Chapter Seven
Banshire House
St. James Square
Mayfair, London
Michael’s nerves felt strung too tight. His skin crawled with anxiety.
If his chest compressed any more, he wouldn’t be able to breathe.
Good God, this was his wedding day. Never did he think he would wed anyone, let alone a woman he’d known for a week.
Of course, within that time frame, she’d managed to set his life on its head, and had left him in an even deeper quagmire than he’d been before.
Granted, he was using her to get close to his quarry, to close out a case that had bedeviled him for the past three years, but that was beside the point.
The ceremony was set to begin in a quarter of an hour in his drawing room with the wedding breakfast following for close friends and family.
It was meant to be a rather intimate affair, for he didn’t have many friends and none outside of Club Damnation.
After speaking with Evangeline, it appeared she didn’t have many either. Perhaps that made them well-matched.
Or just pathetic.
“Why the hell am I doing this?” Michael whispered to Steppingford as he paced the drawing room in front of the windows while ten or so people talked and laughed in soft voices.
Steppingford snorted. “If I were honest, I’d say you were touched in the head.”
“You’re not wrong.”
“But I know you too well. You’re using the woman to close out your case.”
“I am.” Even as a tiny niggle of remorse went through his chest, he managed to ignore it. “There are worse things.”
“Yes, such as you also using her to get off your rocks.”
Michael glared at his friend. “What is your point, Steppingford?” But he knew, of course.
“What is Lady Evangeline receiving out of this unholy alliance?”
He shrugged. “I am giving her a decent settlement as well as an unentailed property for her private use… should things not go well between us.”
“You are already searching for an exit from this union before it ever happens?” One of Steppingford’s eyebrows rose. “Does that mean it won’t be genuine?”
“Of course it won’t, and you know it. Hell, it’s because of you that I’m here at all,” Michael groused. “She is a means to an end.”
“If that were so, you needn’t have married her. You could have kept it to an engagement only. Fucked her when you felt like it. Then once enough time had passed, you could have broken it off without damage to either of you.” He crossed his arms at his chest.
Heat crept up the back of his neck. “Perhaps.”
“Then why go through with this?” Steppingford narrowed his gaze. “Unless you want something specific from the union above and beyond the capture of your quarry.”
Did he? Michael tightened his fingers on the head of his cane. “I, perhaps, have the need for companionship. This year has been long and tried my patience in many ways. I thought to change that… for a time.” Because there were no guarantees on how long a life was.
“Ah.” For long moments, Steppingford peered at him before finally nodding.
“I wish you luck, then. If you’ll allow yourself to look past closing your case, you might realize you’ll still have the wife.
It would behoove you to unbend enough to share all aspects of your life with her and let her do the same with you. ”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” Then he grew anxious and turned back to the window, trying to discern his reflection in the glass.
Raindrops raced down the other side of the window, for it was once again gloomy and rainy.
Not an auspicious start to the day. “My valet was adamant that I wear this waistcoat.”
He tugged at the bottom of said garment, done in a sapphire blue embroidered with silver swirls.
In the pocket of his waistcoat rested a silver filigree band that featured an oval emerald.
It had come from a collection of jewelry that had once belonged to his mother, and the stone reminded him of Evangeline’s eyes when she was in a temper with him.
“It suits you,” Steppingford said. “Why are you nervous?”
“I don’t know.” He smoothed his hands along the front of his tailcoat. Yes, he was aware this whole spectacle was wrong, and he’d lived his life without regrets. However, knowing he’d catch Evangeline up in this farce? Perhaps there were some. “I shouldn’t do this.”
“It is too late for that.” His friend chuckled. “If fate smiles on you, it might just prove to be what you need.”
“Such gammon.” Obliged to grit his teeth against the dull, throbbing pain, for his right arm hung heavily at his side, he shook his head. “I am not looking for romance.”
“No one is, my friend. It comes calling all the same.” He clapped a hand on Michael’s shoulder. “It is nearly time.”
“So it is.” Michael turned to regard the guests in the drawing room, the people laughing and chatting, finding spots on sofas and chairs about the room.
If this had been a real nuptial ceremony and a usual year without the hardships of this one, he might have rented chairs and had a lavish breakfast, perhaps cases of champagne.
As it was, the meal would prove smaller than usual and the champagne would be limited.
“I hope you find everything you’re searching for in this union.
” A trace of sadness went through Steppingford’s eyes.
“But I understand your reservations. I had them as well. One bit of advice. Never take any of it for granted. Time goes by so quickly, and there will be hardships and challenges to overcome. Don’t abandon her no matter how you feel.
Once your vows are said, you’ll no longer be alone. ”
“Right.” What a foreign concept, for he’d been alone most of his adult life.
His pulse hammered in his ears as Steppingford left him to sit beside his young wife.
He roved his gaze about the room. Where the hell was the Jackal?
Would he even recognize him now after three years?
Then his attention rested on Ravenhurst, who nodded in greeting.
The man’s wife sat beside him, but they both wore expressions of concern.
“What the hell is taking so long?” he whispered to himself.
Then there was no more time to think… or wonder.
A clergyman of perhaps fifty odd years entered the room.
He strode through the room while nodding at various guests.
A much younger clerk trotted after him holding a ledger book as well as a much-worn copy of The Book of Common Prayer.
When the older man reached the spot where Michael stood, he halted. The young man gave him the book.
“Which one of you is the Duke of Darkemore? There is a striking woman waiting in the corridor for you.”
Fuck. “I am.” Michael’s voice sounded rusty, so he cleared his throat. “Thank you for agreeing to officiate. I realize there wasn’t much notice.”
“I enjoy presiding over nuptial ceremonies.” The clergyman smiled.
“I’m Mr. Hearthstone.” He gestured with his chin to the younger man standing at the back of the room near the doors.
“Mr. Simons is the parish clerk who’ll make certain the register is signed, and I see you have more than enough witnesses. ”
“Yes.” Michael nodded. Again, he cast his gaze about the room. Gratitude shivered through him to see at least three men from the club. While he wished Eggleton had been able to attend, there was nothing for it. “Could we perhaps get on with it, then?”
The clergyman nodded. “I do like it when a groom is eager.”
If only it were that easy. He resisted the urge to tug at his cravat. “You said Lady Evangeline is in the corridor?”
“She is. I had the opportunity to talk with her for a few moments. I’m given to understand that she hopes this union will prove better than her first.” The older man smiled. “I do hope you will make that happen.”
“So do I.” Why didn’t Evangeline come in? Was she already regretting her agreement to wed him? To quell the shaking in his hands, Michael clasped them behind his back and trained his gaze on the drawing room doors. “Our agreement is… complicated.”
The clergyman chuckled. “Many are.”
Then she was there, pausing just long enough for him to devour her with his eyes, and damn if he forgot how to breathe.
What the hell is wrong with me? “Fuck me,” he whispered and pressed a hand to his pounding heart.
Get a grip on yourself, Darkemore. This is a business arrangement and a way for you to finish your last mission.
Nothing more. With that mental reminder, he strove to feel nothing more than mild irritation or annoyance.
While murmurs of appreciation went through the room, Evangeline met his gaze with shadow-filled eyes.
Clad in a gown of pale blue silk shot through with golden thread with some sort of an ivory lace overskirt, she moved with all the grace and elegance of a queen as she slowly entered the room.
Though she had the bearing of a duchess, he couldn’t help but feel he’d destroy her like he had everything good in his life.
When he gave her a nod of acknowledgement, a faint flush went through her cheeks.
The gown’s low neckline drew his attention to the creamy tops of her breasts, made even more impressive by the gold embroidery work that lined it and the hem.
Short, puffed sleeves of the same blue gave a bit of whimsy to the outfit.
Her slender neck remained unadorned, which was a shame, for she deserved to have gemstones dripping from her frame.
No matter, he would gift her with the parure that matched the ring he was about to bestow upon her.
Candlelight caused some of the blonde strands of her upswept hair to glimmer.
The only thing he wanted in this moment was to spirit her away, render her naked so he could see her lush body, and then lay claim to it.
“Well, Mr. Hearthstone, she will make a lovely duchess,” he whispered when he found his voice. Not that he cared, but in that moment, he knew she would land on her feet once he tired of this world.
After he dispatched the Jackal.