Another man to deal with.
Chapter Five
Five days passedbefore her wedding day. Alyssia had begun to suspect the entire affair a dream. She neither saw nor heard from Giles until the fourth day, when word came at last of his living arrangements, and that he’d procured a special license, making it possible for them to marry at once. She returned word that the wedding would be held on the fifth, which found her in the drawing room of her temporary new home, Annabelle at her side declaring the room “perfectly solemn.”
Alyssia almost laughed again. She didn’t much care for such matters. When it came to aims, she could become rather single-minded. And her aim to marry had ruled her mind for weeks.
“We could still run, you know,” Annabelle murmured. “A bit of brisk exercise does one a great deal of good.”
“No running.”
“I’ll have to give chase if you do,” a voice breathed into her ear, scattering shivers across her skin.
Her head whipped around. “Giles. You’re here.”
“Where else would I be? This is my wedding day, after all.”
Hah. Where was the rugged man from the Lyon’s Den? Shavednow, he might have passed for a younger, and less dangerous, man. A little pale, but he seemed steady on his feet. Absurd, wasn’t it? More absurdly, she missed the rasp of stubble.
Stop it, Alyssia.
“Well, you certainly look better than the last time I saw you. I hope you don’t faint at my feet again before the nuptials are done.”
His eyes narrowed a fraction before stepping around her, grinning. “Can we not forget that little incident?”
Annabelle snorted. “You two may, I shall never forget the tale Alyssia told me about yourlittle incident.”
His eyes flicked to her friend before coming back to her. “Are you as heartless as your friend?”
“Naturally, or else I wouldn’t have told her.”
The Marquess of Knoxley entered the drawing room with a clergyman at his side. He bowed to her and Annabelle. “Are we ready?”
Alyssia nodded. “Ready.” Just a small lie. A lie of reassurance.
“Speak for yourself,” Annabelle muttered.
“I’m ready, too, if you were wondering,” Giles said to his friend, amused.
How very good for you!
Honestly, until this very moment, she had been as ready as any lady escaping scandal could be. Once married, Rafferty could not bother her anymore. Not with his exaggerated stories, not with his filthy slurs, not with his coarse threats. To a man like Cecil Rafferty, Earl of Bonville, marriage was iron. The door she’d bolted would become a wall.
Giles offered his arm and Alyssia accepted. The clergyman took a spot before the mantel, prayer book in hand, while Knox and Annabelle stood witness a few paces back. The vows passed more quickly than she expected, and when she repeatedI take thee, a wild, foolish heat unfurled through her chest.
She snuck a glance at the man.
Lawd. How solemn. The man did nothing by half measures, didhe? When he disappeared, he disappeared. When he returned, he returned. When he made a vow, he vowed.
Her gaze dropped to his jaw.
Donotthink of his stubble.
Think of the plan. Marry, put Rafferty behind bars of propriety, scrape the whispers from her name, remake what could be remade. All the while not exposing her “husband” too soon.
“Wilt thou have this man—”
“Yes,” she said, before her better sense could arrange itself. Her cheeks warmed, and she cleared her throat. “I will.”
