Page 34 of Why Do Earls Fall in Love?
Chapter 7
Whiddon, standing next to Chester in his friend’s formal parlor, felt more uncomfortable by the minute. He longed to stick a finger beneath his collar and loosen his cravat. He didn’t dare, though. Chapman had scrubbed, polished and coiffed him, then dressed him in his finest. From somewhere he had unearthed a magnificent waistcoat embroidered in navy, silver and gold. Whiddon didn’t dare mess with the eminently presentable version of himself that his valet had created.
He eyed the crowd nervously. A crowd! Where had Chester dug up so many people in such a short time? Chester’s grandmother, the dowager countess, winked at him from where she was already seated. He grinned back and continued to shift nervously. When were they going to start? He wanted it over with, already.
A commotion sounded outside the parlor. Perhaps his bride was running, thinking better of linking her life to his, before it was too late. He was surprised to feel a pang of loss at the thought.
The parlor door opened, and a gentleman strode in.
“Tensford?” Whiddon’s jaw dropped.
His friend, covered in road dust, stubble and a general air of weariness, strode right up to him and engulfed him in a hug.
“What in the—? How did you get here so quickly?”
“I left Hope and the baby at Greystone and changed horses every chance I got. Did you think I would miss this?” Tensford clapped Chester on the back and grinned as Sterne came up, as well. Sobering, he looked at Whiddon. “So. I assume the girl was in some sort of trouble?”
“They were both in a spot of trouble,” Sterne confirmed. “But yes, she’d already stirred up Whiddon’s protective instincts.”
It might have been a curse, having friends who knew him so well. It would have been, if he didn’t care for them so much. It was a jolt, though, hearing Tensford put the simple truth into words. He’d been attributing the situation to her manner—confident and funny, with a lashing of vulnerability, and to his lack of discipline—he pushed away the memory of that eye-opening, wet, warm and incredibly unwise kiss—but he should also remember that it was his protective instincts that led to that moment. And he should force himself to recall the sort of havoc those tendencies had wreaked in the past.
His anxiety ratcheted up another notch. Here presented another reason to make this a marriage in name only. A union of civility. Polite discourse. Distinct and separate lifestyles.
He’d need an heir, of course. Eventually. But it could wait. There was no hurry. He would put it off, give it time—time for him to become accustomed to her presence. Until she was safe and secure and in no need of his overprotective sense of justice and caretaking. Until she was just another attractive distraction in the background of his life, like a painting or a sunrise over the Devon sea.
The door opened again. Penelope Sterne slipped inside, bringing Miss Bernadine Mayne with her. She looked at Chester and nodded, and his friend took him by the arm. “Come. It’s time.”
He stood, nerves aflutter, before the vicar.Parson’s mousetrap. His heart beat wildly for a moment, and then the door opened again.
Everything inside of him seized, grinding to a halt. Surely that was not the same drenched girl he’d kissed just days ago?
Her hair was done up in an elaborate coiffure that swept up her thick locks but left a cascade of curls to tease her nape. Her skin glowed in the candlelight, as luminous as the gold trim on her gown. The bodice and skirts were of a shade that made her eyes look like blue smoke. Her expression was set, determined. She looked regal, remote, and utterly lovely.
Music swelled. Chester had hired a trio and stuck them in a corner. Charlotte’s steps kept time and her gaze fastened on him and stayed there as she moved forward.
He was frozen. A statue of ice, caught forever in a flow of longing, panic and good, old-fashioned lust. Surely he would shatter if he moved. But she reached him, and he took her hand and he stayed in one piece. Together they turned to face the clergyman, who stepped forward and began to speak.
Whiddon didn’t hear a word. His mind was awhirl. It was going to be quite an adjustment, getting used to having her in his orbit. The difficulty hit him anew each time he saw her. But he would do it. He would learn to not catch his breath when she stepped into a room. He would somehow train all the hairs on his nape not to stir and stand at the sight and scent of her. Not to mention certain other parts of him, lower down. Not even an audience at his back and a parson ahead had discouraged his . . . interest.
He slammed abruptly out of his reverie and back into the present. Had she justnudgedhim? During their wedding ceremony?
He frowned down at her.
She tilted her head toward the vicar.
His frown deepened. He didn’t like the light in here. He could scarcely find the silver flecks in her eyes.
“Pick one,” she said, low.
“Excuse me?” he whispered.
She jerked her head toward the vicar again. “Last chance. Time to choose.”
His gaze remained fastened on her face. Her lips were pink and as fresh as the rose petals in his mother’s garden.
“Will you? Or won’t you?” she asked.
“What?”
