Page 54 of My Darling Rogue
“Must we do this tonight?” Celia asked as Gabriel entwined his fingers with hers during the walk to the building.
He slanted her a quelling look. “I’ll not take the chance of another former suitor bursting through the doors, intent on carrying you off to Gretna Green before I make you a marchioness.”
“I don’t know if that was Lord Harvey’s intent or not,” Celia replied tiredly. “Oh, did someone inform his valet that the plan was foiled? The poor man has been standing in the nearby woods for hours now, waiting for his master to return with a hostage.”
“It’s been taken care of,” Ivy piped up from behind them. “I’ve also had essential items moved from your room into Gabriel’s suite for the night.”
Celia stiffened and Gabriel’s hand tightened.
I have forgotten what comes after the ceremony. When Gabriel has every right to take anything he desires.
“Courage, sugarplum,” Gabriel said in a low voice meant only for her ears. “This part will be over soon enough. Then the only thing left is the begging for your parents’ forgiveness for my impatience. And hoping your brother does not shoot me on sight.”
“Tristan would not. He likes you.”
Gabriel’s smile was almost sad. “Perhaps. But then again, this is the first time I compromised his sister. He’s bound to be angry with me.”
He said not another word until they were repeating their vows. And when he pressed a hard, possessive kiss upon her lips to seal her fate, Celia wondered how it had all occurred so rapidly. The entire ceremony was a complete blur.
“A toast to the new groom and his bride!” Alan cheered as they stood outside the chapel. Heath leaned in, placing a chaste kiss on Celia’s cheek, and Alan and Sebastian quickly did the same. Ivy and Sara embraced her much more somberly than she expected, sensing how disquieted she was by the evening’s events.
Celia pondered how the night was the same after the wedding as it was when she first entered the chapel. The moon still shone high above them, and the fireflies continued their mystical dance in the darkness. Crickets chirped in a reassuring cadence in the distance. Everything was the same and yet everything was different now.
Her life had changed in a matter of fifteen minutes. Clad in the same dark lavender gown she’d worn to supper and holding a hastily constructed bouquet of hothouse roses and lemon branches, she’d been married. The sharp aroma of lemon oil contrasting with the delicate scent of the yellow blooms told her it wasn’t all just a dream.
Almost in a daze, Celia glanced down at her hand. A pear-shaped topaz of bright blue glittered in the moonlight. The ring had belonged to his mother. It was one of the few things he had that belonged to her and now it was hers.
“Take care with it, Celia,” Gabriel had warned while placing it on her finger during the ceremony. “It is one of my most precious of possessions, and I have so few things that belonged to her. I treasure it, and now you, above all things.”
Celia had managed a nod, painfully aware of how heavy the ring sat on her finger. It held the weight of his lost childhood. The pain of abandonment. The sorrow of desertion and an absent father.
“Come with us, Celia,” Sara prodded gently, giving Celia an encouraging squeeze and breaking her out of her reverie. “We shall help you ready for bed while the gentlemen share a glass of brandy to celebrate this happy occasion. Lord Rosenthorne will be up shortly, don’t worry.”
“As if we could keep him away,” Ivy scoffed, her expression softening when Celia’s expression showed her distress. “Do not be afraid, Celia. Your new husband, as rough as he may seem, will take care of you.”
“I should like some brandy as well.” Celia’s voice was shaky. She did not miss the look which passed between Ivy and Gabriel and his subsequent nod of agreement. And that made her almost angry. That her actions would now be scrutinized and either approved or denied. Under English law, Gabriel now had complete control of her life. Her fate. Her happiness and her despair.
When her chin took on a mulish tilt, Gabriel smiled while excusing himself from the other men.
Placing a finger beneath her chin, he lifted until her gaze met his. “One glass, Lady Rosenthorne. And mark my words, I will know if you exceed that.”
Both Sara and Ivy averted their eyes during this exchange, but they certainly heard Gabriel’s low murmur. Ivy bit back a grin of comprehension and whispered something in Sara’s ear which made her giggle.
Celia considered a moment of defiance. She would, and could, drink as much brandy as she liked. And he couldn’t stop her. But for some reason, she simply nodded her head, disappointed by the sense of belonging she felt when he leaned forward and kissed her forehead.
How could he be so damned charming and tyrannical at the same time?
How odd was it to hear herself referred to as ‘Lady Rosenthorne’?
It would take some getting used to, but she truly was his marchioness now.
* * *
The clock was strikingmidnight when Gabriel turned the door handle to his suite of rooms. Passing through the sitting area, he entered the bedroom and paused. A lamp on the bedside table and the low fire cracking in the fireplace lent a rosy glow to the masculine space. When he inhaled deep, he caught both the faint smell of woodsmoke and the far more feminine scent of roses and lemons.
A wave of tenderness overtook him as his gaze drifted over the mound of blankets on his bed and the body they conformed around. His bride. His wife. His Celia.
She was finally his and she waited for him in his bed. Anticipation swelled to almost unbearable portions, even as he reminded himself he would not press her tonight. It had been a long, trying day for them both. And he was certain Celia would not welcome his advances after enduring the stress of a near abduction and subsequent marriage.
