“I take you back home and try to clean up this mess,” Roarke announced firmly. “At the moment, since both of you are missing, rumors are that you two ran off together for a tryst, but the moment you step foot in London, you’ll be arrested.”
Alister had kept his silence, but now he spoke up. “Then let’s make it fact.” Instantly, three pairs of eyes turned to stare at him. “If it’s believed that we are lovers and met for an assignation, then we couldn’t have killed anyone.”
“But could you even obtain a special license?” Drayven murmured. “You certainly don’t have time to wait for the banns to be read at this point.”
“The Temple Church in Cornwall and the Savoy Chapel on the Strand no longer perform ceremonies without a license,” Alister noted. “So it looks like we’re going to have to go to Scotland.”
Roarke’s mouth promptly fell open. “Are you trying to tell me that you intend to take my sister to Gretna Green andmarryher?”
Alister didn’t even hesitate. “That’s exactly what I’m saying. It seems like the most logical solution, for it gives us both a solid alibi by backing up the current rumors.”
For a moment, all was silent, and then Roarke said, “This may just be crazy enough to work…”
Lyra stepped forward at that point, demanding to be heard. “Excuse me, but might I have a say in this?” she snapped. “I haven’t agreed to anything.”
“You don’t need to,” her brother returned firmly. “It’s all settled.” He turned back to Alister. “Come by the townhouse when you return to London and we’ll work out all the details of a dowry settlement.”
Lyra was starting to panic. Things were moving too fast. “But isn’t there another way? Can’t we just plead our innocence?”
It was true that Alister was a much better man than Roger Coventry had ever been, and she was happy when she was with him. She knew that he would never abuse her, and considering the fact she was very likely carrying his child, it really was the perfect solution for all involved.
So why did she feel so empty?
“Excuse me, gentlemen.” Alister walked over to where Lyra stood. “It seems I need to do this properly.” Taking one of her hands in his, he bent down on one knee. “Lyra…” He paused so she could supply her middle name, making her heart pound even harder. “…Lynne Garrott Coventry, would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”
She hesitated, but the instant she looked into those warm, brown eyes, she suddenly found her walls crumbling. “Yes, Alister,” she whispered. “I will.”
“It will likely take us a week or more to get to Scotland in this weather,” Alister said to Drayven and Roarke. Lyra was already seated in Eversleigh’s carriage and awaiting the journey with a warming brick and a blanket, conspicuously silent. The marquess had just returned from the village with two extra horses for the trip back to London with Roarke.
Lord Sussex held out a hand. “Safe travels, my friend. I’m just glad it’s you and not me.”
“Don’t speak out of turn,” Alister chuckled. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you found yourself in the parson’s trap sooner than you think.”
Drayven gave a mock shudder before he mounted his horse. “Heaven forbid.”
Alister turned to face his future brother-in-law.
“Mara is going to be thrilled by this news,” Roarke said with a rueful grin. “She’s always wanted to see Lyra properly settled with a man who cares for her.”
“I promise I will do whatever it takes to make her happy.”
Roarke studied him for a moment. “You know, it’s not very often that my mother gives anyone her praise, but somehow you managed the impossible when you freed Lyra from the Tower.” His dark eyes were somber. “I always thought you were a man of merit, Your Grace. It’s a shame not more people see that.” With that, he climbed into the saddle and tossed down a bag of coins. “An early wedding gift.” On an afterthought, he added, “Take care of my tilbury. It’s a particular favorite.”
Alister watched the two men ride away. He knew he’d always been right to like the viscount. It was too bad they hadn’t met a long time ago. Alister had no doubt Roarke would have made a fine addition to the Home Office.
He climbed into the driver seat beside Lyra and urged the stallion to walk on. The large wheels of the tilbury would do well to carry them over the rough roads to Scotland, but just in case they ran into more inclement weather, he was grateful for the top that would keep them relatively safe from the elements. While his wound wasn’t nearly as sore as it had been before Lyra had applied the poultice, each bump still caused him to grimace in discomfort.
“If you get too tired, I can take over.”
He turned to her. “You know how to drive?”
“I do.”
He knew he shouldn’t have been surprised, but he really didn’t know that much about his wife-to-be. He’d felt a right fool earlier when he’d proposed and had to wait for her to supply her middle name. Considering there was no time like the present, and they had a rather long way to go, he decided to pass the time by getting to know her better. “What’s your favorite color?”
At first she just looked at him curiously before she answered hesitantly, “Purple?”
He had to chuckle since it was Euphemia’s favorite too. “Interesting choice.”
