They stood in the middle of the crowded ballroom. Revelers passed on all sides; servants offered libations. A footman passed with drinks on a tray and Jason snatched two of them.
“Well, because it’s . . . it’s not done,” she explained weakly, taking a glass. “What of the legalities and the customs—what of a church?”
“We can be married here just as well as in the chapel. I’ve seen weddings happen on the field of battle and in a prison. Surely the Syon Hall conservatory will be a step up from these. And I assure you it will be perfectly binding and legal.” He slid a packet of papers from his coat and unfurled them, showing her the special license he’d obtained from the archbishop.
“But when did you—?” she asked, blinking down at the paperwork.
“In London,” he said. “After we made landfall. You’d sprinted away but I made this my first order of business. It was settled before I left London for Middlesex.”
“You’ve had this for weeks?” she marveled. She put down her champagne to study the paperwork.
“Of course, Isobel.I’ve been waiting for you.The rest of my life has your name scrawled all over it. I want my name on yours. Look at us.” He downed his drink and placed his glass beside hers. He took both of her hands in his own. “I’ve been privy to complicated marital relationships all around the world. I’ve seen everything from strong bonds like that of my parents’, to ‘understandings’ that allow dalliances, to forced misery and everything in between. Only very rarely have I seen two people more perfectly suited than the two of us. Your strengths align with my frailties; your weak spots match up to my... my... charm and good looks.”
She sputtered a laugh, her eyes swimming in tears.
“Please. Let me make you my wife. Without further delay. In other words...” he affected a pensive, faraway look, “...how can I say this?
“Now,” he finished, walking again, pulling her along.
“But—why?”
“Why do I want to marry you?” Jason sighed. “Or why do I want to do it as soon as possible?”
“Why...tonight?”
Jason stopped walking and turned to her. He leaned down to her ear. “Do you recall the state in which you left me at the thermal pool in Iceland?” he whispered. “On the last night? Have you not thought back, Isobel? Because it isall I bloody think about.”
She sucked in a little breath and nodded slowly.
“I have endured some measure ofthat statefor nearly two months. Why now, you ask?Nowwe can finish what we started.”
He raised up to give her a quick, hard kiss.
She stared up at him, her blue eyes wide, her creamy cheeks tinged raspberry pink.
He turned and pulled her along. “The priest agreed to marry us whenever the moment presented itself. I wanted you to have the ring obviously. I’d not planned for my mother to squire you around the room like a long-lost relation, but I’m happy the two of you get on.”
Jason caught sight of Reverend Toombs again, now raising a toast to a neighbor and his wife. “Caught,” Jason mumbled, scooping Isobel in the man’s direction.
They were so close—a line of dancers away—when Isobel dug in her heels and stopped walking.
Affecting a half pivot, she spun and freed herself, stepping to a shadowy alcove.
Jason swore in his head, watching her. “Let me guess. You have some romantic notion about a lavish wedding. Copious flowers and musicians and breakfast guests? Am I being a cad to keep these from you?”
She blinked twice, considering this, and shook her head.
“Because Iwouldpostpone my, er, enthusiasm if this is what you wanted,” he said. “Please be certain—is that the wedding you want?”
“No,” she rasped, “I don’t suppose it is. I want only you.”
“Excellent, we are in total accord.”
She paced twice, back and forth, wiggling her fingers at her sides. “Stop.”
“Stop asking you what you want or stop the wedding?”
“There is nowedding, Jason—who gets married in the midst of a ball?”
