Chapter 28
Damien stood at her side in Lord Fletcher’s chapel, the pews packed, onlookers crowding at the doors. People he’d never met smiled at him as if he were a favorite son. Some ladies wept, but Emily wasn’t at all teary-eyed. Stoic, she repeated her vows in a steady voice that he found somewhat startling. Who was he marrying? Didn’t she feel some uncertainty about the commitment they were embarking on?
She showed no signs of it. Perhaps she looked a little pale, but that blue gown accentuated a body that sent his pulses soaring. The scent of lilies twined in her hair wafted to him whenever she turned her head to give a wave at someone who called out a blessing.
Dear God. What was he going to do with her after the ceremony? Well, of course he knew what he would do tonight, and presumably for the next few weeks, but what would happen once they reached London and had to settle into a life together?
He would introduce her, as his wife, to the family who might not even recognize him. Would Emily be surprised to know that she was better acquainted with him than his own brothers were? She knew almost as much about him as did his valet. He was a solitary person and it was the way he had always lived his life. Now that must change.
He could just imagine how the conversation with his Boscastle relatives would go.
“How did the pair of you meet?”
“Well, I knew her brother.”
“But when did you fall in love with her?”
“We exchanged many letters.”
“That’s rather dull for the start of a Boscastle seduction.”
“I didn’t seduce her,” he would insist, although he doubted anyone would believe she had told his fortune and entangled their destinies.
This was only a role. She was playing her part, as he was his. He couldn’t forget that Michael and Winthrop were both standing at the back of the chapel, armed beneath their jackets in case Ardbury or his journalist had made the connection between a gypsy girl and the serene, bright-haired bride who was calmly taking her vows.
Husband and wife.
He kissed her on the mouth. To his approval, she swayed and closed her eyes. He wanted to crush her in his arms. A group of young people, her friends, apparently, laughed. One shouted, “We never thought we’d live to see this day.”
But her father did not smile. He stood back and watched in wistful silence. Perhaps he’d also thought the day would never come when his daughter would marry. Now she would be gone for good.
Damien had sworn before God that he would take care of her for the rest of his life. And yet he was taking her away from her family. From the village she had always known. From the cricket player whose love she had sought.
At the reception he drank champagne and played the attentive groom next to the bride, who laughed less and less as the day wore on. “This might be the last chance we have to celebrate together for some time,” he said, pressing his face against her scented hair.
The blossoms had fallen off one by one. While he and Emily broke into two lines in the ballroom, the last lily slid down her back and into his hand. He tucked it into his vest pocket. Perhaps one day she would press it in a Bible as a keepsake.
The band launched into a country dance. Damien suppressed a groan. He had too much on his mind to prance about like a puppet. Protecting Emily from curious eyes. Escaping from Hatherwood. Their first night together as man and wife. He did not give a damn about dancing. He’d behaved himself long enough. Once they reached the castle there might not be many opportunities to sleep with Emily, uninterrupted by duty. Even their wedding reception would be cut short if they were to reach the next village by evening. He didn’t want an exhausted bride in his wedding bed.
The ladies had assembled in one line. The gentlemen stood parallel in another. It reminded Damien of a firing squad, only now the weapons employed were come-hither smiles and graceful movements. Was Emily’s smile for him or someone in the crowd?
She swung around before he could decide. His gaze dropped from her face. Had her sleeve slipped off her shoulder? There was no need for him to panic; there was no identifying mark marring her shoulder any longer. That didn’t mean he wanted the world to admire her creamy skin. He grasped her hand so tightly that she gave a gasp.
“Mind the shoulder,” he said under his breath.
And the lady on his left, who had taken hold of his hand said, “The soldier? Is that a variation of the dance?”
Emily crossed before him, whispering, “It’s covered in lace.”
He stared at her as she moved down the line. How was it that she seemed more beautiful by the moment?
“Excuse me, my lord,” a vaguely familiar voice said a few inches below his shoulder. “May I claim the next dance with the countess?”
The countess? Damien felt a shock of realization. He had a countess now, a counterpart to share in all the intrigue and hopes he had kept hidden from the world. It struck him in that moment that he didn’t feel like sharing her with anyone yet, even though he wasn’t sure what he would do with a wife.
He saw Emily bite her lip to conceal a smile. He glanced around reluctantly to see Camden bowing at his back. Emily looked up at Damien, her eyes asking his permission. He felt a flare of . . . he didn’t know what it was. Something dark, unpleasant. Uncivilized.
He wanted to refuse. They couldn’t spare the time. They had to return to her house with her father. Damien had last-minute instructions for Michael. The excuses mounted in his mind, each one emptier than the last. He pressed his lips together. Let the little bugger skulk off. After all, it was Emily’s infatuation with the nodcock that had thrown Damien’s life off course.
“My lord?” Camden said uneasily as the band began another set.
Damien allowed his thoughts to wander. It was rather insulting to realize that he was this boy’s replacement, not that Emily had chosen Damien any more than he had chosen her. If he refused, Emily might conclude he was jealous when, of course, such an emotion was beneath Damien’s dignity. But did he want to set a precedent? He and his wife might never see this bat player again.
“One dance,” he said, and felt ridiculous, like King Arthur to Lancelot and Guinevere.
? ? ?
Emily’s heart wasn’t in dancing with Camden. She’d lost her place in line on purpose and contemplated dancing off the floor when Camden looked the other way. She was more concerned with Damien’s apparent lack of interest in who partnered her than she was in a consolation dance with Camden. After Camden had approached the newly wedded couple, Damien had retreated from her without another word of complaint.
Did that mean he was relieved to be gone from her? She’d known his mind was a hundred miles away from the wedding. From her.
But she craved his attention for the afternoon. She wanted him to laugh and toast their marriage and make her feel the illusion of love for a few hours.
But, then, he had desperate matters on his mind. And soon she and Damien would leave here, and she would rely on him for everything.
“Emily, did you hear what I said?” Camden asked, startling her when he took her hand.
She saw Camden now as if he were the stranger that Damien had once been. How odd that she had envisioned this very moment down to the last detail—dancing with him at her wedding reception—except that all the details had changed. He wasn’t her groom. She wasn’t a bride bubbling over with uncontainable happiness. And there had not been a dark nobleman standing beneath the wall tapestry waiting for her, with his arms crossed over his chest.
The courtship was over. Their marriage was about to begin. She would be in her husband’s bed before the moon rose over the village.