Chapter 18 #3
The remaining guests began filing out, their voices rising in excited chatter about the scandal they’d just witnessed. This would be the talk of London for months.
Laurence turned to face Joan.
Victoria was still clutching her sister, sobbing with relief. Joan held her tight, stroking her hair with trembling hands.
It’s over, Joan realized. It’s truly over.
The wedding that would have bound her to Julian Hawthorne for the rest of her life had been destroyed.
She was free.
“It’s over, Joan. It’s truly over. You’re safe now.” Victoria sat beside her, rubbing soothing circles on her back.
Joan felt the blood drain from her face as the last of the reality crashed down upon her. Her legs gave out, and she sank onto one of the pews, her elaborate wedding gown pooling around her like a white puddle.
Damian moved through the remaining guests, ushering them toward the exits with polite but firm insistence. The scandal would spread through London like wildfire, by evening, every drawing room would be buzzing with the tale of the Earl of Aldridge’s spectacular downfall.
Hugo and Laurence approached where Joan sat. She forced herself to stand, smoothing her skirts with trembling hands.
“Your Grace.” Victoria curtsied, then looked up at them with tears streaming down her face. “Thank you. Thank you so much. I don’t know how we can ever repay you.”
“There is no debt,” Hugo said warmly. “We were merely righting a wrong.”
Joan’s voice came out barely above a whisper. “Thank you.”
“It was our pleasure, truly,” Hugo said cheerfully. “I haven’t had that much fun ruining a scoundrel in quite some time.”
Victoria glanced between her sister and the Duke, noting the way Laurence’s eyes hadn’t left Joan’s face. She touched Hugo’s arm gently.
“Your Grace, might I offer you some refreshment? I believe there is wine in the vestry, and I find myself quite parched after all this excitement.”
Hugo caught on immediately. “What an excellent idea, Miss Victoria. I am rather thirsty myself.”
They moved toward where Damian stood by the door. Victoria said something to him, and Damian looked back at Joan. His eyes met hers across the empty church, and slowly, he smiled and nodded.
Then the three of them disappeared through the side door, leaving Joan and Laurence alone in the vast, echoing space.
Laurence sat beside her on the pew, close enough that their shoulders nearly touched. He reached out and took both her hands in his, his thumbs stroking gently across her knuckles.
“How are you?” he asked softly.
Joan looked down at their joined hands, feeling the warmth of his touch seep into her cold fingers. I missed this, she realized. I missed him.
“I’m… I don’t know,” she admitted. She looked up at him. “How did you…”
His jaw clenched slightly. “I wanted to handle Julian myself. But Hugo convinced me that a public destruction of his reputation would be far more effective and considerably less likely to result in my own arrest.”
“How did you find those women? How did you convince them to come forward?”
“Hugo has his ways. He’s spent years building a network of contacts throughout London, including those in less respectable establishments.
The women were willing participants once they understood Julian would face consequences for his actions.
Though truthfully, they were merely for dramatic effect.
The real weapon was the evidence of embezzlement.
That will see Julian permanently ostracized from society, possibly imprisoned. ”
He reached up and cupped her chin gently, tilting her face toward his. “Julian has no power over you or your family any longer. And should he ever be foolish enough to approach any of you again, I will deal with him in my own way. You have my word.”
Joan held his hand against her cheek, leaning into the warmth of his touch. “Why are you doing this for me? I was rude. I pushed you away.”
Laurence’s eyes softened. “Because I love you.”
Joan’s breath caught.
“I don’t know precisely when it happened,” he continued quietly.
“Perhaps it was when you pounded on my carriage door and demanded I reverse. Perhaps it was when you stood in my study and told me I needed assistance for my rude temperament. Perhaps it was when you touched my hand with such gentle sympathy that something frozen in my chest began to thaw.”
His thumb stroked across her cheekbone. “I found myself wanting more of you. Selfishly, desperately wanting more. I haven’t desired anything or anyone for such a long time.
Years of isolation had made me believe I was content with loneliness.
But then you walked into my life, and suddenly I wanted everything. ”
“Laurence…”
“I’m not forcing my affection upon you,” he said quickly. “I want you to be free to choose. You can return to the countryside. The children miss you terribly. They even came to my estate convinced I had killed you.”
Despite everything, Joan felt a watery laugh escape.
“You can stay in London if you prefer,” Laurence continued. “I vow that no one will dare touch you or your family, my protection extends to all of you. But wherever you go, whatever you choose, I will love you. I will wait patiently to be accepted or rejected. It doesn’t matter how long it takes.”
A single tear slipped down Joan’s cheek.
Laurence was still cupping her face, his touch infinitely gentle. He leaned closer, his eyes searching hers for permission.
Joan’s answer was to close the remaining distance between them.
Their lips met softly, Laurence’s hand slid to the back of her neck, pulling her closer, and the kiss deepened. His mouth was warm and sweet against hers, and Joan felt as though she was falling and flying simultaneously.
Her hand found his coat, fisting in the fabric as his lips moved against hers with growing urgency. Heat bloomed in her chest, spreading through her entire body until she felt dizzy with it.
When they finally broke apart, both breathing heavily, Laurence rested his forehead against hers.
“I’m not in a hurry,” he murmured. “We can take as much time as you need.”
“I have feelings for you too,” Joan whispered. “I haven’t wanted anything in so long. I taught myself not to want, not to hope. But I want you. I want this. I am sorry I pushed you away.”
Laurence’s smile was radiant. He kissed her hands, then her cheek, then leaned in to capture her lips again,
“You scoundrel!”
Damian came barreling through the door, his face flushed with outrage. Hugo and Victoria were right behind him, trying and failing to hold him back.
“How dare you! Unhand my sister this instant!”
Laurence pulled back slightly, looking remarkably unrepentant. Joan buried her burning face in her hands.
She realized with mortification,, they were hiding and watching the entire time.
Damian glared at Laurence with all the fury of a protective brother. “You stole my sister’s first kiss! In a church, no less! Have you no shame?”
Laurence glanced at Joan, his eyes dancing with amusement. Then he looked back at Damian and said, quite seriously, “Then we should remedy that, shouldn’t we?”
He turned to Joan and took both her hands in his. “Joan Sinclair, will you do me the extraordinary honor of becoming my wife?”
Joan’s eyes widened. “Isn’t this rather sudden?” she whispered.
Laurence leaned close enough that only she could hear. “Do you not want this?”
Joan felt heat flood her cheeks. She looked at this man who had saved her, who loved her, who had just publicly destroyed her enemy and was now proposing marriage in the same church where she had almost been forced to wed a monster.
“I do,” she breathed.
Victoria squealed with delight. Hugo let out a triumphant cheer. Even Damian couldn’t suppress the broad smile that spread across his face.
Laurence stood and turned to Damian, still holding Joan’s hand. “Lord Sinclair, I humbly request your blessing for this union.”
Damian looked at his sister, saw the happiness shining in her eyes, the genuine smile that curved her lips, and his own smile softened.
“You have my blessing, Your Grace,” he said. “On the condition that you never make her cry.”
“I will spend the rest of my life ensuring her happiness,” Laurence replied solemnly.
He looked down at Joan, and the love in his eyes made her heart feel too large for her chest. She smiled up at him, a real smile, unforced and full of joy.