Never Surrender to a Scoundrel by Lily Dalton

silence passed, and then Clarissa felt a hand gently stroke her hair. “It’s just that this has all come as such a shock, but I love you. We all love you, don’t we, Daphne? That’s all that matters.”
    A snore arose from the tousled heap of hair that was Daphne.
    “Daphne—” Sophia pinched Daphne’s arm. “ Daphne. Wake up.”
    “Ow…what?” Daphne moaned, jerking her arm away and burying her face under the covers.
    “I said wake up. It’s morning.” Sophia sat up and, with her fingers, attempted to comb out her wild mass of dark hair. She had always worn her dark hair longer than her blond sisters and normally slept with it in a braid. They’d forgone their customary bedtime rituals the night before in favor of sisterly commiseration. “Clarissa needs us to be awake and present, to support her through what will most likely be the worst day of her life.”
    “The worst day of my life,” Clarissa exhaled. “Are you trying to make me feel better or worse?”
    “You’re marrying Mr. Kincraig.” Sophia sighed drolly, scooting off the bed. “Unfortunately, I don’t believe there is any way to make you feel worse.”
    She moved slowly and carefully, with a hand resting atop her belly. Clarissa watched, unable to imagine herself in such a state. How she envied her sister. Both her sisters, who had married into love matches. She supposed it was too much that three should accomplish such a remarkable feat.
    “Oh. My. Heavens,” blurted Daphne, pushing the blankets from her face to stare wide-eyed at the pink canopy over Clarissa’s bed. “For a moment after waking up I didn’t remember, but it is all coming back to me.” She covered her face with her hands. “Oh, Clarissa, you always wanted your wedding to be the talk of London, and it seems as if today you shall have your wish.”
    “Daphne,” Clarissa cried, following Sophia out of the bed to thrust her feet into her slippers. No—they were Sophia’s slippers! She kicked them off and replaced them with her own. “Don’t tease me, not now. It’s not funny.”
    “I’m not teasing.” Daphne rolled toward them, resting her head on one hand. “Certainly you know that no matter the degree of discretion around today’s ceremony, there’s going to be an announcement in the paper, and everyone’s going to ask questions about why everything happened so quickly, and why the Duke of Claxton had to exert his influence to obtain a special license so immediately. You’re marrying Mr. Kincraig, after all. He is a known drunk and a gambler, and…and…quite possibly a swindler.”
    “He is not—” Clarissa blurted.
    “Daphne,” Sophia warned, her gaze sharp. “It won’t be that terrible. It’s the end of the season. Half of London has likely already left town as of this morning.”
    “He’s a scoundrel,” Daphne accused.
    “I won’t have you speak ill of him,” Clarissa sniffed.
    Daphne scowled. “You know all too well we’ve all thought it at one time or another, as has the rest of the ton . There’s got to be some reason no one ever heard of him before he arrived on our doorstep two years ago claiming to be a relation, which of course didn’t even turn out to be true. That awful beard and mustache, and the way he dresses! He is not at all the sort of man anyone would expect a young lady of your potential to wed—”
    Everything Daphne said was true.
    “You shush now,” Sophia snapped protectively, coming to stand between them.
    Daphne pushed into a sitting position, her face puffy from sleep. “Am I the only one who remembers that night when the King’s Guards found him swimming in the fountain at Kensington Palace, wearing only a ballerina’s tutu?”
    “How could any of us forget?” Sophia murmured, then, with an apologetic glance to Clarissa, she said, “Mr. Kincraig has always been a wild cannon.”
    Clarissa closed her eyes. Yes, by all accounts everything they said was true, her savior and future husband was all of