When Simon had explained everything that had transpired, Drake didn’t even question Simon’s plan to marry Charlotte. “You must, Simon. It’s the right thing to do. I’m proud of you. I know how hard that was for you.”
Simon forced a smile. “It’s not so bad. She hates me. I hate her. I’ll probably be dead in a year or so and leave her a wealthy widow. She wins.”
“Don’t say that! And why didn’t you tell me you were on the verge of another attack when we left for Somerset?”
Simon arched a brow at his friend. “Because Honoria needed you more than I did.”
Ignoring his own admonition not to fidget, Drake ran a hand around his neck. “But if I’d been there, this wouldn’t have happened.”
Simon refused to think about what ifs. Looking back accomplished nothing. Fortunately or unfortunately, depending on how one viewed it, the vicar appeared and motioned Simon and Drake to take their places.
Drake’s besotted gaze followed Honoria as she took her seat in the front next to Anne Weatherby, and a bittersweet longing washed over Simon. He never considered himself a romantic, but at that moment, he wished more than anything that his marriage would be one like his friends’—happy and filled with love.
His mother and sisters beamed at him from the other side of the church.
Inside, he felt hollow, as if someone had reached inside and scooped out his intestines.
Until the doors of the nave opened and Lady Miranda made her way to the front of the church. Simon held his breath, waiting for Charlotte to appear. A long moment followed before she entered the church.
Air still trapped in his lungs, he could only stare. Dazzling inher new gown, she strode forward on his father’s arm. The cream-colored fabric complemented her dark coloring to perfection. And she wore the pearls he gave her.
Surely, that was a good sign.
She didn’t smile when he caught her eye, but she didn’t glare at him either. She simply appeared—resigned. He finally let the air out of his lungs. When his father placed Charlotte’s hand in his, the only one to express any emotion was his father, who appeared on the verge of tears. The man no doubt expected a grandson within a year.
Each recited their vows without stumbling. Although Simon’sI willrang louder than Charlotte’s, neither hesitated, and Simon reluctantly admired her strength to face the situation head-on. It was as if he were concluding one of the complicated business arrangements he’d negotiated for Drake.
Her eyes widened for a second when he slipped the ring on her finger. He’d chosen a perfect opal set in a simple gold band flanked by two sapphires. The opal reminded him of Charlotte, multicolored, unpredictable and changing, but breathtakingly beautiful.
The hollow sensation returned, this time located in his chest, but he brushed it aside as soon as the ceremony ended and friends and family descended upon them, huddled under umbrellas outside the church.
Among them, Drake’s Aunt Kitty, the Countess of Gryffin, who had received wind of it from Drake, leaned upon her cane some distance from his family.
“Kiss her, Simon!” Georgie said, while his mother dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief.
“Now, Georgie. Such things are private.” Simon peeked toward Charlotte, expecting to see a look of horror on her face.
She shrugged. “It’s fine. They expect it.”
He leaned in and whispered, “A chaste peck then.” Such was his intention, but when he brushed his lips lightly against hers,tingles shot through him. Suddenly, he wanted more. He threaded his umbrella-free arm around her waist and deepened the kiss. Fevered visions of getting her out of that lovely dress raced through his mind.
Perhaps he was having another malaria attack? He pulled back, surprised she hadn’t pushed him away first. “My apologies.”
Her dark eyes widened and appeared almost black as she stared at him. She lifted a hand to her lips—which had captured his attention to the omission of all else. Pink bloomed on her cheeks. “It’s fine. Just don’t let it happen again.”
The slow smile that had sent many ladies into a swoon crept across his face. Oh, she very much wanted it to happen again.
As did he.
What in theworld was that? Charlotte resisted brushing at her tingling lips again. Everyone watched them with interest. The Countess of Gryffin’s gray brows rose. Mrs. Beckham and several of Simon’s sisters—she couldn’t tell which—sighed.
And Simon, the rake, grinned like the buffoon he was.
“Don’t look so pleased with yourself,” she whispered. “If that was a chaste kiss, I shudder at what you think of as carnal.”
He laughed, the cad. “I might enjoy making you shudder.”
Oh. Oh!“You, sir, are incorrigible.”