But he’d wanted to be different.
He’d wanted to be different for himself and for her.
A servant showed them into a drawing room already lit with a fire. Clearly, they weren’t the first couples to have passed through this day. For now, however, the parlor was empty and quiet. Linton offered the services of his sister so Julia could “refresh.”
She glanced at Rayne inquiringly.
He nodded, mystified by her new penchant for seeking permission.
Once she set foot inside the Grange, she’d instantly know…understand. He wasn’t fit to be anyone’s authority. He could barely hold his own.
He paced the room until the clock chimed the half hour. The clang reverberated—signaling the approaching apex of their adventure. Soon, Julia would be his wife, first in name, then in body.
And when her inevitable disappointment arrived, he’d remind her—he’d tried leaving, tried frightening her away, tried revealing his basest nature. But she’d worn him down with her cheerful persistence, her absolute refusal to give up.
Like being repeatedly whacked over the head by a bouquet of fragrant flowers.
He slid his hand into his pocket and closed his fingers around the ring James had fashioned.
Transformation. Change.
They weren’t just ideas. With the right inspiration and effort, they became realities. He must remember. He had to believe.
Julia reappeared in the doorway with a woman of middling age. She introduced him to the sister Linton mentioned, Frances. An awkward silence followed. He invited the ladies to sit, and then forced himself to stillness in a chair across from them.
Julia’s hair was tucked up and tidy beneath her hat, but she’d lost her glow. Her skin had grown parchment-ivory thin.
Don’t.His turn to protest.Don’t doubt. Not now.
If they were alone, he’d draw her back onto his lap and stroke her until she whimpered against his neck, as he had this morning—distracting them both from the impossible questions she’d posed. He could hardly do so now, while Frances stood by Julia’s side silently holding Julia’s hand, her coolly assessing gaze making him itch.
He drummed his fingers against his knee.
He couldn’t beworsethan the untold number of grooms who’d passed through these doors.
He wasn’t after Julia’s dowry—he didn’t know, nor did he care, if Markham intended a marriage settlement—he’d provide for her whatever she wished within his means. He wasn’t forcing Julia against her will—she’d set out to abducthim, after all. And he could—to the best of his ability—keep her protected, and, at the very least, thoroughly pleasured.
None of which he cared to explain to Frances, who seemed to perceive in him Hades, calling Persephone against her family’s will, to descend with him into a lightless place… Or, maybe that wasn’t Frances’s castigation but his conscience.
“Mr. David Laing,” a servant announced.
A coarse-looking septuagenarian entered the room. The three of them stood together, exchanging greetings. When Julia reached for Rayne’s arm, her hand shook. He laid a steady hand over her fingers.
Don’t doubt. Please.
Laing took one look at Julia’s expression and launched into a boast meant to calm her nerves. He said he’d been performing marriages since 1792 and not one had yet been declared invalid. Reassuring, though Rayne doubted Laing had come up against a brother as angry as Markham was going to be.
Julia asked what vows they would make.
“You needn’t make any,” Laing replied. “Just state your intent to wed, take an oath that there are no impediments, and then sign your full names to the register. Once your signatures are witnessed by Mr. Linton and the postboy, I’ll make the declaration. Allow me to guess.” He winked. “You’re having a little trouble with the obey phrase, aren’t you?”
“You mean”—her gaze slid to Rayne’s—“Idon’thave to promise to obey?”
Rayne warmed at this glimpse of the Julia he’d come to know. “I never expected you would.”
“I like this one,” Linton said.
Rayne’s heart jerked in his chest. “I like her, too.”
