He could not; he knew it would only make the humiliation worse.
As she gritted her teeth and all but hauled the marquess alongside her, he did everything he could to send her encouraging looks and thoughts.
However, she did not meet his eyes.
Once they all stood before the bishop, her father gave a bow, then tottered off to the left, collapsing beside his younger daughter, Catharine, on the nearest pew.
Chase gently but firmly took Victoria’s hand and squeezed.
Pointedly, she lifted her gaze to his. At last, their eyes met, and there was something in her sapphire-hued look that stabbed his heart with a wish to make her never suffer again.
Dear God, it was strong. It was dangerous. It was unlike anything he’d ever felt in his entire life.
Yet, she was no victim, this one.
Victoria was quite capable. Even so, she had been put in the most terrible of positions. Again and again.
As he held her hand in his and looked down into her eyes, standing before a bishop who began to babble away at the sermon, Chase promised himself one thing: he would never hurt her.
He would never hurt her the way his father had hurt his mother. He would never hurt her in the myriad of ways he had seen husbands hurt their wives.
No, he would never hurt her the way that her own father had hurt her.
Instead, he would make her free.
He would make her dreams come true.
And he would be bloody well careful to never get too close, so it could all come to pass.