“I, Victor, take thee, Charlotte, to my wedded wife,” he repeated steadily.
Charlotte’s fingers trembled slightly in his as she spoke her own vows back to him. Her voice remained soft but clear, and Victor found himself watching her lips far too closely as she promised herself to him. He ought not to enjoy this so much.
Yet I do. Entirely too much.
When the final blessing was given, the vicar smiled warmly at them both. “Those whom God hath joined together let no man put asunder.”
The vicar turned toward Victor with faint amusement in his eyes. “You may kiss your bride.”
At that, Victor looked fully at Charlotte. Her cheeks turned beautifully pink beneath, whilst nervous anticipation flickered across her face. She looked up at him as though uncertain what he might do in front of everyone watching.
Victor fully intended to kiss her properly.
He cupped her cheek with one gloved hand. The moment his fingers touched her skin, Charlotte’s breath caught softly. Victor lowered his head and kissed her with enough tenderness to keep the chapel respectable yet enough heat that her fingers tightened instinctively around his.
A delighted cheer erupted somewhere behind them. Probably Penelope. Possibly Morgan.
Victor pulled back only slightly and murmured against Charlotte’s lips, “Wife.”
Her eyes widened at the word.
Then walked down the aisle together as husband and wife whilst flower petals scattered before them outside the chapel doors. The spring air smelled of roses and fresh grass, and laughter followed them out into the sunlight.
Elizabeth openly wept now whilst Harriet loudly informed anyone listening that the wedding had been perfect because, of course, it had been perfect.
Charlotte looked slightly dazed beside him.
“You appear alarmed, Duchess,” Victor murmured as they descended the chapel steps together.
She looked up sharply. “Do not call me that.”
“You are one now.”
“That hardly seems possible.”
Victor smirked faintly. “You married me before witnesses and God himself. I fear it is too late to reconsider.”
Charlotte huffed softly, though amusement flickered in her eyes. “You seem entirely too pleased by that fact.”
“I am trying to be gracious.”
“You are failing.”
Victor laughed quietly under his breath. He could not stop looking at her. Every time the sunlight struck the pearls in her hair or warmed her flushed cheeks, desire stirred inside him again with dangerous strength. Worse still, beneath the desire lurked something steadier and far more unsettling.
Panic. Remember that she is a wife in name only.
He had to remind himself that this was a match of convenience and nothing more.
Charlotte glanced sideways at him as they walked slowly through the gardens whilst guests spilled out behind them. “You are staring at me.”
“I am your husband. I am entitled.”
“That is not how entitlement works.”
“It is for dukes.”
She rolled her eyes, though the corner of her mouth curved upward. “You are insufferably arrogant.”
