Page 92 of Miss Prim and the Duke of Wylde
His sense of self-preservation shuddered at the thought.
Finally—finally!—it was time for the newlyweds to depart.
Of course, Meg had to throw her bouquet, which she did from halfway up the mansion’s main stairs. Although she closed her eyes before flinging the flowers high over the jostling group of unmarried young ladies, the bouquet nevertheless fell on Lydia’s head. As Lydia was already engaged, that surprised no one, but put big smiles on the faces of Lydia and her bridegroom-to-be.
Her hand in Drago’s, Meg hurried up the stairs, and he cooled his heels in the corridor while, with Pru, Lydia, and Amarantha in attendance, Meg hurried out of her wedding gown and into a carriage dress and bonnet suitable for the drive to Wylde Court.
When the door opened and she stepped into the corridor, Drago rose. As always, she looked enchanting to him—to all his senses—and if anything, being finally married had heightened the possessiveness he’d always felt toward her.
Mine. All mine.
He managed to find a smile that was merely charming and didn’t reflect the more primitive emotions coursing through him. He held out his hand to her. “Shall we?”
Her glorious smile bloomed, and she walked forward and set her hand in his. “Let’s go.”
Let’s start on our journey together.
Her eyes filled in the words she didn’t say, but he needed no further encouragement to close his hand about hers and turn with her to the stairs.
They descended to applause and cheers and something akin to acclaim. Their nearest and dearest lined their path to the front door, waiting to press their hands, kiss their cheeks, and wish them well. It was one of those rare times in life when Drago felt that emotion referred to as “family feeling” wrapping about and weaving through the gathering like some tangible entity.
Finally, after shaking hands with a beaming George and Harry and a smiling yet serious Thomas, with Meg by his side, Drago stepped through the heavy doors of St. Ives House and onto the porch.
Immediately before the steps, in the short gravel forecourt, his curricle stood waiting, the grays champing at their bits. Of course, some wags had decided to decorate the curricle with white ribbons and ribbon-rosettes, and several cans dangled from the rear.
A nervous Milton held the horses’ heads and was looking anywhere but at his master.
Denton leaned close and whispered, “Don’t blame Milton. The Cynster and Helmsford younger crew weren’t about to listen to anything he said.”
“I don’t suppose,” Drago murmured back, “that you thought to intervene?”
“Good God no!” Denton slapped Drago on the shoulder. “I’ve lived to see you set off on your honeymoon in appropriate style.”
Others around them chuckled.
Meg, too, had been studying the curricle. “I have to say, that isn’t as bad as I’d expected.”
Drago decided to say no more.
Instead, he glanced at Meg, tightened his grip on her hand, and caught her gaze. “Are you ready, my dear duchess?”
She smiled the smile she reserved just for him. “Never more so, Your Grace.”
He chuckled and led her down the steps. Others followed them.
After helping Meg up to her seat, Drago rounded the horses, accepted the reins from Milton, and paused to set the lad’s mind at rest and to release him to return to Wylde House.
In their earlier planning, their various supporters had agreed that Drago and Meg should head directly for the Court rather than pause for no real reason in Park Lane.
Not that anyone expected any further attack, not now they were wed.
The reins in his hand, Drago leapt into the curricle. Their well-wishers crowded around, but all were wary of the heavy-hoofed grays and didn’t get too close, allowing Drago to salute everyone with his whip and call out their thanks one last time, with Meg echoing his sentiments, then he eased the reins, and the curricle rolled smoothly forward to cheers and several more-raucous suggestions.
As they turned out of the St. Ives House gates and the yells from behind them faded, replaced by the clattering of the cans banging on the cobbles, facing forward, Meg sighed, a happy sound.
When Drago glanced her way, she caught his eye and smiled. “That was entirely predictable in every way.”
He smiled back, then concentrated on tooling the curricle around Grosvenor Square. As soon as they were out of sight of St. Ives House, he drew the curricle to the curb, handed the reins to Meg with a “Hold them,” and stepped down to remove the cans.
