Page 55 of The Earl's Bluestocking Bride
Andrew had expected to experience either panic or relief at his wedding—he hadn’t been certain which. Yet he felt neither of those emotions as he repeated his vows in front of most of the ton.
Instead, there was a gentle warmth inside him because he somehow knew he’d only scratched the surface of who Amelia was, and he looked forward to learning more.
He did experience a pang of fear when it was her time to speak, just in case she had a last-minute change of heart, but she didn’t falter, her voice ringing clearly throughout the church.
The minister declared them husband and wife, and Andrew held her face between his palms and kissed her. He’d intended to pull away after a chaste brushing of their lips but found he couldn’t. Her lips were the perfect pillow for his, soft and clinging.
He inhaled through his nose, and her intoxicating peppermint scent made his cock wake up and take notice. It shouldn’t be arousing to be able to recognize a woman—hiswoman—by her scent alone, but it undeniably was.
She swayed closer, pressing herself lightly against his front. Her hands buried themselves in his jacket, and she used the grip to steady herself. They parted, and he opened his eyes a moment before she did.
Her eyelashes fluttered, sooty and dark against her alabaster skin. Then her eyes blazed into his, burning with an intensity that rocked him to his core. The passion in their depths shook him.
And she was all his.
Only a few feet away, the minister announced the new Earl and Countess of Longley. The wedding guests rose to their feet. Meanwhile, Andrew battled to control his eager cock. He could hardly walk out of here with an erection.
Amelia arched an eyebrow. “My lord?”
He exhaled roughly, reasonably sure he was safe for now. He linked his arm with hers and led her back down the aisle and out of the church.
A chill wind buffeted them the instant they steppedoutside, and he couldn’t help being relieved. His body surely couldn’t run rampant when it was so deuced cold.
His carriage awaited them, his family crest embossed on the door, which a liveried footman held open. He escorted her to the carriage and helped her in, then leaped in behind her. The footman closed the door, and the carriage began to move.
He turned to her. “You look incredible, my countess.”
She raised an eyebrow dubiously. “This gown may be the height of fashion, but that doesn’t mean it suits me.”
He chuckled. “Perhaps not, but that isn’t what I mean anyway. You are very pretty today. Not the dress or that no doubt priceless tiara. You.”
Her cheeks pinked, and she angled her face away from him. Was she shy, or did she still not understand her appeal?
They rode in a peaceful quiet, both glad for the small reprieve before the wedding breakfast. Mrs. Hart had opted for a less traditional setup, which would leave guests free to circulate. It would also render him and Amelia more accessible to the nosy members of the ton.
The driver took a circuitous route to the Hart residence, and by the time they arrived, many of the wedding guests were already there. Andrew immediately caught sight of Ashford waiting out the front of the building, his stance rigid, expression detached.
The carriage stopped.
“Are you ready for this?” he asked her.
She pulled a face. “Are you sure we can’t just go straight to your residence?”
“And deny your mother her day in the sun?”
“Ugh.” She rose from the seat. “She’d never forgive me.”
He hurried out and helped her down before she rendered him useless by proving she was fully capable of disembarking the carriage without him. She was, of course, but it was nice for a man to feel needed.
“Before we enter, there’s someone I’d like you to meet,” he murmured close to her ear. He drew her toward Ashford. “Amelia, this is my oldest friend, the Duke of Ashford. He’s traveled from Norfolk for our wedding despite the fact he has a wife and infant daughter at home.”
Amelia sank into a curtsy. “Thank you for making the journey, Your Grace. It’s an honor to meet you.”
“Likewise.” Ashford’s cool eyes warmed a degree. “I understand you like to read?”
She snuck a look at Andrew, obviously uncertain how to respond. He understood her confusion. The question had come out of nowhere, and her mother had taught her that she shouldn’t mention such things.
“Her Grace, the Duchess of Ashford, is also an avid reader,” Andrew explained, hoping to make it clear that the duke didn’t disapprove of her habit.
