Tell her,Charles repeated.
John raised his hands.You tell her.
Damn you! You know I cannot. Tell her or I’ll have you dismissed.
John met his gaze, resolve in his eyes.Dismiss me and be damned. I won’t see her publicly humiliated.
You think humiliation today is worse than a lifetime with me?
“Ahem.”
Whitcombe cleared his throat. John let out a snort and gestured again.Your future brother-in-law likes you not.
Charles frowned at his valet, but John continued.
Will she be delivered of a child within eight months of the wedding, or sooner?
Charles smacked his fist into his palm then made a crude gesture.
Fuck you, John.
“Devereaux!”
Whitcombe’s voice, clear and cold, cut through the air.
Charles glanced up to see the vicar staring at him.
“Proceed,” Whitcombe said.
“Therefore, I ask all of you here,” the vicar said, “that if any of you know of any lawful impediment to the union of this man and this woman, you should declare it now.”
Silence fell, punctuated by a baby’s crying, which was quickly shushed.
Whitcombe touched the bride’s elbow in a gesture of unexpected tenderness and raised his eyebrows. The anger in his eyes morphed into love—the love of an adoring brother who wished his sister to be happy. It was the love that families shared—a love that Charles had never experienced, nor had he believed existed until this very moment.
Whitcombe, despite his insistence on propriety, was offering his sister, at the brink of placing the noose around her neck, release from her obligation. He leaned toward her and whispered in her ear, his voice inaudible, but the movement of his lips conveyed the words.
Speak now and you can be released, Olivia. I love you no matter what. Do you wish to proceed?
The vicar opened his mouth to resume and Whitcombe raised his hand.
“A moment, reverend.”
The bride glanced at Charles, moisture gleaming in her eyes. Then she resumed her attention on her brother. Charles caught his breath, his rational mind willing her to release herself, despite the whisperings of his heart, and the yearning in his body that had tightened his breeches the moment he caught her soft scent.
Then, slowly, she nodded.
The vicar continued, and John proclaimed the vows at Charles’s direction, followed by the bride, who spoke in her clear voice, flinching as she pledged her vow of obedience. At length, the vicar closed his Bible shut with a snap and declared them man and wife.
Charles took her hand and caught his breath as his cock surged forward like a rampant stallion eager for the mare. She lifted her gaze to his, and his ardor cooled at the intensity of the fear in her eyes. But the need to take her as his, to declare his ownership by claiming hermouth, was too strong, and he lowered his head as she tilted hers back, parting her lips in anticipation.
What the fuck am I doing?
The fear in her eyes was so sharp, so potent, that he could not, in good conscience, make such a brutal declaration of ownership in front of the people she knew and loved. If she had given herself to another already then perhaps she wished it were him, instead of Charles, who claimed her today.
Like any beast, Charles was ready to surrender to the primal need to obliterate all trace of him who had gone before, as savagely as any rutting stag. But he could not be assured that he’d be able to restrain himself. Though she now belonged to him, body and soul, in the eyes of the law and of the church, he doubted that Whitcombe would stand by and do nothing while Charles rutted his bride in the middle of the chapel.
Conquering the yearning in his body, he withdrew his hand. There would be plenty of time to take her as he pleased, to satisfy the beast growling in his soul, as soon as they were alone.
