What the bloody hell had he done?
And how would Victoria ever forgive him? Even if she knew that he was going to continue his rakish ways? Surely, even she would be furious?
His life felt dangerously out of control, and he wondered suddenly if he had thought far too much of himself and his ability to be of assistance.
The sound of a carriage rolling across the stone drive filled his ears. His mouth went dry. His heart began to hammer in his chest. All of the actions of a young man in love. Except he was not in love, not in the slightest.
He was terrified.
For years, he’d pretended to be something he was not. In hindsight, that was nothing.
He was about to start the greatest ruse of his entire life. And he only prayed he’d be able to carry it out, because he liked Victoria Kirby.
And he did not wish to hurt her.
He prayed to God he could juggle all this. Surely, he could.
He looked to the back of the nave, waiting to spot her.
Victory.
That’s how he thought of her.
Victory. For there was something triumphant about her. Something that surpassed the regular, the mere mortals of this world.
She had her eyes on a much more interesting plane than those about her. She didn’t seem to care about jewels or clothes or society or her position or lack thereof. She had not seemed to mind when he’d declared he would go on being a rake. Which he was most relieved about.
No, she was concerned with history and the treasures of the people that came before.
The tension began to slip from his shoulders as he remembered that he was making it possible for her to continue her dreams. He could not wait to see her fingers dancing over artifacts and ledgers, making notes…
And just as he was about to think of how little time he would probably spend with a woman he admired so much already, the doors at the back of the church flung open.
A scuffle of sound filled the air.
Lady Victoria and her father appeared at the entryway of the nave, her young sister behind them.
Chase squinted. “He’s—”
“Foxed,” put in Brookhaven.
Foxed, indeed.
Victoria’s father looked surprisingly red-cheeked, and he swayed ever so slightly.
His future wife, however… She looked as if she was going to commit murder at that particular moment.
Her father stumbled almost imperceptibly, caught himself, lifted his chin, adjusted his cravat, and then extended his arm to his daughter. She took it with an arched brow.
As they began making their way down the nave, the sounds of the small organ in the back began to play. It had been arranged.
He was good at arranging things.
However, the pumping of the organ and the groaning tones of the hymn made the entrance seem like a farce, because her father kept swaying left, and then to the right, and to the left again.
They took up a strange, dancing gait coming down the aisle.
He wished he could go and rescue her.