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Baxter’s flush deepened. “Your solicitor? I have no debt to pay you, Kingsley.”
Trenton’s temples pounded with rage, and it took every shred of control he possessed not to kill Caldwell where he stood. “I beg to differ with you,” he bit out. “What you owe me can never be repaid.” He drew his breath in slowly. “But I’m here to collect nonetheless.”
“Get out!” Baxter crossed the hall, prepared to bodily evict Trenton.
Trenton stopped him in his tracks, grabbing him roughly by the arm, wishing it were the viscount’s treacherous neck in his grasp. “Read the edict, Lawrence,” he commanded, never dragging his smoldering gaze from Baxter’s.
Nervously, the solicitor adjusted his spectacles, rustling the official-looking document and clearing his throat. Trenton had warned him this would be unpleasant, and he, of all people, knew the history behind Trenton’s hatred. Still, his hands trembled a bit, the bitter tension a palpable entity in the quiet entranceway.
“This is a royal edict from Her Majesty, Queen Victoria,” he began.
Baxter looked stunned. “A royal edict?”
“Yes, my lord,” Crofton confirmed. “Now, if I may continue …”
“Read it, Lawrence.” Trenton’s tone was lethal, his heart pounding with triumph as, beneath his rigid grasp, he felt Baxter’s blood pump faster, his pulse beat accelerate.
“Very well.” Crofton stood up straighter. “‘Her Majesty, Queen Victoria, by the Grace of God, of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland, Queen, Defender of the Faith, Empress of India, wills and commands Lady Ariana Caldwell be joined in wedlock to His Grace, Trenton Nicholas Kingsley, the seventh Duke of Broddington, on the 5th day of August, 1873, the ceremony to take place without fail at the appointed hour of—’”
“No!”
The protest was torn from Ariana’s chest, a horrified cry uttered midway down the staircase where she stood, frozen with shock and outrage. Clutching the banister, she shook off Theresa’s supporting hand and fought for composure, staring into the sea of faces below.
For a minute, no one moved or spoke, incredulity pitted against fury and determination.
Trenton reacted first, walking purposefully to the foot of the stairs, addressing Ariana with businesslike composure. “Obviously, you heard the Queen’s edict. That saves me the trouble of repeating it.”
“I … won’t … do … it.” Ariana choked out each word, descending until she was but three steps from the bottom, eye to eye with her enemy.
Trenton appraised her with slow deliberation, his probing blue eyes missing nothing. Then, maddeningly, he smiled. “It?”
“Marry you!” she clarified in a frigid hiss.
“Ah, but you will, misty angel,” he corrected, seizing her elbow and tugging her the remaining distance to him. Holding her captive with his gaze, he extended his hand toward Crofton. “Give me the edict.”
His solicitor complied, walking over and hastily placing the official paper in Trenton’s outstretched hand.
Unblinking, Trenton offered the page to Ariana
. “Read it yourself.”
Ariana snatched it, scanning the contents, her cheeks growing flushed. “Why?” she demanded, thrusting the paper back at Trenton.
“My reasons are my own. But the signature belongs to our Queen. Will you disobey her order?”
“Baxter is right … you are a bastard,” Ariana breathed, her voice breaking.
Trenton’s jaw tightened. “Then on August 5th you will become a bastard’s wife.”
“Please … don’t do this.” She tried one last time to beseech him.
Something flashed in his eyes, something sympathetic and vulnerable … then it was gone. “Until August 5th, misty angel,” he repeated, backing away. “After that you belong to me.”
“Baxter?” Ariana averted her head, gazing pleadingly in her brother’s direction, wondering why he remained so deadly silent.
Baxter’s mind was still reeling. Ariana … marry Kingsley? Was this the scoundrel’s final revenge? To rob Baxter of his only remaining sister and force her to become Mrs. Trenton Kingsley?
Baxter closed his eyes. The idea was abhorrent, intolerable. If he honored the Queen’s command, Ariana would belong to his most despised enemy, the bastard who had taken all he had, the anathema of his existence.
