Royal's Bride. Kat Martin

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.

      “You’ve already said that.” Turning, Royal walked past him down the hall into his study. Sherry followed him inside and closed the door.

      “She’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

      Royal paused at the sideboard and poured himself a liberal shot of brandy, which seemed to be a habit these days. “She’s beautiful. I can hardly argue with that.”

      He had just finished luncheon with his aunt, his future bride and her mother, an affair that seemed to have no end.

      “Your father certainly came through for you.”

      Royal took a swallow of his drink. “He certainly did.”

      Sheridan tipped his head back, studying Royal down the length of his slightly too-long nose. “She certainly won’t be a burden to bed.”

      “I’m a man. She’s an extremely beautiful woman. It will hardly be a burden.”

      Sherry eyed him shrewdly. “All right, so what is it you don’t like about her?”

      Royal blew out a breath, raked a hand through his dark blond hair. “Nothing. At least nothing that would keep me from marrying her. It is merely that we share very few common interests.”

      “What does that have to do with anything? You will marry her, bed her and she will give you children. On top of that, you will have the luxury of making every man in London jealous of your incredibly beautiful wife. Along with that neat little package, you will also gain control of her incredible dowry and very sizable inheritance. What more could any man ask?”

      He shook his head. “Nothing, I guess. Jocelyn will make the perfect duchess, just as my father said.”

      Royal took another drink, set the brandy snifter down on his desk. “Apparently, she’s a very good horsewoman. After her rest, I’m showing her a bit of the estate.”

      His future bride seemed to require a good deal of rest, he thought, sleeping late in the mornings, then napping half the afternoon. He tried not to think of Lily, working dawn till dusk to prepare the house for her cousins. When she wasn’t moving furniture or seeing that the rugs were beaten, she was fashioning bonnets for her wealthy clientele. He couldn’t remember Lily every complaining about being tired.

      “So she likes horses, does she?”

      “Apparently.”

      “There—you see, you do have something in common. Tell me, how do you think she feels about you?”

      How did Jocelyn feel? He wasn’t sure. His future wife wasn’t an easy person to read. Either she was good at controlling her emotions or she didn’t have any.

      “I don’t know her well enough to tell. Perhaps she will open up a bit more this afternoon, when we are away from her mother.” They would be riding with a groom, of course, since neither Mrs. Caulfield nor his great-aunt Agatha could act as chaperone. He was actually looking forward to the ride, hoping he would discover something in his bride-to-be that would draw them together.

      Sherry sank into one of the leather chairs in front of the fire, draped a long leg over the arm. “Well, if you decide you don’t want her, let me know. I’ll be happy to act as a substitute groom.”

      Royal