Chapter 12
Twelve
Andrew stood outside the church doors, his hand resting on the cool stone. Behind him lay his old life: the endless parade of women, the calculated charm, the careful distance he'd maintained from anything resembling real emotion. Before him lay something terrifyingly unknown.
Marriage. Isobel. A future he couldn't control with practiced seduction and easy smiles.
For a moment, he allowed himself to remember what that old life had been like. The freedom of it. The simplicity. No expectations beyond pleasure, no complications beyond the next conquest.
But even as he thought it, he knew the truth: that life was already gone. It had ended the moment he'd seen Isobel standing in the street with Darling in her arms, all fire and vulnerability wrapped in a disheveled wedding dress.
He didn't want to go back; he wanted to move forward.
And then, to hear her beg for him. To feel her shudder beneath his fingertips. To taste her skin.
Andrew shifted to the side, trying to think of anything else. There was a cold chill to the air as he tucked his hands into his pockets.
He was prepared for whatever was to come next.
“You seem ready enough to get married,” Norman said while walking up the street toward him.
Having his cousin there now eased Andrew’s tension just a touch.
"I needed a moment before going in," Andrew said, his voice steady. "To clear my head."
"Second thoughts?" Norman asked carefully.
"No." Andrew's response was immediate and certain. "Not about marrying her. I'm simply... adjusting to the reality that starting today, I'm a married man. That I'll be responsible for someone other than myself."
"That's quite a shift for the notorious Mayfair Fox."
"It is." Andrew allowed himself a slight smile. "But I find I'm rather looking forward to it. Isobel is a complex woman. In one breath, she challenges me and in the other…” He allowed his words to fall away because he realized that he did not want to reveal too much about his darling wild cat.
“Go on,” Norman urged.
Andrew gave his friend a rueful smile. “But she's also the most intriguing woman I've ever met. And I'd rather spend every day sparring with her than go back to empty pleasures with women whose names I can't remember."
"Then why are you out here instead of in there?"
"Because I'm taking one last moment as a bachelor before I walk in there and become a husband." Andrew straightened his coat. "And because I wanted to be certain, truly certain, that this is what I want. Not for the business. Not for respectability. But for myself."
"And?" Norman prompted.
"And it is." Andrew's confidence settled into his bones.
Andrew sighed and kicked some of the snow covering the ground as more flakes fell from the sky. It would only be a couple more weeks until the warmth of spring started to set in and he could hardly wait. He was never much one for the cold.
“The ceremony is due to start soon. It’s only going to be a matter of time before your bride arrives and if you’re not in there and waiting for her, the ton is going to talk. And then you might have to deal with her father.”
Andrew’s lip curled at the mention of Lord Leyton, his blood starting to boil. “Her father is nothing but an opportunist who was planning on selling his daughter to a brothel because he could not control himself while gambling.”
“It sounds like you will all be one happy family then.” Norman said, sarcasm dripping from his tone.
“As your friend and cousin, I will go in there and keep your cousins from coming out to find you for ten more minutes. In that time, you need to gather your strength and face the consequences of your actions.”
Andrew nodded, feeling like he could breathe just a little as Norman marched around the corner of the church before disappearing from sight.
For a few moments, Andrew wandered through the gardens, trying to calm his nerves. Marriage would hardly be the most exciting thing he had ever done, or the most dangerous.
A sound behind him caused Andrew to turn. Standing there was Isobel, a pale silk dress hugging the curves of her body in a way that had his breeches feeling a little tighter. He stepped closer to her, slipping out of his coat when she started shivering and handing it over to her.
“Are you trying to catch your death of cold before the wedding?” Andrew asked, holding the coat shut, his knuckles brushing against her slightly. “Because if that’s how you intend to get out of this arrangement, I will throw you over my shoulder and carry you into that church right now.”
Her cheeks turned a pretty shade of pink as she rolled her eyes. “Someone said you were out here and might run. I figured if that were true, I should come to claim my victory.”
“Your victory?”
“The way I see it, you give up, and I win. ” Isobel’s eyes sparkled with mischief as she leaned into him.
He didn’t think she knew she was doing it, but he liked it regardless. Getting her to beg for him might not be a difficult task if she was already willing to be this close to him.
“And how do you think those two things are remotely the same?” He used the jacket to pull her a little closer, dipping his head until his lips ghosted over hers. “Does the thought of me running away give you the same thrill as my mouth on your body?”
Isobel’s gaze connected with his and all he could see in it was a fire burning bright. “More so.”
“You want me to run because you think it’s going to be easier than giving in to me.”
“I wouldn’t give in to you if you were the last man in the world.”
Andrew chuckled, flicking his tongue over her pulse before nipping at it lightly. “You’ll grow awfully bored if the only pleasure you receive is the kind you give yourself,” he said, his voice husky.
Isobel jerked back, her cheeks red. “I suspect I would find far more satisfaction in that than I ever would in you.”
He chuckled lightly, letting go of the coat and holding out his hand.
“We have to go get married now, wife. We can debate whose fingers you enjoy more after you’ve begged to experience mine.
However, you should give me the coat back before we go inside, otherwise the ton are going to have much to whisper about. ”
“Do you suppose if we never consummate the marriage I could still run away and become a nun?” She slipped the coat off and handed it to him.
“That would surely be a story the ton would enjoy. Just think of the gossip paper headlines. The Duchess of Foxdrey left so unsatisfied in her marriage that she swears a life of celibacy.”
Andrew burst out laughing as he pulled his coat on, buttoning it and smoothing the fabric down, the citrus scent of her soap clinging to it. “You have quite the mouth on you, Duchess.”
He didn’t miss the way she shivered or the way her eyes lit up when he called her by her new name. She might be fighting the attraction she had for him with everything she had, but if that look in her eyes was right, she would give in to him.
Leaning in, his hand cupped the back of her neck, and he gently pulled her into him. Their gazes locked, mouths hovering only inches apart. “I look forward to seeing what else those full lips of yours are capable of.”
“Cad.”
“I love it when you say such things to me.” Andrew brushed his thumb over her pulse. It raced beneath his touch.
Isobel turned from him without another word, marching toward the church. The train of her dress bustled behind her. When she reached the gate to the garden, her sister appeared and helped her take down the bustle, spreading out the train as she climbed the steps.
Andrew followed behind her, not saying a word as he slipped into the church and went to take his place at the front of the room.
He glanced around at the people gathered there, meeting Eleanor’s gaze.
She nodded to him. He saw the way her lips pressed together like she was still displeased he found a wife without her, and he granted her a genial smile.
Soft music began to play as Isobel’s family filtered into the room.
Lord Leyton and Joan found their seats in one of the front pews.
Viscount Leyton looked like he could barely hold his head up, swaying from one side to the other.
Joan leaned into him, whispering something.
Lord Leyton’s face turned red, his beady eyes narrowing, but he sat up a little taller, staying in place.
Andrew let out a sigh. The worst part of marriage already seemed to be the connection he would have to Lord Leyton for the rest of his life.
The doors to the church opened and Isobel walked in, her hands clasped together in front of her. A long lace veil was draped over her head, the intricate design nearly masking the terror on her face. She looked like she was struggling to smile as she got closer to the altar.
People turned to whisper to each other as she passed them. Smiles were wide, but there was tension in the room that he was sure all of them could feel.
Isobel stopped in front of him, turning to him with a thin smile. “I feel as though I might faint.”
“And those are the most romantic words you could have possibly started our marriage off with,” Andrew said, his voice soft as he reached out and took her hands. “You will be fine.”
“I will not be.” Isobel looked up at him, the color draining from her face. “This marriage is a mistake. I’m marrying a man with a reputation for charming women into his bed and now I have to trust that you will remain loyal to me.”
“You may castrate me if not.” Andrew kept his words to a whisper, not wanting the rest of the ton to hear them talking. “And I am rather attached to my appendage—as you will be—so I have it on good faith that you needn’t doubt me.”
She cracked a small smile and shook her head. “Do you speak to all women like this?”
“Only the ones I intend on marrying.” He affectionately ran his thumb over her knuckles.
“I know you may think this marriage awful, and I have never wanted a union like this for myself, but this is a situation to benefit us both. You need only repeat after the man in the peculiar robes, and it will all be over soon.”
Her laugh rang out, her head tipping back slightly. “You cannot refer to him as the man in the funny robes!” she whispered, amusement dancing in her eyes.
Charming Isobel might not be as easy as he first thought, but there was nothing he loved more than a challenge.
If he made the temptation a little more thrilling, he knew she would bend. He could already see admiration glowing in her eyes.
Though as he watched her—the way her breath quickened when he was near, the way her pupils dilated when he spoke in that low voice, the way she swayed toward him even as she tried to maintain distance—he felt something shift inside him.
A yearning. A wanting. Not just for her body, though God knew he wanted that. But for her trust. Her laughter.
For a moment, he wondered if he was the one in danger of losing their wager. If he might be the one who ended up begging, not just for her body, but for her heart.
The thought should have terrified him.
Instead, it only made him more determined to win. Though what winning actually meant was becoming increasingly unclear.
He pushed the unsettling thoughts aside and focused on the ceremony.
“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here together in the sight of God,” the priest began, his voice droning on as he began the ceremony, ignoring their whispering and bringing the church to a more solemn note.
“Last chance for you to run,” Andrew whispered. He dragged his thumb over her hand once more, eliciting a shiver from her.