Free Four Nights With the Duke by Eloisa James

her crave buttered crumpets.
    The larger problem was that Mia was petrified by the idea of descending the stairs for her wedding. How could she face Vander again? She had engaged in such unethical conduct toward him. He must loathe her.
    Of course he loathed her.
    Finally, she made herself leave the room. There was nothing to be done about it: She had to face the irascible duke and say her vows as quickly as possible, after which she could go home and pretend none of this happened.
    It was horrifying to reach the bottom of the stairs and hear voices coming from the drawing room. Surely Vander wouldn’t have gathered a wedding party?
    Her heroine in Love Conquers All , Petronella—or was it Giuliana?—had had to face the guillotine. Petronella lifted her chin and walked bravely to her doom (though, of course, no doom awaited her, because a duke was overcome by her exquisite beauty and risked his life to save her).
    Mia lifted her chin and tried to walk bravelytoward the drawing room. It wasn’t exactly the same as moving toward a guillotine, but her heart was certainly thumping as if she faced death. Vander’s butler, Nottle, didn’t make it easier; he looked condescendingly down his long nose before he opened the drawing room door and announced, “Miss Carrington.”
    To her enormous shock, the Duke of Villiers stood directly before her. The gentleman—a distant acquaintance of her father, as she recalled—was renowned for his sartorial splendor and true to his reputation, he was dressed like a peacock, in a coat of blue-and-green striped silk taffeta over a waistcoat embroidered all over with flowers.
    Mia looked rather wildly for his duchess, but the only other person in the room was Vander, also dressed splendidly, in a coat of dark amethyst silk with embroidery around the cuffs.
    So much for the sackcloth.
    She was underdressed for her own wedding.
    Vander stepped forward and bowed. “Miss Carrington.” Her stomach clenched. He had that kind of voice, a truly masculine voice. “I apologize for not greeting you last evening.”
    “Your Grace.” She dipped a curtsy. A deep one because it gave her a moment. She turned and curtsied before the Duke of Villiers. “Your Grace,” she murmured.
    “I trust you are well?” Vander inquired, his face utterly expressionless.
    She could feel rosy blotches spreading up her neck. “Of course. I am surprised. I did not expect that we would have a wedding party under the circumstances.”
    “What’ya saying?” a voice broke in, coming from nowhere. Startled, Mia jumped sideways, straight into Vander.
    His big hands came around her shoulders to steady her and he held her there, against his warm body. “Uncle, I had no idea you were in the room. Miss Carrington, may I present my uncle, Sir Cuthbert Brody?”
    Sir Cuthbert had just risen from a high-backed chair positioned before the window. He was a short man, about her height, though a great deal rounder. His nose was red, and his cheeks were red, and what hair he had left had once been combed over his bald head but was now standing up like a flag at the prow of a ship. He wore an extraordinary, if crumpled, coat of sage-green paisley silk and carried a matching green cane with a brass top.
    “I prefer Chuffy,” he said, with just the faintest slur to his words. “Good morning to you, my dear.” He was drunk. No, he was not just drunk: he was utterly bosky, actually swaying slightly.
    Vander groaned. “When I saw you last, at two in the morning, you said you were going to bed, Uncle.”
    “Oh, by then it was too late to go to bed. Besides, I would have missed this glorious occasion, this nuptial . . . this marital meeting.”
    “Were you planning to change your coat?” Vander asked.
    “This coat is good enough to drink in,” his uncle said cheerily. “So it’s good enough to walk you to the altar. Besides, it ain’t as if this is the kind of wedding that’ll involve wiggle-wagging our way up the aisle of