Romancing the Rogue (126 page)

This can’t possibly be happening.

Seabrook pushed past the vicar and settled his arm across her shoulders. Heat radiated off him and sent darts of awareness shooting through her. “I might have a strong objection to your offer of marriage, vicar, given the circumstances. You can’t think, after I shared a bed with Lady Annabella last night, that I’d allow her to marry anyone but me.”

Annabella jerked away, glaring at him. Seabrook couldn’t be serious. She wouldn’t marry him if he were the last man alive. But his glittering eyes suggested he might be very serious indeed. Annabella struggled for breath against the grip of panic squeezing the air from her lungs.

The vicar’s chest heaved up and down and his nostrils flared. “I will not let you force Lady Annabella into a marriage she doesn’t want.”

Oh, heavens! She didn’t
want
either of them! Annabella stole a glance at the vicar’s carriage. Dared she hope if she ran off they would cease their arguing over which one of them she would marry and just leave her in peace? She shuddered at the recollection of her mother’s threat to accept Hamilton’s offer. Intolerable, the thought of being wed to
him
for the rest of her life.

And Seabrook?
Her heart stuttered.

“My good man, that isn’t for
you
to decide,” Seabrook said, his voice smooth but quite chilly. “Whether she realized it or not, you and I both know the lady made her choice when she shared my bed. And you are bound by that knowledge to do the honorable thing and marry us so her reputation isn’t tarnished.”

Annabella’s heart raced as she looked back and forth between the two men. Oh, sweet saints! Was she about to end up married to one of them? No! She couldn’t allow that to happen.

“You’re mad if you think I’ll be a party to binding Lady Annabella to you against her will,” Vicar Hamilton snapped.

“So you’d rather see her with child out of wedlock?”

Annabella gasped and pressed a hand to her middle. “Wait! Wait just a moment.” A
baby?
Could she be…
had
she? Her stomach slowly turned over, and bile tickled the back of her throat. How soon would she know if —
No! Please no!
Fiery fingers clawed their way up from her neck.

“—quite certain you won’t change your mind and marry us, then I have no choice but to take the matter to Lady Annabella’s mother, the duchess, and her brother, the duke. I have no doubt they will find the marriage necessary and shall be none too happy that you delayed the matter,” Seabrook finished, a smug smile darkening his features.

She side-stepped, judging the distance to the carriage. As if reading her mind, Seabrook lowered an arm around her shoulders again and pulled her close.

Mother? Did he just say he would speak with my mother? And Markwythe?
She couldn’t allow that, not when she was supposed to be in London with the duke
. I should have just
gone
to London!
Then she could have made Markwythe’s life miserable. Instead, she’d managed to become compromised by staying with a man unchaperoned, and now she was being called upon to marry him. As if Markwythe hadn’t done enough to ruin her life.

“If you’ll both excuse me, I must send word for his grace to come to Wyndham Green posthaste.” Seabrook stepped away, his sudden absence sending a shiver through her.

Annabella grabbed his arm. “No, please.” Her stomach churned, accepting the dire fate she’d managed to create for herself even as her mind rejected defeat. “I’ll… I’ll m-marry…
you
.” She almost choked on the last word.

Hamilton hovered as though uncertain still. “Er… I suppose we can start reading the banns—”

“My good vicar, might I have a word…” Seabrook moved close to the vicar and they turned toward the brook, presenting their backs to her. Then Seabrook began walking, leaving Hamilton little choice. He followed.

Annabella heard nothing but the rumble of their conversation, which grew fainter as they left her behind. What were they saying? Frowning, she stalked across the ground to catch up with them.

“Then it’s settled.” Seabrook turned back to her with an arrogant smile and dipped into an elaborate bow. “Wonderful news, my lady fair. The good vicar’s father is the Right Reverend Seymour Hamilton, the acting Bishop of Guildford. Vicar Hamilton has consented to work a bit of magic and pull some strings. He feels certain he can secure a license for which we won’t have to wait. We’re to be married immediately.” He bent and retrieved his coat then gave it a good shake. Water sprayed through the air.

Several drops of water splashed her in the face. Frowning, she wiped at them. Was that even possible? Without reading the banns? She glanced at Vicar Hamilton, who suddenly seemed quite excited by the idea. She supposed if he was agreeing to it, then it must be allowed.

“So quickly?” She forced the whisper over her tightening throat.

“It seemed…” Seabrook lowered his gaze to her abdomen and stepped closer. “…the prudent course.”

As if reacting to his look, a flutter stirred in her middle and sent a chill racing the length of her spine.

Without warning, Seabrook draped his sodden coat over her shoulders. The weight of it threatened to push her into the ground. “What on earth?” She twisted, trying to get away from the intimate gesture as much as the wet fabric.

“Darling, apparently you haven’t yet glanced down at yourself,” murmured Seabrook, obviously intending the words for her ears alone. “And while it pleases me no end that I am acquiring a wife who seems to be without vanity, this is one of those moments it would perhaps serve you to have a look.”

“What?” Annabella dropped her gaze. The gray muslin stuck to her like the skin she’d been born with, leaving her body every bit as exposed as Seabrook’s had been.

Devil’s fire!

Vicar Hamilton drove
his ancient and battered Tilbury as though the devil’s hounds were at their heels. Considering the cracking and splintering sounds the old carriage made every time they jounced into a rut, it was a wonder the thing rolled in a straight line.

Jon kept a wary eye on the wheezing, bony, old gelding — would it count as a miracle if he got them to the church without dropping over dead? The vicar took up fully half the seat, which left Jon and Annabella splitting what remained. Surely the size of the load alone was more than the poor horse had drawn for years.

As they rounded a bend, the wheel beneath Jon lifted from the road. Visions of the three of them flying through the air to meet a bad end had him reflexively grabbing for the side of the carriage box.

It was bad enough with the three of them being crammed onto the narrow seat as it was. One of Annabella’s soft thighs pressed tightly against his. The intimacy of the touch might have been welcomed had he not been aware that her other thigh was squeezed just as tightly against the vicar’s.

She’d managed to pluck the saturated fabric of her dress away from her body enough to present a bit more decency, but she’d ended up keeping his coat — fine with him, given the way Hamilton had kept ogling her. For a man of the cloth, he didn’t seem particularly “clothlike.”

They bounced into another rut. Annabella flailed with one arm and managed to land it on his knee. His blood heated another notch.
What are you doing, Seabrook?

He wished he knew. Whatever had possessed him to torment Annabella? He could easily have sent a message to Grey informing him of the chit’s whereabouts and then let his friend deal with finding out what his stepsister was up to.

From the corner of his eye, he studied Annabella. Her lovely green eyes usually reminded him of the finest emeralds. He’d been fighting a basic physical attraction for a beautiful woman since he’d first laid eyes on her. But the night before, everything had changed. And he wasn’t exactly certain when. In her foxed state, she’d not made much sense with her babbling, but something about her vulnerability had tugged at his soul.

Now she stared at him, unseeing, with blankness in her eyes that chilled Jon to the marrow. Those deep pools of green stood out starkly against her face, which presently resembled a bucket of ashes. Was he so abhorrent to her? It hadn’t seemed so when she’d cried herself to sleep in his arms.

Annabella blinked and turned her face to the road ahead. He could put an end to the sham instantly by an admission of the truth. She’d hate him — then again, she likely already did hate him. That alone would start their marriage on a hardship. And yet… Jon opened his mouth, but the words escaped him.

Then Hamilton pulled the horses to a stop in the churchyard and the moment was lost.

The sun had disappeared behind an overcast sky, but the church, constructed of golden-hued stone, gave the illusion of glowing. Nestled between two separate wings of the church, the stone bell tower rose well above the slate roof to preside over the yard. Colorful stained glass windows had been placed along the two sides of the building Jon could see, boasting of a fairly flush parish.

Little wonder, if the vicar was in the habit of issuing unconventional marriage licenses that bypassed the law for the immoderate price Jon had agreed to pay him.

“We shall have to hurry if we’re to have the deed finished before noon as the law requires,” said Hamilton, scrambling from the carriage. Breathing heavily, he hurried up the path to the heavy wooden door.

Right. Jon supposed he’d have to take
some
of the law into consideration… Where exactly did the man draw the line between risk of prison and benefit of profit? A shudder gripped Jon at the recollection of the man’s offer of marriage. He apparently had a high opinion of himself. All things considered, Annabella was still the stepdaughter of a duke.

He eased from the seat, turned, and held out a hand. “My lady,” he murmured, keeping his voice gentle.

Her delicate hand trembled as she slipped it into his, but she allowed him to assist her without argument. When she stood on the ground in front of him, she lifted her face and regarded him with pleading eyes. She was a creature trapped, unable to fight, unable to flee.

He couldn’t do it, couldn’t force her into a marriage that so obviously distressed her. His sport had gone on long enough — too long, really. He drew a breath.

Sharp pain assaulted the top of his right foot. “Egad!” he exclaimed, leaping back as the pain traveled upward into his leg and brought the prick of tears to his eyes. “What the devil are you doing, woman?”

“I beg your pardon?” Annabella blinked, but her feigned innocence didn’t fool him. The chit had stomped on his foot with the force of a Percheron stallion. Green eyes flashed. “I believe we have a wedding to attend?” She pushed past him, treading on his injured foot.

Jon hissed in a breath as the pain in his limb renewed itself. Had he thought her defeated? She’d merely been recovering her impudent manner. Teeth clenched against the throbbing in his foot, he followed his unwilling bride toward the church.

A young lady met them at the door, one hand adjusting the dark curls that had been haphazardly piled beneath a straw hat. “Vicar Hamilton says you must hurry. ‘Tis almost noon.” She lifted her face with a smile and gasped. Her smile evaporated. “Lady Annabella!” Her jaw worked as though she wanted to say more but couldn’t force the words free.

Jon knew exactly how the poor lady felt.

Annabella stopped short, and he bumped into her. If she noticed, she gave no indication. But she did raise her chin. When she spoke, her voice chilled the immediate surroundings. “Miss Mayfair. What a…
surprise
to find you here. Hovering near Vicar Hamilton.” Her tone suggested she was anything but surprised. Nor was she at all pleased.

Tossing her hair, Annabella sidestepped with the obvious intent of walking around the other woman.

Miss Mayfair fluttered her hands near her throat and moved to block the church door. “When Vicar Hamilton informed me of an unfortunate couple who required an… expedient marriage, I had no idea he referred to
you
.” She squinted one eye and subjected Annabella to speculative scrutiny. Her eyes lingered on Annabella’s middle, and a knowing smile played at the corners of her mouth.

Instant shame drove replenished heat into Jon’s face. He should never have hinted at the possibility of a child. Especially when there was none.

Annabella tensed. Her fingers curled up, claw-like. Something in her demeanor warned Jon that if he put a stop to the lie at this juncture she’d hate him even more.

“I’ll thank you to mind your tongue and your own concerns, Miss Mayfair,” said Annabella, striking a haughty tone.

The other girl drew her lips back into a sneer. “How fitting that you should show your true colors now… with your poor mother having gone to Bath for her health.” She clicked her tongue. “How such a dear sweet woman as her grace ever had such a Jezebel for a daughter—”

Annabella placed her hands on her hips and tossed her head. Golden curls flew out and back, away from her face. She was no longer a victim. In fact, Jon had the distinct feeling she was about to launch an attack. He tensed. Would he need to restrain his bride before they were even wed?

“Better a Jezebel than to be someone’s unwanted Princess Caroline.” She gazed askance at Jon, imparting some unspoken message beseeching him to keep his silence. “At least I know my intended
wants
me. He wants me at least as much as the good vicar does.”

“Oh!” Miss Mayfair clutched her chest and reeled backward. “You are truly evil.”

Annabella smiled, cold and deadly. “I’m in good company. Besides, Gertrude, you should be happy about my marriage. Does that not leave the door wide open for you and Vicar Hamilton?” She dropped her arms, shaking her head. “What a shame ‘twill be should you discover it was not, after all, my existence that kept his affections from you.”

While Gertrude Mayfair stood by breathing heavily, Annabella stepped around her and reached for the door latch.

“Wait! You can’t go in there like… like —
that
.” Apparently, Gertrude wasn’t quite ready to stop presenting difficulties. “Why, you haven’t even a proper head cover!”

Eyes wide, Annabella lifted a hand to her head. A smug smile spread across her face, and a gleam of triumph entered her eyes. “So I do not. Thank you, Gertrude, for so kindly bringing that to my attention.”

Jon knew when to admit defeat. And he wasn’t ready to do so. Grinning, more because he knew very well it would aggravate Annabella than anything else, he removed the pin from his cravat and slipped the tie from around his neck. “I believe this will qualify as a head covering.” He draped the strip of linen over her head with a wink.

Gaping at him, Annabella fingered one end of the cravat. He’d wager his dry boot she was wishing she’d grabbed the blasted thing and pitched it in the pool with the rest of his clothing.

“There you are.” Hamilton appeared in the doorway, red-faced and somewhat out of breath. “Come, come. We must hurry. My father is waiting. He’s preparing the license, and he will perform your ceremony. I shall be your second witness, along with Miss Mayfair.” Astonishing how easily enthusiasm over the wedding had replaced the vicar’s earlier forceful objections. And all it had taken was the promise of extra payment for his trouble. Rather like he’d just sold one of his parishioners, wasn’t it?

And what does that make you, since you made the purchase?

Jon slanted a look at Annabella. Had that always been the way of it for her? A bought and sold life?

“Do you have a ring?” Hamilton paused with one hand on the heavy wooden door. “A ring is quite necessary, you know. For a bit of compensation, I can provide you with the brass ring from one of the window sashes in my home.”

Jon’s skin crawled at the thought of anything from the good vicar accompanying Annabella into their marriage. “That won’t be necessary,” he said quickly, and slipped his gold signet from the last finger of his left hand.

“Excellent,” murmured the vicar as he held open the door.

Annabella curled her fingers against her palm. “It’s too big.”

Hamilton cleared his throat. “Er… sometimes a lady will wear the ring on a ribbon around her neck, Lady Annabella. To keep it safe and… near her… heart.”

Annabella slumped. “Perfect. That’s…” She sighed. “Just perfect.”

~~~~

Frozen in the
doorway, Annabella squinted into the dim church. Diffuse daylight seeped through the stained glass windows and fell in muted colors over the seats in the pew boxes.

Even the light is melancholy.

She lifted her foot to step forward, but it wouldn’t go over the threshold. Her muscles cramped as she tried to force herself to move.

“What is it now?” asked Seabrook in her ear. “Is the church not to your liking?”

I can’t move. I can’t let this happen. I-I’m afraid.
The words flashed through her mind but seemed to get lost on the way to her tongue. She shook her head and reached out with a trembling hand to clutch the doorframe.

Seabrook sighed and placed his hand at the small of her back, applying gentle but inexorable pressure. “Come now. We’ll get this over with, and you can plot the many ways you plan to torment me for the rest of our lives.”

The rest of our lives. The rest. Of. Our. Lives.
Her breath caught, but she found herself moving forward one small agonizing step at a time. She might well have been walking to the gallows. She barely felt her feet striking the plank floor as she followed Gertrude and Vicar Hamilton up the aisle.

For all his wide girth — and there was a lot of it — the vicar seemed to float on air, so graceful was his gait. And next to him, whispering and tittering, marched the ridiculous Miss Mayfair, wearing a bulky tweed traveling gown and a silly straw hat that had been adorned by grouse feathers. Many, many grouse feathers. The woman looked like she’d plucked half the wild birds in Haselmere and affixed their plumage to her hat.

Annabella glanced up at the altar where the Right Reverend Seymour Hamilton waited to shackle her to the man who had ruined her.

It was the robe that did it. The round little toad standing at the front of the sanctuary wore a brown vestment that reached the floor and was tied in what she supposed was roughly the middle with a pale braided cord.

A giggle freed itself, and she clapped her palm across her lips. Seabrook tightened his hold on her waist. Was he afraid she would bolt? Where on the good green earth would she bolt to? She’d managed to trap herself well and good.

They came to a stop in front of Reverend Hamilton, who smiled a knowing and indulgent smile even as his gaze slid briefly toward her middle. Annabella blinked back tears.

“Please face one another and hold hands,” instructed the bishop.

Well, Mother, it really is a pity you are not here to see your only child wed. Not to the man of her dreams, but perhaps to one
you
might find suitable.

Annabella glanced down. Her gray dress, now mostly in tatters and still damp had at least been made respectable by the addition of Seabrook’s wet coat.
And in such wedding finery, too.

Annabella heard Reverend Hamilton’s voice croaking out the ceremony but paid no mind to what he said. If she kept her gaze on the floor, perhaps it would all go away. When the reverend stopped speaking, she glanced up to find three pairs of eyes on her, obviously expecting her to say something. Seabrook squeezed her hands lightly as if to prod her on.

“Yes,” she forced out, praying she’d given the correct response.

“You two are now wed,” intoned Reverend Hamilton, beaming at them. “What God hath joined together, let no man put asunder.”

Annabella glanced up at Seabrook. His face had gone pale, his arrogant smile had been replaced by a grim line. Was he regretting their marriage so soon?

Well, you’ve given him no reason to think ‘twill be pleasurable.
Perhaps it wasn’t too late, perhaps they could call it off. Annabella drew a breath.

His mouth tilted upward into a lopsided smile. “What, no kiss to seal the marriage?”

The air left Annabella’s lungs in a whoosh of surprise. Fury rose up to replace her disquiet. She leaned forward as though to honor his request, stopping within an arm’s reach. “I’d sooner kiss Judas!” she hissed.

Gertrude gasped. Neither Hamilton showed any indication of having heard her. Annabella yanked on her hands, but Seabrook held tight. Before she knew what he was up to, he dipped and pressed his lips to hers. It was over nearly before it started, the touch so brief she might have imagined it except for the lingering heat he left behind when he straightened and dropped her hands.

Seabrook turned to Vicar Hamilton. “I wonder if I might trouble you to borrow your carriage. I’ll have a man deliver it back to you later today.”

“Oh, er…” Hamilton hesitated. But after sharing a long look with his father, he sighed and nodded. “Of course, Lord Seabrook.”