Lucian smiled at her, and she responded with a crooked grin of her own.
He kissed her deeply. “So, Lady Valentine.”
She lifted her chin. “Yes, Lord Valentine?”
He stepped back, flicking her skirts back into place. “What do you think—should we straighten our clothing and put in an appearance at our wedding breakfast?”
She gave him her hand and allowed him to help her off the table. “Why, yes, my lord. I believe we should.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Ten minutes later, Rosalie walked into her wedding breakfast on Lucian’s arm, studiously avoiding the gaze of every person in the room. Her hair was listing to the side, her cheeks were flushed, and her lips had a swollen, almost bee-stung appearance.
Unfortunately, she was not speculating that this was how shemightlook. Oh, no—her mother had hung a huge, gilt-framed mirror over the sideboard, so Rosalie knew it with dreadful certainty.
Beside her, Lucian’s appearance was somehow pristine, drat him. How did his hair look so perfect? She knew she’d pulled it eight different directions, but it somehow looked artfully rumpled. The only sign he bore of what they’d been up to was the huge, shyte-eating grin that graced his lips.
They looked, in short, like they had just consummated their marriage in a closet between their wedding ceremony and their wedding breakfast.
Rosalie started as she noticed a strange red mark on her neck in the precise size and shape of Lucian’s lips.
She leaned toward Lucian’s ear. “What is the red mark upon my neck?”
“It’s known as a love bite,” he murmured.
She gave him a sharp look. “This is your doing?”
He solicitously pulled out her chair. “I don’t recall you complaining.”
“Just look at me!” she hissed. “It’s patently obvious what we’ve been up to. I thought you said you were as good as a lady’s maid!”
“I said I was good with clothes,” he whispered as he slid into the seat next to her. “I never said anything about hair.”
Rosalie chanced another glance in the mirror. She had to admit, her gown was immaculate.
She sighed. “I’m not the sort of girl who loses her virginity in a closet.”
He arched a single brow. “Obviously, you are.”
Rosalie still couldn’t bring herself to meet anyone else’s eye. “Who do you think has guessed?” she whispered.
Lucian’s gaze combed the room. “Absolutely everyone.”
Rosalie sighed. Well, there was nothing for it. She decided her brother would be the safest place to start. Gathering her courage, she turned to Robin and smiled. He gave her a look of faux outrage in return. Beside him, Howard’s face was disinterested, as usual.
Lucian’s friends Lord Trundley and Mr. Beauclerk were shaking their heads, as if this were a new low, even amongst their circle. Mrs. Beauclerk boldly met Rosalie’s gaze and mouthed the words, “Good for you!” Beside her, the archbishop looked aghast.
Her father sported a forced smile, as if he were determined not to acknowledge what he was seeing.
Bracing herself, Rosalie turned toward her mother.
She shouldn’t have worried. The duchess’s smirk was as big as Lucian’s, and when Lucian caught her eye, she inclined her head toward him, as gracious as a queen.
It seemed that her mother’s primary concern was that her daughter might find some way to weasel her way out of the respectable match she hadfinallymanaged to make. There would be no annulment, which was the only thing that mattered, as far as the duchess was concerned.
Rosalie might have known. Sighing, she reached for a plate of tea cakes and prepared to endure the longest meal of her life.
Two awkward hours later, their guests assembled in the foyer, ready to see the newlyweds off as they prepared to make the short journey to Deverell House.
