As Valentine neared the top, Drake offered his hand and hauled Valentine to safety.
“I presume he died of his injuries,” Drake said, brushing dirt off Valentine’s coat. “Or did you have to help him along?”
“My hands are clean. But I would have made sure he didn’t live to cause my wife further distress.” Protecting Ava would be his life’s mission. Making her laugh, helping her to fulfil her dreams would be top of his agenda, too.
“Your wife?” Drake smirked. “Did I miss the ceremony?”
“Of course not. But I will marry her once I’ve pestered the archbishop for a licence.”
A surge of emotion forced him to swallow deeply. He glanced at Ava. Happiness radiated from her like a bright beacon. She turned to him and smiled, and he felt the power of it de
ep in his chest.
“And is she in agreement?” Drake asked. “Then again, I cannot imagine there is a woman in the world who wouldn’t want to marry you.”
The comment proved too much. Water welled in Valentine’s eyes. He tried to speak, but the lump in his throat prevented him from making a sound.
Drake gripped his shoulder. “That’s how you know she is the one for you, my friend. I am not afraid to admit that I cried when I realised the depth of my feelings for Juliet.”
Valentine coughed to clear his throat. “No doubt you’re eager to return home rather than watch me turn into a blubbering wreck.”
“On the contrary, this is one moment I don’t want to miss. Who would have thought Lucius Valentine would feel anything for a woman other than indifference?”
Chapter Twenty-Two
The wedding took place five days later in the chapel on the grounds of Valentine’s country estate near Covehurst Bay. It was a quiet, informal affair, not what the ton would expect from a member of the aristocracy, but the only people who mattered were there.
Ava loved that Whitecliff House overlooked the sea. Inhaling the fresh, salty air brought back happy memories of her parents and their time in Greece. She had sensed Valentine’s reluctance to return, learnt from Honora that he had not been back since the night his father died. Even so, Valentine wished to concentrate on their future now and not wallow in past pain.
“Three weddings in the space of a month,” Lord Greystone said as they sat before the roaring fire in the drawing room, exhausted after a wedding breakfast that Mr Drake struggled to finish. “All we need now is for Dariell and Lockhart to marry.”
The Frenchman arched a brow as a mischievous glint flashed in his eyes. “Remember that Society must think Lockhart is already married.”
Thankfully, Jonathan had retired to his room, and so they could speak freely.
“The lady playing the role of his wife must be a skilled actress,” Ava said.
What if the woman despised Lockhart? How does one feign a look of love and intense longing? She glanced at Valentine and met his heated gaze. In a moment, she would make an excuse to leave the room knowing her husband would follow.
“Surely you don’t expect this actress to share his bed?” Lydia, Greystone’s wife, said.
“Knowing Lockhart, she will have no objection,” Valentine added.
Dariell relaxed back in the chair. He steepled his fingers together and sighed. “I am afraid to say that the actress proved unsuitable for the part. Most unsuitable indeed.”
Mr Drake sat forward. “But I thought Lockhart had made arrangements to return to town next week?”
“He has.”
“Then who will play the role of his wife?”
A smile touched Dariell’s lips. “I have the perfect lady in mind. She owns the property Lockhart is renting. Neither know that their destinies are entwined.”
“Then I suspect Lockhart has more than a few surprises in store,” Valentine said.
Dariell inclined his head. “Indeed.”
The other men in the room looked at their wives and mumbled in agreement.