The air of confusion amongst the crème-de-le-crème of ton and members of the Royal Family—who had been invited, of course—seated in St George’s Chapel, almost made Dorian smile. When one was a Duke, getting the best of the best was a given. All of them had come in their finery, filling the pews with a sort of obsessed curiosity.
None of the guests knew why they were there, as was the intention of his vaguely worded invitation, especially the two sets of guests he wanted to perturb the most.
Sterling was seated in the front row, the gold buttons of his blue waistcoat stood stark against his charcoal grey trousers. Behind him were the Langfords—Evelina’s aunt and uncle stood out like a sore thumb. It did not help that the lady wore a plumed headdress, the peacock feathers reaching up a foot high.
Not even Nathan or Drake seemed to have an idea about what was happening—good.
“You do know he is going to put a target on your back for this,” Roderick said while he fixed Dorian’s suit.
“Adding to the other targets already on my back?” Dorian scoffed, tugging his jacket. “To this day, he’s done nothing.”
“But with this,” his valet nodded. “You want him to.”
“If nothing before had pushed him, this will,” Dorian murmured. “I need him to make mistakes.”
After much deliberation, he’d asked Roderick to escort Evelina down the aisle, and when he saw the organist take her place, he’d nodded to his valet.
“Let the show begin.”
“And the cards fall how they may.” Roderick ducked out of the nook and headed down the corridor that skirted the main room and took him to the back of the church.
An organ began playing a hymn, filling the massive dome with beautiful wedding music, which was his cue to turn and step out of the room and head to the altar.
When the guests realized that they were attending a wedding, the whole atmosphere changed.
The cathedral doors opened, and he spotted Evelina on Roderick’s arm; the thick veil that cascaded over her hid her face well. He held back a preemptive smile when she came to stand before him.
The gown hugged her like a glove, the silk shimmered like a diamond under the soft light;god, she looked exquisite. Dorian’s breath hitched in his throat; she was a stunning female, a creature of moonlight and water, too beautiful to be real.
He dimly heard frantic whispers from the guests, he could guess they were all speculating who they thought was under that veil.
His hearing turned selective and only heard the few orders that made sense to him; when he heard to remove the veil, he did so gently, fingering the fine lace, before bringing it up and over. The moment her face was revealed, gasps, raging from horrified to shocked and aghast, ran through the room.
Cold, unadulterated fury rippled over Sterling’s face, and Nathan’s mouth dropped. Dorian didn’t spare a look at the Langfords, but his gut told him they were not pleased.
Evelina’s lashes swept up, and he found himself immobile, her lustrous, wavy hair threaded with gilded leaves, her complexion as dewy as a snowdrop at dawn.
She lifted her chin, facing him, and she gave him the strangest of looks. There was a bit of a dare to that look, as if she was still waiting to see if he would truly go on with this.
He let his gaze wander down to her tart lips. Lips which had been far sweeter to the taste than he’d expected. When she’d visited him in his quarters last night, it had sparked a flame in him that he had long thought buried.
Despite the onlooking peers and the bishop waiting to wed them, he remembered the taste of her, the innocence, the wetness, the passion.
And he wanted to kiss her again. No. Not wanted.Needed. He hungered for her like a man who had not eaten in days. Bloody hell, it was going to be hell living in the same house with her, keeping her at a distance. But keep her at a distance, he would.
“The ring, Your Grace,” the bishop asked.
Dorian reached for his ring. The slate, unadorned gold ring Evelina had just placed on his hand winked in the sunlight. The ring he produced had a bracket like a lily’s plume, the centerpiece a faceted diamond.
“I, Dorian Alexander Beaumont, do take thee, Evelina Rosalind Frampton, to be my wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness or in health, to love and to cherish …”
He slid it on her finger. “…And now that I haveat lastfound you, woe to anyone who tries to take you from me.”
She whispered, “Isn’t the vow till death do us part, according to God's holy ordinance; thereto I plight thee my troth?”
“That too,” he held her hand tight.
The bishop placed both of his hands upon theirs together. “Those whom God hath joined together, let no man put asunder. I pronounce you husband and wife.”
