Chapter 21
E ven as he stood before the altar of St Bartholomew’s, a quiet parish church tucked between the cobbled lanes of Mayfair, Theo found his thoughts most unholy.
Try as he might, he could not summon his mind to the solemnities of the occasion; it was fixed with shameful insistence upon the memory of Hetty’s thighs trembling around his hands and the yielding warmth that had so sweetly invited him further the night before.
His blood stirred hot at the recollection and he shifted his stance, resisting the urge to adjust his breeches in full view of the Tolliver family, his mother, the vicar, and no fewer than three aunts fanning themselves to death in the third pew.
This, he reminded himself with desperation, was a house of God – though at present, all he could think on was the sound of Hetty’s breathless cries and the knowledge that, had her sisters not interrupted, he might have driven her to the heights of ecstasy with his hand still buried between her thighs.
It had required every last ounce of discipline to retreat to the solitude of his guest chamber after their encounter in the library – alone, aching and hard as the devil.
The moment the door closed behind him, he pressed his back into it and sought relief with his own hand, biting down upon his knuckles to smother the groan that escaped when release seized him – ecstasy sharpened by the protest of his wounded ribs.
Now, standing beneath the nave of the church,Theo was wrenched back to the present by the pointed clearing of the Reverend Mr Peters’ throat.
He straightened at once, schooling his features into those of a solemn bridegroom, quite grateful no one in the congregation could possibly guess at his most indecent thoughts.
He drew a slow breath and, in that instant, made a silent vow: ribs and wounds be damned – this night he would not seek release unless it was within his wife’s embrace, and only when her pleasure had been secured before his own.
The thought of her innocence in such matters was at once humbling, maddening, and oddly tender.
That she would look at him with such honesty, even when aflame with confusion, struck at the very core of him.
How had he been so blind? All these years, he had squandered himself on passing fancies and tedious intrigues, when the only woman worth his undoing had been beneath his very nose – often quite literally, for though Hetty Tolliver was tall, he still towered over her by a head.
He adored her. He did, curse it. He adored her wit and temper and impossible stubbornness.
He wanted every part of her, in every hour of the day, for as long as she would let him have it.
He adored her, body and soul – though, at present, it must be admitted, her body occupied rather too much of his imagination.
Oh, he would give her every reason to delight in the marriage bed.
By God, he meant to spoil her so thoroughly that no scandal sheet could ever contrive a tale half so wanton as the truth.
Before he could chastise himself yet again for his wicked imaginings, the great doors at the rear of the church swung open and a blaze of sunlight streamed into the nave.
A rustle of anticipation swept through the pews, and Lady Tolliver, seated in prideful splendour with her four remaining unmarried daughters lined up beside her like ladies at court, pressed an embroidered handkerchief to her eyes with theatrical fervour.
Beside him, his old friend, Jasper shifted. “Last chance, old fellow. Say the word and I shall hold them off while you make a dash for the vestry window.”
Theo managed a tight-lipped smile. “No, Deverell. I believe I shall remain precisely where I am.”
The music swelled, violins rising sweet and clear through the vaulted church.
Hetty appeared at the doors, radiant upon her father’s arm, and in that instant, every thought, sinful or otherwise, was struck clean from Theo’s mind.
He could do nothing but stare. She was a vision beyond reason, dressed in pink silk that fell about her like water, embroidered at the hem with the finest sprays of spring blossoms. No veil could obscure the firm set of her chin, nor soften the colour in her cheeks.
She looked neither nervous nor meek, but brilliant, alive, and resolutely herself.
For the first time in his life, Theo knew what it was to stand in true awe.
He had never pictured himself thus: waiting at the altar whilst his bride made her stately progress down the aisle.
It was not for want of imagination, nor even his habitual aversion to matrimony, but because he had never dared to conceive of contentment, let alone joy – and yet, here she was, approaching him one step at a time.
Had he ever dreamt of such a thing, it would have been precisely this: Hetty Tolliver, looking at him in precisely this way.
It struck him then, with all the force of a canon’s volley, that perhaps this was what fools called love – not the tiresome sentiment he scoffed at all his life, but the kind that humbled a man and made him long to be worthier than he was.
As she advanced with maddeningly slow steps, Theo found himself rooted to the spot, his heart pounding, for he realised all at once that he was not merely willing to marry Hetty Tolliver, but that he desired nothing more fervently in all the world than to make her his wife until death do them part.
To his own astonishment, his vision clouded. He blinked furiously to recover himself, but not soon enough; for as Hetty reached the altar, her lips parted in soft surprise.
Lord Tolliver paused beside her, for once appearing wholly aware of the gravity of the occasion.
He took a breath, adjusted the set of his coat, and regarded Theo at length.
“Langley,” he said gravely, “you have been loitering about our household for so long that I daresay I had nearly forgotten you were not, in fact, already one of ours. It is high time, I think, that we set the matter to rights, and make you family.”
Theo inclined his head. “I shall strive to loiter more discreetly in future, sir. ”
Lord Tolliver gave a huff of laughter, then turned to his daughter and pressed a paternal kiss upon her cheek. “Hetty, my dear – do try not to shoot him again. Good men are dreadfully difficult to replace.”
Hetty smiled at him. “I shall do my very best, Papa.”
With a nod of satisfaction, Lord Tolliver took her hand and placed it within Theo’s, clasping them both for a wordless moment before stepping back.
At the clearing of a throat, all eyes turned toward the altar, where Reverend Peters lifted his gaze heavenward. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today in the sight of Almighty God – and, it seems, half the ton besides – to join together this man and this woman in holy matrimony.”
As a soft ripple of laughter amongst the pews, quickly subdued, though not before Theo felt Hetty’s gloved fingers tighten about his own. He returned the pressure, his heart lodging uncomfortably in his throat.
“Marriage,” the vicar continued, “is a covenant most solemn, not to be undertaken lightly, but with reverence and due consideration of its sacred responsibilities.”
Theo caught the slight twitch of Hetty’s lips at the phrase due consideration , which – given the circumstances – was generous at best. He resisted the urge to smile in return.
The vicar turned to him. “Theodore Henry Winslow, Earl of Langley, wilt thou have this woman to thy wedded wife, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony? Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honour and keep her, in sickness and in health, so long as ye both shall live? ”
Theo drew a breath, holding Hetty’s gaze. Her eyes were wide, uncertain for just the barest instant. “I will,” he said clearly, loud enough for every person present, and perhaps the whole of London to hear.
The vicar nodded approvingly before turning to Hetty.
“Henrietta Anne Tolliver, wilt thou have this man to thy wedded husband, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony?
Wilt thou love him, comfort him, honour and keep him, in sickness and in health, so long as ye both shall live? ”
Theo watched her closely, recognising the particular gleam in her eyes – the one that meant mischief was afoot, perhaps a scandal or some other terrible Tolliver trick that would end with him embarrassed or fleeing the church. His pulse quickened despite himself.
After a pause long enough to cause Aunt Belinda to clutch her pearls, Hetty’s lips curved into a smile that was warm and terribly sincere. “I will.”
“And who giveth this woman to be married to this man?”
Lord Tolliver, who had become momentarily absorbed in the fresco above the altar, gave a slight start. “Eh? Oh – yes, quite. Her mother and I do. Most willingly.”
Reverend Peters inclined his head graciously and proceeded through the service with solemnity, unruffled even when Lady Tolliver sniffed loudly into her handkerchief, or when Nell dropped her hymn book with a crash that resounded down the nave. “The rings? ”
Jasper Deverell, startled from some private amusement, fumbled momentarily before producing the simple gold bands from his waistcoat and offering them up with a sheepish smile.
Theo slid the smaller of the two bands onto Hetty’s finger, and she followed suit, a flush blooming across her cheeks as she pressed the ring home upon his.
The vicar offered a smile. “By the authority committed unto me, I pronounce that they be man and wife together. Those whom God hath joined –”