CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Mara stopped just short of stomping her foot. “I’m not marrying you, Roarke.”
Instead of getting through to her “fiancée,” the best man gave a rather irritating guffaw. “I don’t think your lady wants to marry you.”
Roarke shot him a dark glare, or what could only pass for one when he obviously had trouble focusing on the man. “But that’s jus’ silly. O’ course she does.”
Mara’s appointed bridesmaid had been staring at her fingernails throughout the exchange, although she spoke up now. “Maybe you need to give ’er some incentive.”
“She’s gonna be a rich viscountess, Connie.” Her companion said with a roll of his eyes. “Wha’ more could she want?”
She shrugged, as if she couldn’t care less about any of it, but she said, “Give ’er a kiss.”
Roarke frowned at this point. “Isn’t tha’ suppos’d to wait until after the cereb…cerom…” He shook his head. “Vows?”
Mara freed her hand to rub her aching temples. This was the most ridiculous “wedding” she had ever had the misfortune of attending. She certainly wasn’t going remember this day fondly.
In the end, it was over before it had even begun.
The ceremony that might have taken place wasn’t full of tears and well wishes, but several yawns by the wedding party, along with a few inebriated hiccups by her intended.
Thankfully, it never got past the point of, “Dearly beloved…” before Roarke promptly collapsed at her feet. The bishop closed his Bible and offered a curt farewell before taking his leave, obviously realizing that his services were no longer required. In turn, their witnesses gave a brisk goodnight, along with a flurry of congratulations on a union that had blessedly, not been concluded.
Once they were alone, Mara eyed Roarke with a particularly annoyed glare. She considered just leaving him on the floor, for it would certainly serve him right for his high-handed behavior. But she couldn’t, in all good conscience, leave him there to wake with a stiff neck. The aftereffects he would undoubtedly suffer from in the morning would be punishment enough.
After a bit of a struggle, she managed to drag his dead weight over to the bed and pull him on top of it. Sprawled across the middle, he promptly emitted a loud snore.
With a sigh, she yanked off his boots. She decided that was good enough, so she threw a blanket over him and took the remaining bedding to make a pallet on the floor near the fireplace. While it wasn’t the most comfortable place she’d ever laid her head, it wasn’t the worst either. At least it was better than having to hear Roarke saw logs in her ear all night.
Roarke gave a groan, then promptly regretted the impulse as it felt his entire skull might split wide open. It had been ages since he’d been this hung over, and he damned well hoped never to be again. He’d been so furious at his mother, Mara, and even himself that he couldn’t seem to cease the flow of alcohol last night. Ironically, he’d demanded the truth from Mara only to do everything he could to numb himself from it.
While most of his recollections were a bit fuzzy, he certainly remembered his intentions to say, “I will,” but when he threw his arm out to the side of the bed to reach for his lovely new bride, all he felt was cold emptiness.What the devil…
A sudden pounding on the door had him clutching his head miserably. He was about to tell whomever it was to cease and desist when he heard soft footsteps admit the blasted intruder. Roarke dared to crack open an eye and watch as Mara stepped aside for a maid to bring in a breakfast tray. The smell of bacon and eggs nearly turned his stomach inside out, so he concentrated on his wife instead and how lovely she looked this morning—like a fresh, spring peach.
Her long, sunshine hair was hanging down her back and tied back with a simple, white ribbon. She wore a plain muslin dress of white dotted with tiny yellow flowers. He frowned. So maybe she didn’t look exactly like a peach,he amended, but she was definitely something rather delectable that he would like to devour at the first opportunity.
But first he had to wait until his equilibrium righted itself.
“Would you care for anything to eat?”
Roarke’s frown turned to a scowl. Her voice sounded entirely too sweet. She had to know that he was suffering the most horrid ill effects this morning.The wench. “I shall decline,” he managed to grit out through clenched teeth, “Although I would take a cup of strong tea, or preferably coffee if you have it.”
“As you wish, my darling.”
Roarke lifted a brow.Darling?Blast. Now heknewsomething was wrong and that same sensation told him it wasn’t going to be pleasant.
He shot Mara a rather leery glare as she calmly set about pouring the steaming tea. “Cream or sugar?”
“No.” His stomach rebelled at the very thought.
She brought over the delicate china cup and handed it to him with a warm smile. For a moment, he was struck by her beauty—until he glanced down and saw what was in his cup. He was lucky he didn’t disgrace himself by emptying his guts right then and there. He pushed the offending item away, and demanded, “What thehellis that?” Then he winced when his head responded with a devilish pound.
“I believe it’s a raw egg,” Mara replied in the same soothing manner, although this time he thought he caught a sparkle of mischief in those green eyes. “My father swore by that remedy when he was suffering from a night of drink.”
“Well, I certainly have no need of it.”
“As you wish.” This time her grin had a decided evil quality, he was sure of it.
