“I do, too,” Highgate added. “I’m bloody well fascinated by you men who fancy yourselves in love. It’s completely baffling to me. Especially you, Monroe.”
“Just wait, Highgate. When that emotion comes looking for you, you’ll find there’s very little you can do to escape it. God knows I tried,” Monroe said with a devilish wink.
Christian sighed. “Go ahead, Monroe. Something tells me you’re going to say whatever it is you want to say whether I agree to act reasonably afterward or not.”
“It wouldn’t be the first time we’ve come to blows,” Monroe said to Highgate. Monroe settled farther back into his chair. “Consider this, Berkeley. If you had truly loved one of the other ladies you say you’ve courted, neither hell nor high water would have kept you from her. That’s how I feel about Alexandra, and I presume to say that’s how Upton here feels about Jane.”
“It’s true.” Upton nodded. “If you’re truly in love, you’ll do crazy things. Things you’d never normally do. That’s one way to tell.”
Highgate merely rolled his eyes and took another sip of brandy.
Monroe inclined his head toward Upton. “Listen to him. He knows whereof he speaks.”
“Now that I think on it,” Highgate interjected, “my sister did ask me about you.”
Christian’s head snapped up to face him. “She did?”
Upton laughed. “I believe that answers it, chaps. Methinks our lad here was a bit too happy to hear that news.”
“She asked me what I thought of you,” Highgate continued. “I told her you were a good man.”
Christian took the brandy the footman had just presented him and tossed it back in one gulp. There was no use denying any of it any longer.
“By the by, Berkeley,” Monroe said, “what did you do to your hand?”
“This?” Christian asked, raising the bandaged hand in question. “It’s just something crazy I did for love.”
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
Christian went to the wedding. Of course he went to the wedding. He might have been racked with guilt and tortured by memories for the last three weeks, but he couldn’t stay away. And it was even harder today. Today he had to mentally fight against his friends’ words. Upton and Monroe had been right yesterday. Sarah was different to him. She’d always been different to him. But his own fear had kept him from admitting it to himself… and to her. Now it was too late. He was sitting in the audience at St. George’s Church to attend her wedding. It was far too late. He reminded himself repeatedly that it would be a selfish act to tell Sarah that he loved her. It would be greedy to declare himself and tell her he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. She had clearly made up her mind. Lucy had even spoken to her about it, and she’d made her decision. Calling off the wedding would be a scandal for any reason, even if Christian declared himself and she accepted him. Not to mention he couldn’t imagine her father agreeing to any of it. No. Christian would not, could not, ruin her life, but by God, he also hadn’t been able to keep himself from the church today.
She’d invited him. Why, he didn’t know. Perhaps because, as she had said so many times, he was such a goodfriend. He’d said it that night, too:We have passion, we havefriendship.She’d asked him if he loved her, and he’d bloody well replied with,We have friendship. Idiot. He deserved to spend the rest of his life alone.Friendship.God, the word made bile rise in his throat. But like a dutifulfriend,he was here and he would smile and wish her well and clap her new husband on the back. And he would pretend the entire time that he wasn’t being ripped to shreds inside.
A flurry of emerald-green skirts caught his eye as Lucy slid into the pew next to him, followed closely by her tall, broad duke of a husband. The two men greeted each other.
“How are you holding up?” Lucy asked, pity in both her eyes and her voice.
“Don’t you dare,” he whispered to her out of the corner of his mouth without looking at her. Instead his eyes were trained on the altar, where the bishop stood, waiting.
“Don’t I dare what?” Lucy asked, her voice all innocence this time.
“Don’t you dare pity me,” Christian ground out.
“I can’t help it if I think this wedding is wrong and you need to stop it,” was Lucy’s reply.
Christian glanced around to make certain her outlandish words hadn’t been heard by any of the nearby guests. A few older people gave them condemning glares for their whispering.
“Lower your voice,” he exhorted her.
“You are making the biggest mistake of your life,” Lucy hissed under her breath.
Christian opened his mouth to reply, but the music began to play from the organ in the balcony in the back of the church and the entire congregation stood. First, the Marquess of Branford and the Prince Regent himself came out to stand at the altar. Then Sarah’s mother and Hart and an elderly lady whom Christian presumed to be Branford’s mother, the soon-to-be dowager marchioness, came down the aisle and were seated. He noted Meg Timmons seated near the front of the church, her blond curls laced with daisies and a resigned look on her face. Then the music rose to a crescendo, and moments later, Sarah herself came walking slowly down the aisle on her father’s arm.
Christian swallowed. She looked so beautiful. Beautiful and perfect. Her hair was gleaming, her gown breathtaking. She was lovelier than he’d ever seen her. But her face was pale and drawn, her cheeks without a hint of pink. Her father, however, had a huge smile on his face. They proceeded down the aisle together for what felt like an eternity to Christian. Sarah kept her eyes trained straight ahead. If she saw him, she did not indicate it in any way. When she passed their pew, Lucy elbowed Christian in the side and he elbowed her back. The duchess uttered an “Oomph” and fell lightly against her husband, who righted her and gave her a warning glance.
Sarah’s father escorted her up to the altar, where she took her place next to Branford. The marquess also looked quite pleased with himself. A smug smile hovered over his face. Christian squeezed his fists against the back of the pew in front of him. His grip was so hard, the knuckles on his uninjured hand turned white while a spot of blood bloomed across the bandage wrapped around the other hand.
The bishop began the ceremony, and Christian watched Sarah’s ramrod-straight back as the words rang throughout the church. The memory of how she’d attempted to brandish the broadsword at him in Scotland flashed through his mind.
