Page 44 of Bound By her Earl

These people, he realized in a flash of hot rage, weren’t here to see the wedding—they were here to see if the wedding was even going to happen.

“Get away from me,” Benedict snarled at the man in front of him, wishing he could instead slap the smarmy grin off the man’s face. It would not do, however, to get into fisticuffs on the morning of his nuptials. He raised his voice, “All of you, get away from here. Unless you’re attending the ceremony, I expect you to be gone in the next two minutes.”

He did not need to add “or else.” His tone said it for him.

He shoved his way none too gently through the assembled spectators, heading for the front doors of the church. Christ, there were evenwomenhere. What was wrong with people?

He could only hope that Emily had gotten safely inside before the hideous crowd of vultures had gathered.

He’d seen, of course, that hideous article in the gossip pages. His mother never would have let him get away with missing it.She’d thrust the paper under his nose then sniffed that at leastsomeonewas seeing sense and that there was still time to make the right choice. Then she’d scampered off before he could either read the paper or shout at her for her unwelcome comments about his impending marriage.

When he’d actually read the damned thing, he’d forgotten all his ire at his mother, having none to spare for anyone aside from that wretched gossip columnist.

He’d fumed, read the thing again, then fumed some more. He’d considered various legal channels he could use to ruin the hideous creature who had felt it appropriate to write such things about his Emily—his future wife. He could think of none—the whole purpose of using initials was to protect against accusations of libel—but he did enjoy a brief, savage fantasy of having the writer declared a lunatic by the Court of Chancery.

But writing in the gossip pages was one thing. Showing up at his actual wedding was another thing entirely.

Inside the vestibule of the church, he found Lady Frances Johnson pacing back and forth, wringing her hands anxiously. She startled when he entered.

“Are they still out there?” she asked, her voice scarcely above a whisper. He was reasonably certain he’d never heard Lady Frances speak before; now, she sounded enormously reluctant to do so. He felt a flash of appreciation for the act, which was clearly done out of loyalty to Emily.

“I sent them away,” he said.

She nodded in relief. Then she darted a quick glance up at him, making eye contact for only a moment.

“We can never tell Emily about this,” she said, her voice slightly more confident than it had been.

“Agreed,” he said.

Normally, he’d have thought it a poor idea to enter into a conspiracy against one’s wife on the first day of one’s marriage, but sometimes silence really was for the best.

Lady Frances shot him a small smile, and Benedict felt oddly encouraged.

“She’s here, then?” he asked, hoping it didn’t make him sound pathetic. Not that he had any reason to doubt that she’d come—her reputation was at stake, and Emily did not strike him as flighty—but perhaps the crowd outside had rattled him, too.

Lady Frances’ smiled widened for a split second before disappearing.

“She is,” she told him simply.

Good. That was good.

He nodded, took a slow breath, and entered the main portion of the building so that he could wait for the reverend to show him where to stand. There was nothing to be nervous about. After all, he was not a nervous man.

Curiously enough, he found himself able to shed his last traces of nerves only when Emily entered the back of the church and walked down the aisle towards him looking beautiful, of course, but also tremendously nervous herself. There was something about the way she held her mouth— that plush lower lip looked as though it wanted to puff out into a worried pout and was being held back only by sheer force of will—that made all his concerns seem timid by comparison.

If she was nervous, he would be steady for both of them. Wasn’t that what a husband did, after all?

That was why—it must have been why—when she arrived at his side, he reached out and clasped her hand in his, holding on firmly.

Her eyes flew to his, her expression evened out, and she nodded. Just once.

But it was enough. It felt…right.

He did not release her hand, not when the reverend pronounced them man and wife nor when a polite smattering of applause broke out across the church, just loud enough that it wasn’t insulting.

He didn’t release her hand, and she did not drop her gaze from his.

Not until it was time for them to leave together. And even then, when he offered her his arm, he held her a bit more closely to his side than was perhaps strictly necessary.

---