“I wouldn’t have thought this would be so real,” she whispered.
“Leave it to Blackheart to ensure all pomp and circumstance be observed.”
But of course. She ought to have realized... “But he isn’t here.”
“He has other… obligations.” Quiet laughter rumbled in his voice.
Which reminded her… “I thought thatyouweren’t coming.”
He squeezed her hand. “Wasn’t going to let you off that easily.”
She tried to listen to the reading, reminding herself once again of the solemnity of the occasion but the priest might as well have been speaking in welsh for all she comprehended. It was absurd, really.
Her entire being fixated helplessly on the hand clasping hers.
Chase’s skin was warm and… thick, not as tender as hers. He gripped it with just enough strength for her to know he did so intentionally, but not so much that she felt trapped.
T-r-a-p-p-e-d. Ironically, a seven-letter word. Did he feel trapped by her?
She started a little when Chase rose, the rector gesturing for them to return to their positions at the altar.
Once there, Chase turned to face her, and she followed his lead.
“Bethany Louisa Fitzwilliam, will you have this man to be your husband: to live together in the covenant of marriage? Will you love him, comfort him, honor and keep him, in sickness and in health: and, forsaking all others, be faithful to him as long as you both shall live?”
“I will.” Her voice sounded loud in her ears.
Theirs could not be a platonic union—although she’d heard of severaltonmarriages that were white—marriages in name only. But how could two people live together for the rest of their lives without forging some sort of bond? And shouldn’t that bond be both emotionalandphysical—even if these nuptials weren’t based on romantic love?
She wasn’t naïve, nor was she ignorant as to the rumors. She only hoped that he would be discreet as far as other women were concerned.
Or would he keep a single mistress? Her stomach churned at the thought. She didn’t want to share him that way.
“Triston Aaron Corbet, Will you have this woman…”
Bethany stared up at him, a strange awareness donning on her.
She didn’t know him at all, really. He was her brother’s friend. He was kind, charming, charismatic. But what kind of a husband was he going to be? If he didn’t love her, and didn’t want her love, what kind of marriage could they have?
She needed to protect her heart. Didn’t she? It was possible she’d been infatuated with an illusion all these years, but today she was marrying a real live man.
“I will.” Chase’s voice sounded sure. But he was watching her, brows furrowed.
“Take one another’s right hand and repeat after me, please. I’ll begin with Lord Chaswick. I, Triston, take you, Bethany, to be my wife.”
“I, Triston, take you, Bethany, to be my wife.” Chase diligently repeated all the rector’s words. “To have and to hold from this day forward, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, until we are parted by death.”
“And Lady Bethany?”
But before she could begin, unable to bear it any longer, she reached up and straightened his cravat. She could hardly recite her vows when something was so obviously off.
The corner of Chase’s mouth hitched up, and a teasing glint sparkled behind his eyes.
She cleared her throat. “I, Bethany…” She kept her gaze pinned on his cravat and somehow managed to repeat the words without stumbling once.
“The rings? My Lord?”
“Oh, but there wasn’t time to—”
