Chapter fifty-two
The last few days flowed routinely and looked like an attempt to fix everything that was once ruined. The days of revival.
The Duke's empire had been filled with hustling and bustling movements for the forthcoming wedding. If the Dowager Duchess had never been serious with anything in her life, she took this phase of trials easily and tried to restore the estate, even if it was the last thing she did. At least to give Philip time to get back on his feet…although it seemed to be taking forever.
As confident and eager as Elizabeth had been of Philip's return, it has taken literally no amount of his apology for her to pull him back into her embrace. And with a smirk on her face, she had patted his hair and agreed to marry him again. All thanks to Monica.
Now the days were crawling by quite slowly and the wedding was hearing, one that the Duke was somehow not looking forward to. Lately, he'd been searching for a darker place to hide, to be away from all the chatters concerning his marriage…or bondage. As much as he was against it, he had no other choice.
He had managed to cleanse all memories concerning the tale of the Scottish damsel…or he convinced himself he had. But now, as his valet helped him get dressed, he had not even the slightest idea she was going to return info the story.
***
The dome shaped church was gleefully full, with occupants separated into the left and right portions of it. The long aisle that stretched through the center, coming from the double doors and ending upon the altar, guided Elizabeth Aflong with her mini entourage.
The lass was braced in a white Italian lace gown, hugging firmly to her torso, surrendering its whole length down her legs and sweeping an appropriate half of the aisle. Most of the dress was adorned with gem-like pieces giving an entire sparkle to the bride.
She wants to be the Duchess alright, Monica huffed as she stalked along the back edge of the guests. Momentarily, her eyes rested on Philip who stood at the base of the short stairway leading up to the pulpit. Then back at Elizabeth.
This ceremony lacked just the excitement, and with a smirk, she promised herself to do them a favor and give them just a tip of the iceberg.
Was she the only one realising that the groom had a displeased grim on, or the bride had that possessing smirk as though she planned to claim the world…or the duchy.
Monica sighed while she sighted some more familiar faces; Earl at the left part of the barristrade, Jason beside Mildred with his arm around her protectively, both Princes, and Peter Larmack; all supportively behind their friend, the groom.
It was risky but she was going to do it.
Although dull and lifeless, the vows went on smoothly between the bride and groom, with Reverend Ramiro guiding it.
Almost there Monica… Patience…
Just as the Priest was about to declare them man and wife, she smiled and decided there was no better time to spoil a marriage.
The Scottish leaned away from the wall and began striding down the length of the aisle.
Just as she expected, eyes began travelling to her direction, row by row. Subsequently,the Priest, alongside Philip and Elizabeth, added with his friends gawked at the red haired lass who unflinchingly made her way to the couple.
Nothing really crossed their minds at the sight of her. Philip however, studied as the lady approached him specifically, somewhat confused and slightly fearful. With the look she gave him, he registered what she planned to do a little too late to avoid it.
When she finally reached the couple, she pushed herself between them and grabbed Philip's jaw, pressing a wet, possessive kiss to his lips.
An awe crossed the crowd, loud and disgusted.
The Duke's friends did not react at first, clearly dumb with shock and anger, well except Earl. If there was anything he'd forever admire in that lady, it would be her guts.
Coming into a wedding to kiss a groom before his bride, before God and hundreds of people, and before them who had the unflinching urge to kill her. Well she was just being a daredevil this time and had surely landed herself into trouble. Trouble he would make sure she got.
That seemed to be one feeling mutual among five of them. Almost simultaneously, they secretly slipped out hidden arms…tugging it away in a spot behind them in case she did anything usual…daring.
Philip grew stuff as memories flew back in, painfully recognising the usual flame and violence she expertly kissed him with.  When his lips almost unwillingly began moving with hers, she pulled away and stared at him intently, breathing hard and wondering if that action of hers would mean anything…change anything. With the stern set of his jaw, it was hard to tell.
Before Monica could achieve a weakening effect on her prey, she felt both her arms pull back into a hard grip. As she tried to register what was going on, a rope came about her wrists and was dragged taut to trap and almost stop the movement of her hands.
She turned around to find two of Philip's majordomos at her back, her hands clutched hard in the grip of one's hands. Sadly, she took teary eyes to the Duke as though begging for him to help her, "We need to talk."
Expectedly, Philip shut his attention from her and looked the other way, vowing not to say a single word.
Well that hurt Monica more than anything. With her hands still tied and held to her back, she spun and sent a kick to both men, consequently freeing herself from any hold. It took her almost nothing to loosen the knot tied around her wrists with the tips of her fingers.
Some men at the back had begun pushing the double doors at the entrance shut…and the crowd of guests had started closing in. Fear engulfed her as she finally realized she was trapped.
Still, had willpower fought as always, failing to accept she was shut in here amongst all of England.
The Scottish reached down her hip to pull her gun. With her fingers a few inches away from gripping it, she felt a gun to her head.
Ever so slowly, Monica turned around to find the face of whom she least expected; Marquess of Bellingham. The one who was once the most jovial to her.
At the thought, she closed her eyes to hold back tears.
Earl Robinson tilted his head teasingly at her with his finger itching upon the trigger, "So glad you decided to drop by darling."
Monica paused in her actions. Anyone half as controlled as she was would have begun pouring out all the pain in her heart the only way she knew how; tears. It seemed the world was now against her.
Surrendering completely, she let Philip's men tie both her hands again while her gaze travelled through all the men that were once her friends…then Philip.
At least the others sent hateful stares to her. Philip did not as much as look at her. This was going to be harder than she thought.
And until Monica was dealt with, this wedding was going to be on a hold as far as the Duke was concerned.
***