Ethan’s intentions had been two-fold with his preparation. Despite the suddenness of their marriage, the world would know he was not ashamed to be married to Lady Verity Stanton, and the lady herself would know of it.
As Verity reached the altar to stand beside him, the satisfaction worming itself through him made him unaccountably wary, for the simple reason he did not understand his reaction to her. Still, he sensed her nervousness, and Ethan smiled reassuringly, and she smiled back. The vicar in his best vestments did not have to strangle his throat by taking back his unkind words. The bishop had decided to take the marriage ceremony himself and was beaming at Ethan and Verity under his full panoply of purple, his mitre slightly askew on his balding head, and his crosier held by one of his junior priests. The music came to an end, and the bishop intoned the words of the service.
“Dearlybeloved, we are gathered together here in the sight of God, and in the face of this congregation, to join together this man and this woman in holy matrimony, which is an honorable estate…”
Ethan and Verity made their responses clearly as required, and he could feel her amusement as soft, wondering gasps echoed from the onlookers, as if they had not really believed the duke and the disgrace would exchange vows. This was the vindication of her suffering for her sister and the uncharitable way she had been treated. And from the glimmer of tears in her eyes as the ceremony continued, Ethan was damn glad he had made all these preparations.
When the words, “You may kiss the bride,” were solemnly intoned, he lifted Verity’s veil, surprised to feel his hands tremble. Ethan frowned at the anomaly. He dipped slightly and pressed a chaste kiss on her lips.
“Not much of a kiss, Your Grace,” Verity whispered teasingly.
“I promise to do much better when we are alone, Your Grace,” he whispered back, and then lifted the hand now wearing his ring and brought it to his lips.
A cheer went up from the congregation and the organ struck up another march as the bishop intoned a hurried dismissal blessing on them all. Ethan offered his arm to his wife, and they sauntered back down the aisle, graciously accepting the compliments of those assembled as they passed their pews.
They emerged from the church and the bellringers struck up again to celebrate the marriage of the duke and his duchess. Ethan handed her up into the waiting carriage and then joined her. It lurched away into motion, taking them back to Kellitch Hall and the new and unexpected future they would now share.
“I…” her words tapered off, and she flushed. “I am your duchess.”
There went that primal slither of satisfaction once again. “Yes, you are.”
Her throat worked on a swallow, and she briefly glanced away from his regard. “I saw little Thomas in the church.”
“I have no plans to hide him.”
Her teeth sank into her bottom lips. A nervous gesture, he realized.
“Thank you for planning the wedding in that manner.” This time she smiled, and he perceived her smug satisfaction.
“I recalled your vengeful heart and thought it would make you happy, since they must be your enemy until the end of time and whatnot.” I also owe you, my duchess, more than you will ever know.
She laughed, and the sweet sound of it pierced him deeply. What the hell was this?
“So what next, Your Grace?”
A week ago, he had no knowledge of this woman, and now everything was different. Ethan supposed the entire thing must be unnerving for her as well. He found it interesting he wanted to offer some sort of reassurance though he was at a loss at what to say. Before he could say anything, with a frustrated groan, she pushed from her seat and dumped herself onto his lap.
Well, hell. Ethan had thought he was incapable of being surprised.
“Is there something wrong with your seat, duchess?”
A muffled sound came from her, and her shoulders shook. “I am nervous. When I am nervous, I act.”
“And the action you took was to cast yourself onto my lap,” he said slowly.
Still, he gripped her hips and pulled her hard against his chest and more onto his lap. She gasped, and he smiled. “Not what you hoped for?”
“No,” she gasped. “But it is not unpleasant.”
She cupped his jaw, searching his face, looking for what answers he had no notion. But he liked the feel on his face of her hands, the softness of which he could feel through the gloves. Ethan felt like he wanted to nuzzle into that touch. It struck him then that her every motion aroused him, made him yearn for something unknown, tugged back in to a place he had long eschewed. A place of feeling. Of hope. A place he did not deserve to be. That raw sorrow rose inside once more, threatening to choke him, and he ruthlessly reined it in. He traced her bottom lip with his thumb. He was still amazed by the effect she had on him.
She made to get off his lap, and he tightened his grip. “You’ve already acted,” he said with dark humor, thinking her nature contrary. “Commit to it.”
The pulse at her throat fluttered wildly, tugging his gaze to the soft flesh there.
“You are nervous.”
“I already said so.”