Less than half a second.
But the lack of sound it made was the equivalent of a cannon sailing through the air right before it blasted through a wall.
“Are ye ashamed tae marry me, Bry?” he said stiffly. “If ye are, then say it now, and I’ll have the driver return ye tae Hawkridge Manor before we go another step.”
Lachlan acknowledged that he wasn’t nearly as wealthy or highly titled as the sort of gentleman that Brynne and her family were accustomed to rubbing shoulders with. Her grandfather was a bloodyduke, for Christ sakes. While Lachlan only had a “Lord” in front of his name because some bloke had fallen off a ladder and snapped his neck. The social distance between himself and his bride-to-be could span a large country. But while he was able to stomach others looking at him in silent judgment as they questioned how the hell he’d managed such a fine catch as Brynne Weston, he’d be damned if he gazed upon his wife and saw the same question in her eyes.
Money didn’t make a man.
Drive and determination did.
He had plans. Grand plans. And he wanted Brynne by his side as he executed them. But he was not without his pride, and he’d not have her there out of pity or hiding in his shadow because she was afraid of what others would think of her if she stood at his side.
“That’s not it at all,” she protested as the color drained from her cheeks. “I am not ashamed of you, Lachlan. What a horrible thing to accuse.”
“Then what reason–whatrealreason–do ye have for not telling yer brother?” he said roughly. “Yer father, I can understand. For all that the man’s given ye his attention, ye dinna owe him a second of yers. But there’s no one ye are closer tae than Weston, and lying tae him–”
“I didn’t lie,” she cut in defensively. “I…I merely did not dissuade him of the assumption he made that I was going to Paris to attend art school. Not because I want to hide our marriage, but because I want tocelebrateit. And I won’t be able to do that if Weston is storming the blacksmith shop while we’re trying to say our vows. I’ll write to him once we’re settled at Campbell Castle. I will.” She reached across the space dividing them and placed her hand on his thigh. “I love you, Lachlan.”
He sucked in a sharp breath.
“What is it?” she asked uncertainly.
“That’s the first time that ye have said that ye love me.” Enveloping her small hand with his larger one, he shifted closer and rested his chin upon the top of her head. Her hair was soft and smelled subtly sweet, like honeysuckle warmed in the afternoon sun. “We’re going tae have a wonderful life together, Bry. We’ll chase down all those dreams ye told me about when we stared at the stars, and we’ll raise a beautiful family. There will be hard times, aye. There’s no use pretending that there willna.” He moved his fingers down her back. “But they’ll always be outweighed by the good.”
“I’m sure they will be, Lachlan.” On a quiet sigh, she slid her arm across his lap and closed her eyes. “As long as we’re together. That is most important.”
This time, he pretended not to hear the hesitation in her voice.
Chapter Fifteen
They arrived atthe tiny parish of Gretna Green as the sun was setting. After changing horses in Kendal, they’d traveled through the night and all the next day, leading Brynne’s legs to fill with pins and needles as she descended from the brougham.
“Oh,” she gasped, and Lachlan was there to catch her before she stumbled.
“The train will make for an easier trip,” he said, looping an arm around her waist. “At least we can walk around and stretch our legs when the mood strikes us.”
As part of the reason her muscles were so cramped was due to the fact that she’d spent the majority of her time practically sitting on Lachlan’s lap, she didn’t know if the train would be much different. But if aching legs were the price for having a handsome rogue’s arms wrapped around her, she’d pay it gladly.
He hadn’t tried to kiss her again.
She’d somewhat hoped that he would.
But there was intimacy to be found in the quiet moments as well. In the holding, and the rhythmic stroke of a hand, and the subtle beat of a contented heart.
“I haven’t traveled this far since Weston and I spent a week on the coast in Scarborough. I forgot what to expect. But this…” Her eyes widening, she stopped short. “This isn’t what I expected at all.”
Admittedly, Brynne hadn’t known very much about Gretna Green before embarking. It was a destination associated with scandal and discussed in hushed tones, with rarely a positive word to be shared amidst Polite Society. She’d assumed it would be like…well, it would be like the time her driver had taken a wrong turn and they had ended up in the East End of London.
But instead of narrow alleys and broken windows, there were cobblestone streets and cheerful blue shutters and a wide main thoroughfare lined with quaint houses and shops. At the far end of the street, on the top of a short knoll, sat a building all by itself. Long and white, with large windows beneath and dormers above, it had a black door flanked on either side with green shrubbery and a wooden sign neatly printed with “Enter Here”.
Her stomach pitched; a rapid rise and fall of excitement and anxiety and an intangible feeling that defied description. She took a half-step towards the building, as if drawn to it by some magnetic force of destiny calling her name but, with a husky chuckle, Lachlan pulled her back.
“Aye, and that’s where we’ll be married in the morning. But for tonight, we’ve food and rooms waiting for us at The Queen’s Head.”
“Rooms?” she asked, questioning the plurality as he effortlessly hoisted their luggage–her small carpet bag and his slightly bigger valise–over his shoulder and proceeded to the inn while she walked beside him, her head on a swivel as she attempted to take in all of the sights and the sounds of her surroundings without letting any detail, no matter how seemingly inconsequential, escape her notice.
She wasn’t a girl who had dreamed about her wedding day at St. Paul’s Cathedral, which was where both her grandparents and parents were married. She hadn’t envisioned hundreds of guests lining the pews, or the half-dozen attendants it would take to carry the heavy train of her gown, or the smell of incense burning.
