The door hadbarely closed behind Farah before Lucien called for his coat. His heart raced with a mixture of sympathy and exasperation—he’d seen that look of devastation in a woman’s eyes before, in Courtney’s, and he’d be damned if he let another couple’s happiness shatter due to a man’s stubborn blindness. He had to find Rockwell before it was too late, and bloody well knock some sense into the man. How could someone so clever be such an utter fool when it came to matters of the heart?
Yanking on his coat with more force than necessary, Lucien shook his head at the absurdity of it all. Worse still, Rockwell seemed to have no idea that he was already head over heels in love with Farah.
The way he’d stormed into Blackstone’s study the night he’d offered for her and almost roared at Lucien for even thinking of marrying Farah. That was when he knew Rockwell was a man in denial. He was in love but was fighting it for some reason.
The signs were there for anyone with eyes to see—the way Rockwell’s gaze followed her across every room, how his entire demeanor softened in her presence, the possessive tension in his jaw whenever another man spoke to her. He’d behaved the same with Ava. But he’d been the fool that time.
If Rockwell didn’t sort this mess out, he’d lose the love of his life to his own damned pride and stubborn refusal to recognize what was right in front of him.
The irony wasn’t lost on Lucien—here he was, racing to save another man’s romance when his own lay in shambles. Because one way or another, either Lucien or Rockwell would be at the altar tomorrow morning. He’d already failed one woman he cared for; he would not stand idle and see Farah ruined.
His fingers curled into fists as he strode purposefully toward the door. Time was running out like sand through an hourglass. He just prayed Rockwell loved her enough to do anything to secure her hand in marriage. And more importantly, that the fool would finally realize it before it was too late.
“Have my carriage brought around immediately,” he barked at the footman. Every second counted now—every moment Farah spent believing herself unloved was another crack in the foundation of what could be a magnificent love story. If only Rockwell would get out of his own bloody way.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Farah’s heart thunderedagainst her ribs like a caged bird seeking escape as she stood at the entrance to Blackstone’s drawing room. Blackstone had transformed the familiar space into something out of a dream—with flowers adorning every surface and chairs arranged in neat rows. Morning sunlight spilled through the tall windows like liquid gold—making the scene appear almost ethereal.
She gripped her brother’s arm tightly, fighting back the tears that threatened to shatter her carefully constructed composure. This wasn’t how her wedding day was supposed to be. Everything felt wrong. The ivory gown that had seemed so perfect yesterday now wrapped around her like chains, each breath a struggle. Her bouquet of white roses trembled in her hand, the petals threatening to fall like her own tears.
“It’s not too late.” Blackstone’s whisper carried a weight of understanding that nearly broke her. “If you truly don’t want this…”
She shook her head quickly. “No, I made my choice.”
Now here she was, about to seal her fate, by marrying Lucien because she’d convinced herself it was the safer choice. Better a marriage of convenience than risking her heart on a man who might never truly love her. The thought sat bitterly on her tongue. She was such a coward.
But oh, how her heart cried out for Rockwell, each beat echoing his name.
The first notes of music swelled through the room like the death knell, and Blackstone patted her hand. “Ready?”
No. She wasn’t ready at all. She’d never be ready to say goodbye to love. But she forced herself to nod.
As they started down the makeshift aisle, Farah kept her eyes fixed on the polished floorboards, watching her white slippers peek out with each step. She knew they were all there—the sisterhood with their concerned faces, Courtney’s presence, a particular weight, Rockwell’s family, her friends. What tales would they whisper at their tea parties about the girl who jilted Rockwell to marry Lucien instead?
She could feel their stares prickling along her skin. Let them talk. She was doing what was best for everyone. Wasn’t she? The question echoed hollowly in her chest.
Her vision swam with unshed tears as they approached the altar. She blinked rapidly, determined not to let them fall and betray her heart to all of London. Just a few more steps and it would be done. She would be Lady Furoe, and she would learn to be content with her choice. She would learn to live with the ghost of what might have been.
But then something—fate or providence or her own treacherous heart—made her look up, and her heart stopped.
It wasn’t Lucien waiting for her at the altar.
It was Rockwell, standing tall and proud, like something from her deepest dreams. He stood there in his finest morning coat, so handsome he could make a nun weep. His dark eyes were fixed on her with an intensity that sent flames dancing along her nerves. A small smile played about his lips as he watched her reaction, as if he’d been waiting forever for this moment.
“What… how…” The words tumbled from her lips. “No. No. Absolutely not.”
Rockwell stepped forward, his warm hands enveloping hers. “Did you really think I’d let you marry another man?” he asked softly. “Especially after Lucien told me why you went to see him yesterday?”
Heat bloomed across her cheeks, staining them rose as she became acutely aware of their audience. “But… You are doing this out of duty not because you really love me. Wolf ordered you to marry me. To save the family name.”
A ripple of gasps and whispers swept through the assembled guests. Rockwell didn’t seem to notice them. His entire world had narrowed to her face, as if memorizing every detail. “Is that what you think?” he asked, his voice carrying a note of tender amusement. “That I’m only marrying you out of duty? As if anyone could force me to do anything I didn’t want to do.”
“What about Lady Mary? I’m not enough for you, am I? I heard Ashley and Lauren talking… You sent her a note…”
“Ah. It was to decline an invitation and to inform her I was to marry, and I would not see her again.” His thumbs traced soothing circles on her palms. “Plus, you didn’t hear the actual conversation I had with my brother. The part where Wolf told me I was being a fool for letting my fears keep me from admitting how much I love you.”
Fresh tears sprang to her eyes, turning Rockwell into a beloved blur. “But…”
