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his rebellious behavior and impenetrable veneer, he had been affected by the indignity of public rejection. For a proud man like Trenton, the flagrant scorn of his bride on their wedding day would be the supreme humiliation.
Accordingly, Ariana tilted her head back, held her chin high, and vowed to let the guests—and the world—think what they would. She would provide no fuel for their vicious fire.
“Your bride is breathtaking,” Dustin Kingsley murmured beside his brother’s ear.
Trenton nodded slowly, his throat clogged with some intangible emotion. “Yes. She is.” He dragged his eyes from Ariana, strangely moved and equally unwilling to display it. His gaze settled instead on Baxter, and all tenderness fled. Without hesitation, Trenton walked forward, ready to claim his bride. Much to the disappointment of the crowd, Baxter offered no resistance, relinquishing Ariana’s arm and stepping away.
Profoundly aware of Trenton’s presence beside her, Ariana’s insides clenched with nerves. Battling for control, she stared straight ahead and was greeted with a broad, understanding grin. Shyly, she smiled back, knowing immediately that this must be Trenton’s brother, Dustin. The two men were of the identical height and build, possessing the same hard good looks and dark coloring. Only the marquis’s near-black midnight eyes and dashing mustache set him apart—that and the genuine warmth on his face as he acknowledged his brother’s soon-to-be wife.
She felt Trenton’s hand close around her arm and she turned to face him, willing a drop of the gentle warmth she’d spied earlier back into his blazing eyes. She saw none.
The room grew hushed as the ceremony began. Ariana remained poised, repeating the customary phrases without hesitation … until the bishop turned to her and spoke the words until death do you part. A suffocating stillness ensued, followed by a tingle of apprehension that swelled to fill the room. A pulsebeat later Ariana continued, reciting the words dutifully, meeting Trenton’s gaze squarely and without fear.
With a congratulatory lift of his brows Trenton acknowledged Ariana’s spunk, his eyes holding her captive as he repeated the identical pledge. Seconds later, he slid the heavy gold wedding band on her finger. Then, raising her veil, he brushed her cold lips lightly with his firm, warm mouth, sealing their joining in the eyes of God and man.
The trip to Broddington was a blur.
A strained silence accompanied them in the coach, Trenton scowling moodily off into space, Ariana anxiously twisting the new, foreign-feeling ring on her finger.
The iron gates were flung open, admitting the bridal procession to some of the most exquisite grounds Ariana had ever seen.
“How lovely!” she exclaimed, the ponderous tension pervading the carriage instantly forgotten as she leaned forward to drink in the vast, rolling hills.
“We have hundreds of acres on the front lawns alone,” Trenton supplied, unsurprised that Ariana, like every woman, was impressed with Broddington. He studied his wife’s face, taking in the turquoise splendor of her eyes when they were alight with pleasure. Without warning, he found himself wondering if those same eyes would darken with passion in his bed.
Unexpected lust surged through his blood.
Oblivious to the direction Trenton’s thoughts had taken, Ariana was half out of her seat, staring delightedly out the carriage window. “Do you have stables?”
Trenton blinked at the naïveté of the question. “What?”
Ariana cast an apologetic look in his direction. “I’m sorry. If you haven’t any stables, I’ll find animals in the woods.”
“Of course we have stables!” he blurted out, totally stupefied. “Years ago Broddington housed dozens of Thoroughbreds for racing. But that was before …” He broke off, his expression closed.
Ariana heard him, but she chose to ignore the implication of his words. It was enough that they were finally managing a civil conversation—an unexpected experience that would surely be shattered were they to discuss the events leading up to Trenton’s exile.
“Are all the horses gone, then?” she asked instead.
“Do you ride?”
“Since I could walk.”
He studied her glowing face. “I’ll arrange to have proper horses delivered immediately.”
She smiled, touched by his generosity. “Thank you.” Her forefinger traced the outline of one of her gown’s lace panels. “And while I’m expressing my gratitude, thank you for allowing Theresa to accompany me to Broddington. She raised me from birth and is more like a family member than a servant.”
“I’m not a monster, Ariana.” He spoke her name for the first time, and the deep-timbred syllables sounded strangely exhilarating to her ears. “You’re my wife. Anything you ask for … anything within reason … is yours.” He leaned forward, his hands gripping his knees. “And while we’re exchanging thank yous, I owe you one as well. I appreciate your composure during the wedding ceremony. It prevented an unthinkable amount of ugly gossip from spreading.”
Ariana nodded slowly. A thousand questions bubbled up inside her, but she doggedly fought the impulse to blurt them out. She would know when the time was right to ask each one.
The carriage rolled onward until the enormous Broddington manor came into view.
Again, Trenton watched Ariana’s face, curious about her reaction to the formidable dwelling. He saw her eyes widen with surprise just before she began plucking at the satin edging of her gown.
“Will there be many people living here?” she asked in an odd tone.
Trenton frowned. “No. At least not once the reception has ended. There will be a small staff of servants, most of whom I’ve borrowed from my other estates, your Theresa, and us. Why?” He was annoyed at this unplanned development. He hadn’t anticipated that Ariana would want a houseful of servants to direct. Perhaps he should have, though. Given her isolation at Winsham, she had doubtlessly envisioned her life as a duchess to include the running of a huge staff.
