Eight Hunting Lyons (The Lyon’s Den Connected World)

Chapter Seventeen

“I ’m sorry it took a bit longer than anticipated, your lordship, Vicar. Mrs. Pritchard needed to fuss until she was satisfied with my appearance.” She smiled at the older woman who stood off to the side ready to act as witness to their marriage.

“Gemma, I’d like you to meet Vicar Dalrymple, a longtime friend of my family.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Vicar.”

The vicar studied her for a moment as if he were taking her measure. Was he?

Thankfully, before the question popped out of her mouth, the vicar motioned for her to stand beside the viscount.

She hurried to do his bidding. Viscount Moreland had changed and was resplendent in a dark blue waistcoat and frockcoat. The absence of lacy froth tied around his throat eased a bit of worry that the bold captain who’d rescued her just last night would turn into a bit of a fop, or pink of the ton , now that he wore the mantle of viscount.

She could picture him as a Corinthian —an athletic member of society who craved all things outdoors. With his dark hair gleaming in the moonlight, he’d lean forward in the saddle to keep his seat as his magnificent black stallion reared up before leaping forward to race across a mist-shrouded moor.

“See anything you like, Lass?”

She blinked and the image was gone. His lips lifted in a crooked smile as her silent perusal had her answering honestly, “That I do, your lordship.”

His chuckle wrapped around her like a hug. It was so rare to hear laughter, that it was a constant surprise to her. Hope that her decision to seek Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s aid in finding a husband who would not be tied to her father’s bank account—or twice her age, filled her with a sense of rightness.

Colin was everything she’d hoped for in a husband. He was strong, and while protective of her, let her speak her mind and seemed to value her opinion. He was so handsome, her heart sighed whenever she met the intensity of emotion swirling in his storm-gray eyes.

The vicar cleared his throat to begin, and she lifted her gaze to meet Colin’s.

“Dearly beloved—”

“The short version,” her husband-to-be interrupted. “If you don’t mind, Vicar Dalrymple.”

The wizened, gray-haired clergyman leaned closer to the viscount to ask, “Just how short did you have in mind?”

Viscount Moreland chuckled. “As short as possible.”

Did he find the taking of their vows humorous? Was there a reason he wanted to rush such an important occasion in their lives? Would he honor their vows? Had she utterly misjudged the man? Dear Lord, she hoped not.

“Very well, your lordship.”

The rush of blood from her head to her toes had her swaying. It took every bit of control she could muster to lock her knees. Gemma doubted the man at her side even noticed her discomfiture.

The heat of his hand beneath her elbow helped steady her. Mayhap he had noticed . She didn’t dare a glance to be sure. He might be angry and an angry Captain Broadbank—er…Viscount Moreland, did not bode well for their wedding night. She needed him at ease and not on edge when demanding his husbandly rights.

“We are gathered together…” the vicar’s words were all but lost to her in the overwhelming fear that she’d stepped from one situation—one familiar to her, to one she was unaccustomed to. Had she lost her mind?

“Don’t worry,” he soothed, slipping the hand at her elbow securely around her waist. “It’ll be over in no time.”

Would he come to revile her if her dowry had already changed hands—and not to the viscount?

She could not stop the trembling as tears gathered in her eyes. Gemma blinked them away but could not seem to get hold of herself.

What in the bloody hell was wrong with Gemma? She’d seemed to be anticipating their vow taking a short while ago. Had something changed her mind? Was he too demanding when he kissed her? She seemed to enjoy it at the time—though she had been shocked when he’d taken possession of her mouth with his lips and then his tongue.

His body responded, turning in the direction of his thoughts, and would have sprinted ahead had it not been for the trembling woman at his side. He’d promised he would not hurt her. Blast! She’d said she trusted him. Could he trust her?

“I now pronounce you husband and wife.”

The sudden silence was deafening until the clergyman said, “You may kiss your bride, your lordship.”

In the eyes of God, the church, and all thereunder, they were man and wife. To hell with their second thoughts! He pulled her against him and kissed her ravenously. He didn’t break the kiss until her trembling stopped and she went limp in his arms.

With a devilish grin, he tightened his grip on her, pulling her flush against his side, giving her time to collect herself. When he moved to slip his other arm beneath her knees, she pinched him until he straightened once more at her side.

“I can walk,” she protested.

He swallowed his laughter at her boldness in front of a man of the cloth but acquiesced. Pressing his lips to the top of her head, he wiggled his eyebrows at the vicar. “My wife is overcome with joy.” He punctuated his statement with a wink.

The vicar’s eyes danced with merriment as he stepped forward and held out his hand to the viscount.

He took it, shaking the clergyman’s hand enthusiastically, surprised when the older man leaned close and whispered, “A drop or two of sherry, will set your wife to rights.”

Easing back, the vicar smiled at the couple. “Marriage is what the two of you will make of it. Remember the blessings bestowed upon you this day, your lordships. God will be with you and your bride the whole of your lives. Trust in that…trust in Him.”

Humbled by the advice and words of encouragement, the viscount felt a sense of rightness flowing through him. Pleased that he had a woman courageous enough to have faced the earlier threat by her pistol-wielding attacker, and a few hours later, marrying him, he was beyond grateful. Time to move forward, not backward. Time to embrace their marriage, honor their vows, and seal their union.

“Thank you for everything, Vicar Dalrymple. Please send my regards to Mrs. Dalrymple.”

“Indeed, I shall, your lordship. When you and the viscountess have settled in next week, do call on us. I know my Henrietta will be delighted to meet your wife.”

“Thank you, Vicar,” Gemma pipped up. “I am quite sure his lordship and I shall be delighted to call upon you and Mrs. Dalrymple. I’m so glad that you were able to marry us on such short notice. That you are a family friend to my husband makes it all the more memorable.”

The wizened old man smiled. “It has been my pleasure, your ladyship.” Locking gazes with Viscount Moreland, he continued, “I know your father would have liked to have been here but I understand circumstances prevented him from doing so.”

The vicar smiled at Gemma. “Ofttimes, the need for haste has more to do with saving a young woman’s reputation or, in some instances, one of the members of the ton .”

She paled, knowing that she’d tossed her reputation in the dust bin when she sought out Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s help. If word got out, it would likely ruin the viscount’s reputation and his family name.

Gemma drew in a breath, about to tell him the viscount was saving her reputation, when her husband rumbled, “The haste was essential. My wife’s life is in danger, and I must ask that you not speak of it, as it would only increase the risk.”

The vicar readily agreed. “I’ve performed a number of marriages by Special License and can honestly say, it is refreshing to marry a couple so imminently suited to one another.” He paused. “These old eyes have seen more lust than mutual affection over the years. I’m very pleased to see that you and your viscountess respect one another. It gladdens my heart.”

Tears pooled in Gemma’s eyes as she reached out to take hold of the vicar’s hand. “You have no idea how comforting your words are. I am afraid—” she shook her head, then continued, “I was afraid before meeting Viscount Moreland. From the moment we met, I sensed he was someone I could trust my life to.”

Vicar Dalrymple beamed. “Your ladyship, I have known the earl and his family for years and concur. You are a blessing and will be an asset to the House of Moreland.”

“That she will, Vicar, though it may take a bit of time to convince her.”

Gemma’s heart swelled with hope at the vicar and viscount’s words. He had already taken hold of her heart and earned her trust last night, freeing her from the prison her father had thought to keep her in until he forced her to wed the detestable Lord Harkwell.

For that alone, he would forever have her gratitude. The unknown lay ahead of them—a world so unlike the viscount’s years in the King’s Navy, or her world outside of the elite of society, that it boggled the mind. They would draw strength from the knowledge that they would face it together.