Giles turned his head, their eyes locking.
Her heart did a little somersault before he glanced back to the clergyman. She hardly heard the clergyman’s voice. However, when his turn came, Giles’s voice was hoarse as he vowed, “I will.”
Shivers erupted across her skin.
“The ring, if you please.”
Giles reached into his coat and drew out a small gold band. Taking her hand, he slid it carefully onto her finger. It fit perfectly. Neither of them wore gloves, she disliked the feel of them, but at that moment, she rather wished for the barrier. The heat of his skin sent a ripple of gooseflesh up her arms.
“. . . I pronounce that they be . . .”
There. There it came at last. The words that snapped the last anxious thread that had been strangling her ever since Rafferty tried to force himself on her. A simpleI pronounce that they beand the storm in her chest lifted, opened, and dispersed.
The ceremony concluded around her, but it wasn’t until they signed the register, and the book shut, that one word flashed through her head.
Safe.
“Congratulations,” the clergyman said, retrieving the book.
“Thank you,” Alyssia murmured in a daze.
I am safe.
Her gaze met Giles’s before Annabelle stepped up and embraced her. “I am so proud of you,” she whispered fiercely into Alyssia’s ear. “And not merely because you managed to get here without having to throttle someone.”
Alyssia smiled.
Shehadthrottled people on numerous occasions. Only in her head, however.
The marquess clapped her husband on his back. “My compliments to you both.” He inclined his head at her. “Duchess,” he said lazily before nodding to the clergyman and leading him from the room.
The title rattled through her bones.
She had the urge to look at Giles again, to take measure of his response, but Alyssia resisted. She couldn’t bear that just yet, whateverthatmight turn out to be. Her gaze dropped to the gold band on her finger.
I’m married.
“Sherry,” Annabelle declared, looking straight at Giles. “This calls for some sherry. I certainly can use a glass. I know Alyssia could, too.”
Yes, please.
“I shall pour us all some,” he offered, striding to the sideboard set with various drinks and glasses.
“Heaven preserve me,” Annabelle exclaimed in a hushed whisper at his back. “You didn’t tell me the man was an adonis.”
“He could have been a toad,” Alyssia remarked. “It would not have mattered.”
“But he is not,” Annabelle said. “And I can’t believe his friend. I’m in the presence of the Marquess of Knoxley. You do know he is a rake, don’t you?”
She didn’t. In fact, even though Giles and the marquess had been friends for a long time, she’d never had much to do with him. She cast a worried glance at her friend. “This won’t cause you any trouble?”
“Me?” She waved a hand. “Oh, pish. What can a minor rake do?”
A throat cleared. “Minor?”
Annabelle’s face flamed as she turned to face Knox, quietly returned from seeing the clergyman out.
Alyssia turned, holding back a laugh, and found Giles approaching a glass in each hand, his eyes on her instead of the exchange between their friends. The faintest curve touched his mouth, almost a smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. But it also didn’t quite not.
