Page 11 of Between a Duke and a Hard Place
"Have we scandalized the good vicar enough?” Violet asked, “Or should we brawl in the aisle?”
Max exhaled sharply through his nose. Then, before she could react, he lifted her hand and placed a kiss on the third finger of her left hand, his lips warming the gold band he’d placed there just moments earlier.
It was nothing. A mere brush of contact. An obligation fulfilled.
And yet?—
Heat flared in her chest, a traitorous warmth that should not have been there at all.
Max dropped her hand instantly, stepping back as if she were a lit candle threatening to singe him.
The vicar looked at them with a mixture of confusion and pity. “May God be with you both.”
“I wouldn’t inflict us upon him, my good sir,” Max replied.
The butcher’s wife fanned herself furiously, as though she were about to faint dead away.
Violet swallowed, forcing her expression into something calm and indifferent."Charming," she said. "Truly."
Max gritted his teeth with enough force that the sound was audible.
"Shall we sign the register, or would you like to continue tormenting me?"
Violet cocked her head, tapping her forefinger to her chin as if she were deep in thought. "A difficult decision," she mused. “Must they be mutually exclusive? Perhaps I shall do both."
Max closed his eyes briefly as if praying for patience.
They signed the necessary documents, thanked their bewildered witnesses, and stepped out into the late afternoon sun as husband and wife.
Violet turned to Max, smoothing her skirts.
"Well," she said. "That was positively magical."
Max glowered. "Get in the carriage, Violet. I’d hate for mud to be splashed on my best coat when I hurl myself down before the horses.”
"Ah," she sighed. “How charmingly romantic you are."
He muttered something under his breath, likely a curse, and she had never enjoyed herself more.
The ride back was mercifully quiet.
Violet was apparently too exhausted to needle him further, and Max had accepted his fate with resigned, suffering silence.
By the time they arrived at Alstead Manor, the sun had dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the grand stone façade.
Max stepped out first, offering his hand to assist her down.
She lifted a brow.
"How very chivalrous of you, Your Grace."
He rolled his eyes. "I should have let you trip on the steps."
She took his hand, likely just to spite him.
As they crossed the threshold, the housekeeper, Mrs. Rutledge, bustled forward, beaming. "Your Grace!" she said, positively glowing. "Welcome home! And congratulations to you both!”
“How did you know to congratulate us?” Max demanded with an arched brow.
