“It is not even ten o’clock in the morning!”
“Every bridegroom needs fortification before his wedding. It isn’t my fault the ceremony wasn’t planned for later.”
“We are in a church.”
His brother shrugged and took a swallow from the flask. Northfield had apparently given up speaking—a rare occurrence indeed—and had simply taken the container from Peyton and drank.
Taviston shook his head when the drink was thrust in his direction. “No, thank you. I am quite capable of making it through a wedding ceremony, even my own, without a drink.” He turned his back on the two of them and walked over to sit in an uncomfortable-looking moss green chair on the other side of the room.
Peyton and Northfield continued to imbibe, and it appeared Northfield had finally found his voice as they settled into a lively discussion. Taviston tried to relax but could not. His heart beat wildly, even though lasc
ivious thoughts of his bride no longer occupied his mind.
The door to the vestry creaked open and Taviston expected to see the large figure of Mr. Hodgson entering. Instead, a substantial grey feline drew his gaze downward.
“Arthur,” he said with surprise.
“Meow,” the cat confirmed. Heading straight for Taviston, he leaped up onto his lap. Taviston’s hand came up automatically to pet the furry creature.
“Do you know this cat?” Peyton asked.
“He belongs to my bride,” Taviston responded, as Arthur settled himself on his lap. He continued to stroke the cat and found himself able to relax at last.
Peyton stared at the two of them. “Does he accompany her everywhere?”
“Arthur is rather independent. He knows his way around.”
“Why is it you are so well acquainted with your bride’s cat?” Peyton continued to inquire.
Taviston’s mind flew back to that night in Grosvenor Square. “Arthur introduced me to Victoria, as a matter of fact.” He didn’t want to, but he smiled. If he had kept his mouth shut and gone straight home that evening...
He shot Northfield a glance and said, “What time is it? I would think our presence would be required soon.”
Northfield pulled his watch from his waistcoat pocket and announced, “Five minutes past ten.”
Taviston furrowed his brow but before he could say anything the door opened farther, and Reverend Hodgson finally entered the room.
“Your Grace, my lords.” He nodded at the three of them in turn. Then his head swung quickly back around to the purring mass of fur in Taviston’s lap. He opened his mouth to speak and then clamped it tightly shut.
Taviston rose from his chair, hefting Arthur in his arms. “Good morning, Mr. Hodgson.”
“I do beg your pardon, Your Grace. Lady Northfield requested a few extra minutes to prepare. I believe, however, that we are ready for you now.” The man’s heavy jowls shook when he spoke. He wore his finest vestments and obviously felt having the marriage of a duke take place at his church was of more import than the presence of a domestic pet in his vestry. He avoided any further glances in Arthur’s direction.
“Excellent.” Taviston noted, thankfully, that Peyton’s flask had disappeared. Depositing Arthur on the chair he had vacated, he tapped the cat on the head. “I believe it would be best if you remained in here. It would greatly please my brother to retrieve you after the ceremony and secure your safe passage to Taviston House.”
Peyton cocked his left eyebrow. “Feline duty.” He sighed. “Whatever it takes to see you married today.”
Straightening his shoulders Taviston took a deep breath. His heart started to pound again as they left the vestry and made their way to the altar.
“WHAT IS THAT SMELL?”
Victoria wasn’t sure why the malodorous air of the carriage concerned her above all else when the vehicle traveled dangerously fast and she could clearly hear the other, unknown occupants’ ragged breathing.
A hand stretched out of the shadows and moved a curtain fractionally, so a thin stream of light slashed through the interior. Two grimy and rank males sat on the seat opposite. Mr. Browne was nowhere to be found.
“Morning, miss,” the one on the right said with a smile, revealing two broken teeth. A bright flash of light near his lap startled her. When she realized sunlight was reflecting off a knife held in his hand, her heart leapt in her chest then settled into furious thumping.
“What—? Who—?” She took a deep breath and was about to spit out a complete sentence when the fellow on the left shifted against the cushions. Victoria’s eyes flew to him and the small pistol he had aimed at her. Her heart beat in double time now and her brain fogged over.