Page 64 of Dukes for Dessert

Beth and Violet helped with the flowers—pink roses in a cascading bouquet for Sophie, buds and baby’s breath for the ladies—and Ainsley had been in charge of the cake.

The Mackenzie children played their parts—Lord Alec, the duke’s heir, proud in his role of ring bearer. If his brother, Mal, let him appear without being muddy, bloody, and his suit torn, all would be well. The younger Mackenzie girls would scatter flower petals for Sophie while the older girls and the lads made sure the guests were looked after.

“You are beautiful,” Eleanor declared as she clicked her camera, this a small affair that held the newfangled celluloid film. “David will swoon when he sees you. I cannot wait.”

The ladies laughed hard at the idea of the suave David doing anything so inelegant as swooning, but Sophie barely smiled. She longed to be near him, to take his hand and be his wife, and she chafed for the ceremony to begin.

Isabella peered at her knowingly. “No wilting bride here. I believe she’ll be glad when we clear off and let her be alone with the dashing Mr. Fleming.”

Sophie’s face heated, and the ladies went off in another peal of laughter.

During the wedding preparations, she and David had vowed they’d wait to touch each other again until after the marriage ceremony. They’d begin their wedding trip tomorrow with a visit to Uncle Lucas in Shropshire, and then a sojourn to the Continent to look at ruins in Rome and Pompei. They’d also planned plenty of time in lavish hotels along the way, where they could explore each other to their heart’s content as man and wife. No reason to rush.

That lofty sentiment had lasted until Sophie encountered David in the corridor late last night, she returning from seeing that her guests were comfortable.

They’d met in the shadows, and David had blown out the candle Sophie had carried. His bedchamber had been nearby, and after a time of hot kisses in the corridor, she’d willingly let him lead her inside.

Fortescue had betrayed no surprise when he entered in the morning to find Sophie curled up against David, only inquired what she’d like to have brought for breakfast. David had snarled at him, but then ordered a large breakfast for himself, as long as Forty was offering.

Tonight, Sophie would share David’s bed as his wife.

When she’d realized at her first wedding that her husband’s bed awaited, she’d trembled and felt sick. Today, she longed to race through the proceedings so she could take David into her arms and lose herself in him.

I love him. That was the difference, she realized. She loved David deeply, with all her being. When he’d suggested living in sin instead of the respectability of marriage, Sophie had been ready to agree in a heartbeat.

This wedding ceremony would allow the solicitors and the church to mark the union down as legal and acceptable. The love and togetherness after that was for David and Sophie alone.

When Isabella’s daughter Aimee announced it was time, Sophie nearly ran from the room. The Mackenzie ladies followed her with much merriment.

As the weather held fair, they’d marry in the garden. Sophie walked out to sunshine, a cool breeze, and a riot of roses, geraniums, snapdragons, zinnias, and others in myriad colors.

The guests were mostly in their places, though many still milled about, friends talking, joking, laughing—no stiff concern or formality. Elliot McBride chased his son and youngest daughter across the green, both children somehow outrunning his long legs, their screams of mirth cutting the air. His older daughter raced after them, black curls dancing, she laughing as she helped Elliot catch her brother and sister.

Daniel lifted his own daughter when she tried to join the hunt, planting her on his shoulders as he and Violet took their seats.

Sophie saw most of this in a blur, her focus all for the man who waited next to the vicar under the flower-strewn arbor.

Uncle Lucas had persuaded the local vicar to let him perform the actual ceremony. The vicar, happy to put up his feet and sip sherry instead, nodded contentedly in the sunshine in the first row, while Uncle Lucas stood proudly in his vestments, ready to marry Sophie to David.

Hart Mackenzie, his expression a mixture of relief and gladness, stood beside David as his groomsman. Eleanor had told Sophie in private that Hart was very pleased with this marriage. Not only was he happy for his friend, but Hart could cease feeling contrite that he’d found happiness in marriage while David had wandered alone.

“Hart loves David,” Eleanor had confided. “Only never tell him I said so. He’d deny it with every breath. David, too. When anyone mentions how close the pair of them are, they both contrive to look surprised.”

The two now stood rather stiffly together, it amused Sophie to see. The best of friends, each holding up the other through pain, heartache, and loss. Well, she’d let their love for each other be her and El’s secret.

David was the only person in the crowd at the moment who was clear and sharp to Sophie. His smile touched her, that pleased smile with a hint of self-deprecation that meant he was so very happy inside.

Her father, who’d been introduced to the pleasure of Mackenzie malt last night, was a bit red about the eyes this morning, but led Sophie down the aisle for the second time in her life. At Laurie’s wedding, her father had been worried, hugging her and reluctant to let her go. This time, he was smiling, having found friends in David, Hart, and the other Mackenzies. When Sophie had peeped into the dining room last evening after the ladies had left it, she’d seen her father deep in conversation with Hart and David, laughing at Mac’s drawling interjections, and listening with interest at anything Ian had to add.

Ian Mackenzie stood in the second row. He slanted Sophie a glance as she passed and gave her a nod, as though thanking her. Sophie smiled back at him, and was rewarded with a sudden and pleased grin.

David’s expression softened as she stepped next to him. “How beautiful you are,” he whispered. He leaned closer. “I want to eat you up.”

Sophie blushed hard, and Hart nudged David. “Contain yourself, Fleming. We have a long ceremony to get through.”

David sent him an innocent look, and Sophie laughed. Uncle Lucas, not as naive as he sometimes appeared, narrowed his eyes.

“Be seemly, Fleming,” Pierson said. “I know fisticuffs, if you recall.”

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