He glanced down. For the first time in a week he felt a smile from the depths of his being. He bowed. “Lady Irene. How delightful to see you.”
“Are you quite all right, sir? You appear pale. Much like Celia when she is coming down with the auge.”
So old, she was.He smiled. “Admittedly, I could use some fresh air.”
“’Tis cold out.” She studied him with her unnerving intensity. “I expect it was the ship’s hold. I feel an affliction of suffocation myself on occasion.”
“I expect you’re right. Where on earth did you learn such a phrase?”
“My grandfather. Addis told me he suffered from an affliction of horrid nightmares when my Aunt Rachel disappeared. He said he still has bad dreams but not as often.”
Harlowe remembered bits of Brock’s younger sister having been kidnapped. The outcome had not been one of satisfaction. As he considered Irene’s words, he thought of all the nights he woke drenched in sweat. “Do you still have nightmares?”
“Not as I used to. I, too, require vast amounts of air.” Her small body quivered and she wrinkled her nose. “That windowless room smelled horribly. Do you remember?”
“I do indeed.” Again, smiling, he held out his arm. “Perhaps we could take a turn in the garden, my lady.”
“That would be lovely, my lord.”
Harlowe led Irene to the terrace doors and they slipped out. The cool air instantly soothed him.
“Do you suppose there will be dancing later? After the wedding breakfast?” she asked him.
“I have a feeling Lady Ingleby is counting on the fact.”
“Oh, that is excellent, don’t you think? I should love dancing. Addis tells me I’m too young to attend balls and soirees.”
“I would have to agree with him,” Harlowe said.
She let out a winded sigh. “Yes, I suppose so.”
“Do you think it would be all right for today? Not too improper?”
“If there is dancing today, then perhaps I’ll throw my lot behind you. But only with certain gentlemen. I expect Brock and Addis will give their say on approved partners as well. You will, of course, save me a place on your dance card, my lady?”
A grin lit her face, showing the child she indeed was. “Certainly, my lord.”
The rector cleared his throat. “You may kiss your bride.”
Maeve could feel her face flame in the long moment it took Harlowe to release her lips with God and all of sundry watching. “Just a couple more hours, my sweet. I fear your mother has grand plans,” Harlowe whispered, then pulled away.
“Please welcome Lord and Lady Harlowe.” The rector’s voice boomed.
Harlowe turned her to face the guests, and she almost fainted. She’d been so nervous when she’d walked between the two sections created for seating, she hadn’t noticed who’d bothered to attend their intimate gathering. It appeared her mother had outdone herself. Two dukes, two marquesses, and a number of earls and viscounts, along with their counterparts, countesses and viscountesses and the like.
Lady Ingleby moved quickly to the rear of the room. “The wedding breakfast will commence in moments. Please proceed to the ballroom. Causey shall lead the way,” she said with an unnatural modesty, making her unusual restraint all the more admirable.
Harlowe led Maeve from the room and pulled her into the library for a private moment. In a heated rush, his mouth covered hers. She tasted desire, lust, and… tenderness.
“I have half a mind to take you right here.”
“You wouldn’t,” she breathed, half tempted to let him. No! She was angry with him. This marriage was all his… “It’s tempting,” she admitted.
“No, but it would serve your mother right for pulling this stunt. As it happens, should there be dancing, I have promised my attendance upon one young lady.”
Maeve frowned. “I told you, I would not be made a fool—”
His grin was most wolfish. “Do I detect jealousy, Lady Harlowe?”
