here now to confront her? To claim vengeance for a scandal she and Lucy had invented?
The Duke’s sharp gaze swung to her father, piercing and unyielding. “Are you the Viscount Lockhart?”
Howard nodded curtly, mellow all of a sudden, as if he too could now see the gravitas of the situation.
Magnus’s gaze swept over her with a slow, deliberate intensity that made Dorothy instinctively take a small step back, as if she could escape the scrutiny. His eyes locked onto hers for a heartbeat, then drifted down to the delicate curve of her nose, the subtle tremor of her lips, tracing every line and shadow of her face with unnerving precision. His gaze traveled lower, lingering briefly on the swell of her chest, the slight rise and fall of her stomach beneath the silk, the slender length of her legs, before snapping back up to meet her eyes again. A slow, chilling smile curled at the corners of his lips, as if he found amusement in this silent appraisal and in the power it seemed to hold over her.
“I have come to claim my bride,” Magnus announced.
The chapel plunged into stunned silence.
Dorothy stood frozen, trapped between the life she was about to bind herself to and the storm that had just descended upon her world.
“Lord Lockhart, this cannot happen. You promised her to me.”
Howard lifted a calming hand, trying to steady the mounting tension. “There will be time for disputes after the ceremony, Lord Hensley. For now, we must maintain order.”
Magnus’s dark eyes never wavered from Howard. “Did you not hear of the rumor?” he questioned. “I am the one who ruined her. It is my responsibility to restore her honor. I sent a letter to your residence days ago which went unanswered. I had no choice but to come myself.”
“I have been quite ill, Your Grace,” Howard said. “I am not sure I received such a letter.”
Dorothy stood frozen, listening to the men arguing. Her heart was pounding so fiercely that she feared it might betray her fear. She felt the stares of the assembled guests, the sharp breath of her father’s discomfort beside her, and the tight knot of dread deep in her chest.
“This cannot continue,” Lord Hensley whispered, voice tight. “We are to be married. There is no room for these disruptions. We must proceed.”
Magnus’s eyes locked onto Lord Hensley with a cold, commanding intensity that seemed to pin him in place. “Did you not hear what I just said? Or have the rumors of Miss Lockhart and me not reached your ears?”
Dorothy’s breath caught in her throat. He knew her name. The very sound of it from his lips felt like something settling deepwithin her. It was a mixture of dread and something she wasn’t sure of. Was it fear? Shame?
Lord Hensley’s jaw clenched visibly, fury flashing behind his eyes. Yet even in his anger, he knew better than to challenge a duke openly, especially one who looked formidable and unyielding like Magnus. Dorothy could see the tight line of his mouth, the barely restrained storm simmering beneath his calm exterior. She, too, felt the weight of Magnus’s presence, the undeniable force that cowed even the most confident of men.
Instead of sparking a confrontation, Lord Hensley swallowed his pride and nodded stiffly. “Very well,” he said through clenched teeth to Howard. “We shall discuss this later.”
“I assure you, there will be nothing to discuss,” Magnus told him.
Struggling to meet his gaze, Lord Hensley turned sharply and marched toward the chapel doors, leaving the wedding. As Lord Hensley’s footsteps faded away, Howard lifted his hand to quiet the restless murmurs rising from the congregation.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he announced with a firm but weary voice, “the wedding will not be held today. My apologies. I ask that you all please make your way home.”
Whispers rippled through the chapel as guests began to rise and gather their things, glancing curiously between Dorothy, Howard, and the imposing figure of Magnus.
Howard turned to Dorothy and Magnus, obviously uncomfortable. “Your Grace, if it pleases you, might we retire to the vestry to discuss matters privately?”
