Page 654 of From Rakes to Riches

“Imagine that the moment I was told I must marry, I set out directly from London for Warwickshire. Then imagine that I waited only until I received an invitation to a local ball to accept.

“Imagine then that I attended, and let people stare at me as I searched the rooms for some sign of the young lady to whom I most wanted to speak, and when I could not find her, imagine I retreated to the library in defeat.”

He finally turned his gaze back to hers. “And then imagine that you, the object of my unrequited and unsuspecting obsession, simply appeared to me, like the vision from a merciful, generous God.”

She could not draw breath—all the air stopped up in her throat, hot and thick and aching.

“Imagine all that, and then imagine that you, of all the people in the world, were the first person to be clear-sighted and honest and caring enough to ask me about my arm.”

He took her hand very carefully in his. “Imagine my relief at such honesty. And then imagine that you kissed like an angel and made me laugh and forget myself enough to be happy.”

He kissed her hand. “And then tell me what I should do next.”

Tears of regret for all the years lost, mingled with tears of gratitude for all the years that just might be yet to come, scalded her eyes and streaked down her face.

“I should kiss you, dear Beech, and marry you.”

13

Relief and gratitude buoyed him up.

“In the morning, my darling Penelope.” Marcus kissed her forehead. “Get under the covers and stay warm. I need to see to…things.”

Like giving Hodge instruction on caging a marriage license out of the Bishop of Warwick at first light.

Able Hodge was a font of information, as well as discretion. “A regular license, Your Grace, is what is required. It shall be done at the earliest possible moment, Your Grace.”

“I thank you.” Marcus had no choice but to return as quietly as possible to the chamber where his darling Penelope had fallen soundly asleep.

He didn’t want to sleep, of course. He wanted to crawl in beside her and make love into the wee small hours of the morning. To take solace in her body. To keep the unquiet dreams at bay, if only for a night.

But they would still come—the dark memories he could not forget. The necessary violence and blood of battle. The pain and instant understanding the moment he had been hit. The endless torment that followed.

And so, he did not join her in the bed. He did not sleep.

Instead, he sat in a chair before the hearth dozing on and off, as was his way, for the rest of the night, until the gray light of dawn roused him out of his self-imposed purgatory.

The crystalline sunlight slanting through the window told him the storm had broken, and the sound of footsteps trailing off toward the stable told him Hodge was already on his way.

Fresh hope was overtaken by zealous enthusiasm—with luck, today would be his wedding day! It only remained for Marcus to make himself presentable for his bride.

On the stand in the dressing chamber, he found soap and water and a razor, and prepared, in the absence of Sealy Best, his skilled and steady-handed Bajan steward, to do for himself.

Half an hour’s labor left Marcus swearing and bleeding as if he’d been peppered with grapeshot.

“Beech?”

Penelope’s voice was too close for him to fully cover himself—he hastily flung a linen towel around his loins.

But she was already through the door. “Good Lord, Beech! What have you done?” She was looking not at his oozing face, but at the remains of his queue, sheared and lying discarded on the floor.

“Brought myself into the nineteenth century. Or at least tried to.” It had seemed such an easy task when he had conceived of it half an hour ago—to do away with his scruffy, piratical appearance for his wedding day.

“Why?”

“You said you thought I could do with a good barbering if I hoped to please.” The phrase had stuck in his mind like a pebble in his boot, urging him to take pains with his appearance on this day of all days.

“Not to pleaseme—I rather liked you in the eighteenth century,” Penelope replied before she placed an offhand kiss on his bare left shoulder. “Where’s your man, Hodge?”

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