Chapter Eight
David stood before the clergyman, at precisely ten o’clock in the morning, in Lord Lanfordshire’s parlor. He had gotten a special license from the archbishop a few days ago. They had decided to invite only family and to have the wedding at the baron’s home, in order to avoid gossiping tongues.
Amelia looked terrified, her face a pale contrast against the spray of pink roses in her hair. Her gown was the blue of a summer sky, though she looked ready to flee.
David felt the same way. All last night, he’d questioned whether he was doing the right thing. He’d read his daughter’s letter at least a dozen times, wondering if Amelia would make a good mother for her.
Or whether he would be a good husband to Amelia. He might be saving her reputation just now, but in turn, he was giving her a life shadowed by loss. Her gaze was downcast, and he caught the telltale trembling of her hands.
This was not the Amelia he knew so well. This was not the young woman who would speak her mind and order him around. She looked utterly miserable, like a daffodil crushed by a windstorm.
David wanted more for her. He wanted to bring back the amusing moments they’d shared when they were cheating at games.
He wanted to see her smile, to hear her laugh.
To kiss her until her lips were swollen and her eyes held the haze of unfulfilled desire.
Though he tried to stifle the buried needs, he couldn’t deny the effect she had upon him.
He had a mind to put a stop to this and give her an alternative.
She was marrying him for all the wrong reasons.
But when he glanced over at her parents, he knew that was impossible.
Their daughter Margaret had been abandoned on her wedding day, and David was not about to do the same thing to Amelia.
It would be utterly cruel, no matter that it would give her other choices.
Right now, she looked as if she were standing before her execution.
“Wait,” he said to the clergyman, before the vows could be spoken. “I need a few minutes alone, to speak with my bride.”
The shocked silence that met his declaration made him add, “I don’t intend to stop the marriage—but we need to talk.”
Amelia gaped at him, but her natural curiosity seemed to stun her out of the cloud of misery and fear. “We could go into the hall,” she suggested.
He took her by the hand, and they walked past her family and a few servants, into the narrow corridor. It seemed that his actions had caught her completely by surprise.
David had a feeling that most of the family would be trying to eavesdrop if they stood too close to the parlor, so he took her to the farthest end, near a grandfather clock. Amelia looked uneasy about the conversation.
“You looked distraught at the idea of marrying me,” he began. “If this isn’t what you want—”
She took a deep breath and met his gaze. “I’m still worried about Margaret. I’m afraid she’s been killed or lost or…”
He knew it had been a week since her sister had gone missing.
Despite the efforts to find her, both Margaret and the Highlander had disappeared.
The only sign of either of them had been an overturned coach blackened from fire, and a bonnet belonging to Margaret.
The ruined vehicle had been found on the road leading toward Scotland.
There was no way of knowing if Margaret had been inside, but the shattered vehicle was on the road leading toward Scotland.
“Could she have run away with Sinclair?” he questioned.
“Or would he take her against her will?”
Amelia shook her head. “Cain’s in love with Margaret and has been for years. All of us know it. He’d die before hurting her.”
“Then you should have faith in that,” he assured her.
When she appeared unconvinced, he added, “Would you like me to hire men to help search, even beyond what your father has done?”
“Yes,” she agreed. “If I knew she was safe, I would feel better.”
“I’ll see to it.” It was a promise that he supposed was better than any wedding present.
Amelia reached for his hand and squeezed it. “Thank you.” He started to walk back with her, but she remained in place. “I never thought I’d get married without all of my sisters here. It seems wrong.”
“Would you rather wait until we’ve found Margaret?” Though it wasn’t the best solution, he would delay the wedding if that was what she wanted.
“No. We may as well see it done.”
She made it sound as if marriage to him was an awful prospect. “Do you still want to marry me?” He would let her out of the betrothal if she was having doubts.
“Yes,” she whispered. “But I wish you wanted to marry me. It’s disappointing to feel as if I’ve trapped you into marriage.”
“You haven’t trapped me into anything,” he said, though it might seem so to her. Amelia wasn’t the wife he would have chosen at first, but he wasn’t about to let her become Lisford’s victim of scandal. If he could protect her with his name, so be it.
A part of him warmed to the idea of spending each day with her. Because you want her, his body reminded him. The first taste of her kiss wasn’t enough to satiate the craving she’d ignited. And this marriage would bring him directly into the path of temptation.
Amelia’s face grew wistful. “I’ll admit that this isn’t the wedding I was dreaming of, as a little girl.”
He leaned up against the wall, watching her. “What did you dream of?” In the small space, she glanced behind her, as if worried about her family waiting. “Don’t worry about them.”
Amelia leaned back against the wall, staring at him. “I dreamed it would be a fairy tale—that I would marry a dashingly handsome man who adored me.”
“Am I not dashingly handsome?” he queried.
And there was her smile. The fear dissipated, and the inner light returned to her eyes. “In your own way,” she admitted. “For a wall-hedge.”
He tipped her chin up and regarded her. “I know I’m not the husband you wanted. But we can be friends.”
Amelia reached out to touch his cravat, and he flinched at the contact. Though she did nothing more than rest her hands upon his heart, the simple touch burned through him. “We can,” she agreed.
Her green eyes fixed upon him, and he was caught beneath her spell. He was conscious of her slender form and the gentle blush on her cheeks. Her hair was tightly bound up, and he wondered what it would be like to see it down around her shoulders.
“Would you kiss me again?” she murmured. “I want to know if I imagined what happened between us in the coach.”
He didn’t move, for he was captivated by her full lips. He wanted to taste them again, just as she wanted to kiss him. But if he dared to give rein to those feelings, he sensed that he would lose control of himself.
She stood on tiptoe, rising to meet him. David caught her and threaded his hands through her hair. Before she could touch her mouth to his, he pressed a brief kiss upon her lips. The moment he did, he felt her tension. She’d wanted the kiss of a husband, and he’d given the kiss of a friend.
“You’re afraid,” she accused, and he said nothing to deny it. It wasn’t fear that held him back. It was the sense that if he claimed her with a husband’s right, he couldn’t turn back. Something about Amelia Andrews tempted him beyond measure.
“Try again,” she urged.
And this time, he kissed her deeply, forcing her mouth to open to him.
He framed her face with his hands, claiming her lips.
He tasted her uncertainty and a hint of longing.
Her arms twined around his neck, drawing him closer while she kissed him back.
It wasn’t the kiss of a reluctant bride; instead, her mouth opened, inviting more. He could give her that.
Drawing her up against the wall, he nipped at her upper lip and felt the answering shudder of yearning. She answered his kiss with her own unbridled passion. And God help him, he was nearing the edge of control.
“I can’t think when you kiss me,” she whispered against his mouth.
Neither can I. He let his hands slide down her shoulders to her waist. “Was that better?” She nodded with a shaky smile, and he took her hand. There was a trace of unrest in her demeanor, but they walked together back to the parlor.
Amelia paused a moment, and before they stepped through the doorway, she turned to him.
In a low voice, she threw down a gauntlet of her own. “If you marry me now, Lord Castledon, I want to be treated like a wife. Not a companion.”
It was clear that she had no intention of fading into the background as a mother to Christine. She wanted to be his in every way, not only in name. He reached out to touch her cheek. “Perhaps.”
It wasn’t the answer she wanted, but he could make no promises.
He hardly trusted himself around Amelia.
Her kiss pushed him past the edge of reason, beckoning him toward a new addiction.
If he did share a physical marriage with her, he suspected it would only awaken a hunger that could never be sated.
The wedding was over so quickly, Amelia could scarcely remember the troth she’d pledged. The earl had touched his mouth to hers, and once she’d become his wife, she couldn’t quite grasp the reality. She was now the Countess of Castledon, stepmother to a young girl she’d never met.
They enjoyed cakes and light refreshments after the wedding, but owing to Margaret’s absence, it wasn’t much of a celebration. “This seems so strange,” Amelia confessed. “Almost as if it happened to someone else.”
The earl nodded, appearing more than a little distracted. She wondered if there was anything she could say to reassure him. Or better, she could ask about her new stepdaughter.
“When will I meet Christine?” she asked.
At the mention of his daughter, Lord Castledon relaxed a little. “I could send you on to Castledon in the morning,” he offered. “Parliament will be out of session soon enough.”