Page 55 of One Night of Temptation
“She can’t marry him if he’s dead,” the marquess said, which earned him several gasps from those assembled. He turned to Findon, who stood beside him. “Challenge Tarleton to a duel.”
Findon turned a sickly shade of gray. “I, er, I think not.”
“Then perhaps I shall.” Bramber glowered at Hugh and fisted his hand again, though it remained at his side. “This is the height of insult—to take advantage of my daughter as he’s done.”
Barrett, Eastleigh, Cole, Tom, and Langford, who’d also just arrived, all took a step toward the marquess, their expressions unified in determination and enmity.
The marchioness touched her husband’s arm and whispered something in his ear. He scoffed and shook her away so that she stumbled to the side. She recovered herself before she fell, but the truth was clear—Bramber was a brute. Not that Hugh had needed to see him mishandle his wife to know that.
Hugh squeezed Pen’s hand, then let her go before advancing on her father. “I’m inviting you politely to leave my church.” He almost wished the man would refuse so that Hugh could toss him bodily through the gate.
Though Hugh hadn’t been speaking to Findon, the man departed with alacrity. In fact, it was astonishing to see him move so fast.
The marquess, however, took a step toward the bishop, his gaze imploring. “Please, Bishop Howley, you must do something. My daughter cannot marry a rector.”
Bishop Howley frowned deeply. It was perhaps the most emotion Hugh had ever seen on the man’s face. “A rector may become a bishop, as I am. I sit in the House of Lords. One day, I may even be archbishop. To denigrate Mr. Tarleton is to insult our entire occupation and the Church of England. I must support Mr. Tarleton’s request and ask that you leave.”
Satisfaction burst like a firework inside Hugh. He retreated to Pen’s side and took her hand once more.
Bramber took a step toward Pen, and Hugh instinctively angled himself in front of her. “I will speak with my daughter,” the marquess said haughtily.
“If she’ll allow it.” Hugh looked at his bride in question.
She nodded and directed a glacial stare at her father. “Make it good, because I doubt I will speak with you again.”
“If you marry Tarleton, you will be dead to us,” he said coldly. “There will be no dowry, no support of any kind. Do you understand?”
Her lips curled into a smile, and Hugh nearly swept her into his arms and kissed her. “Perfectly. I can’t imagine we’ll have any reason to see each other at all.” She peered around him at the marchioness. “Goodbye, Mother.”
The marchioness sniffed, then came forward, passing her husband so that she stood before Pen. “You don’t have to do this,” she whispered, casting a wary glance up at Hugh. “You don’t have to marry Findon. I promise. I’ll make sure you’re allowed to choose your husband next Season. You can’t marry so far beneath you.” She cast a disparaging glance toward Hugh.
Pen’s gaze turned sad. She was simply done with being angry at them. There was no point. “Hugh is an exemplary gentleman and possesses the kindest, noblest soul I’ve ever met. He’s someone I admire, and you should too.” She slid her arm around Hugh, who felt as if his heart might burst with joy. “I love Hugh. I choose Hugh.”
Eastleigh cleared his throat. “Well, I think that’s all there is to say on the matter. Shall we proceed?”
Bishop Howley looked at Hugh. “Since I am here, I would be pleased to perform the ceremony.”
Hugh would have preferred Tom do it, but one did not refuse the Bishop of London. Hugh exchanged a look with Pen and could tell she felt the same. It was very strange to think he knew her so well, but it was as if they’d just been waiting to meet the other and the rest had fallen into place.
“Thank you, Bishop Howley,” Hugh said. “Let us prepare.”
The marquess let out a sound akin to a ferocious growl, then glared at the bishop before taking his wife’s arm and stalking from the church. They weren’t even out the door before a chorus of “Huzzah!” sounded in the vestibule.
“Do you mind if we stay?” one of the Runners asked. “I like a good wedding.”
“Please do.” Hugh couldn’t help but grin as he felt Pen giggle beside him. He squeezed her close and brushed a kiss to her temple. “Ready?”
She looked up at him, her eyes shimmering with love. “Let’s get married.”
Epilogue
Their wedding at St. Giles had exceeded every expectation Penelope had ever had. For so long, she’d imagined a ceremony during which she felt sick and prayed for a meteor to fall from the sky to disrupt the event so she could run away. Then, when her parents had pronounced she would marry Findon, she’d hoped a hole in the earth would open and swallow him whole.
But this was so much better. She had everything she needed and wanted. And she felt, for the first time, truly alive. It helped that the atmosphere inside the Wicked Duke was boisterous and cheerful, exactly what a celebration should be. It was full of her new friends and many parishioners from St. Giles who’d come to the wedding.
The Duke of Colehaven approached her, grinning, with his wife at his side. “If we’d known about your wedding soon enough, we would have brewed a specialnon-bitterale.”
Penelope glanced toward her husband—herhusband—who’d arranged this breakfast. “Hugh told you about my preferences?”
