Page 45 of The Gentleman Was Right
Violet sucked in a breath as clarity struck like an anvil.
She was about to be his wife.
She was tying herself to a man she didn’t love but certainly liked, and it was both exhilarating and terrifying at the same time.
There were no sounds in the church. At least none that she could hear over the blood rushing through her veins. Reaching out and gripping his forearm steadied her a little. Comforted by the fact that he was warm and firm andthere,she willed herself to relax.
As if sensing her turmoil, his hand covered her clenched fingers, and he smiled softly. She didn’t want it to, but his sincere smile calmed the racing in her heart enough that it might be possible for her to make it through the ceremony without collapsing into a heap at his feet.
* * *
Edward could feel the tension in his almost-wife’s unrelenting grip on his arm. Was Violet having second thoughts about marrying him? Was she desperately wishing for another solution?
He wasn’t sure he’d ever seen skin so leached of color. It was unnerving enough that he wondered if he ought to call off the wedding. It didn’t take him more than a second to conclude that he couldn’t jilt her, but he could ask if she wanted to jilt him.
“Do you wish to cancel the wedding?” he whispered directly into her ear.
The glare she leveled at him made it clear that she did not want to. Nor did she welcome the question. Relieved by her glower, he hardly flinched when her grip tightened on his arm.
“If I wished to cancel the wedding, I wouldn’t be here,” she hissed, not bothering to quiet her voice.
It wasn’t a declaration, but he felt claimed anyway.
He squeezed her hand where it clutched the sleeve of his jacket. When he did, she inhaled sharply, and not wanting to crush her fingers, he hastily loosened his grip. He tried to think of what he could say to reassure her that she wasn’t making a mistake, but nothing came to mind. At least nothing he could whisper quickly and quietly.
If she got any paler, he very much thought she might sink to the floor of the church in a swoon, and even though she’d made it clear that she didn’t want to cancel the wedding, he had the urge to sweep her into his arms and rush out the solid oak doors and into the London streets. Absconding in Sebastian’s carriage, he could take her back to the cottage where she could return to pretending to be his cousin. And he could—no, hecouldn’tpretend to be her cousin. Not when hewantedto be her husband.
It was such a tangle. Hewantedto be married, while sheneededto be married.
Shifting his body weight so they were touching from shoulder to elbow, he tried to transfer calm assurance from himself to her, and after a moment, he was almost positive a smidgeon of her tension receded.
The ceremony started, and while he knew his siblings and her sister were sitting silently behind him, he couldn’t concentrate on anyone but Violet. The steady stream of words from the clergyman seemed to relax her enough that her grip on his forearm loosened.
She did not make eye contact with him once during the ceremony, not even when she spoke her vows in a steady voice, nor when she accepted the rather simple ring she had approved the prior afternoon. Remaining pale as they signed the register and accepted the well wishes from their families, she took his arm and allowed him to lead her to the carriage.
As they rode the short distance to Sebastian’s townhouse for the wedding breakfast, he attempted to amuse her with small talk, but she remained stoic and almost unnaturally calm.
As morning bled into afternoon, she seemed more thoughtful than distressed, and when he noticed her look at the clock on the mantle for the third time in a matter of minutes, he knew it was time for them to use their marriage for its intended purpose. Confronting Basil and evicting him before nightfall was her goal, so they said their farewells, left her sister in the care of his family, and were on their way.
* * *
By the time they entered the carriage, Violet was a bundle of impatient energy. Her wedding to Edward was already a bit of a blur, not that she hadn’t been singularly focused while it was happening, just that she was having a hard time thinking about it now that it was over.
To be fair, it was difficult to concentrate on anything other than the fact that she would never have to marry Basil. Not today. Not tomorrow.
Not ever.
It had taken longer than she would have liked, and she hadn’t been able to do it on her own, but none of that mattered as the carriage started to move. They turned the first corner, and she was already trembling with anticipation. Her left foot tapped on the wall as her fingers toyed with the strings of her reticule. Clearly noticing her impatience, Edward reached out and clasped her right hand. “You don’t have to worry.”
“I’m not worried,” she snapped.
It would have been difficult to blame him if he had released her hand and withdrawn his offer of reassurance, but instead he squeezed it gently, seemingly unoffended by her harsh tone. She could have pulled away, but his touch wasn’t unpleasant. On the contrary, it might have even calmed her a bit. They hadn’t been alone since the cottage, and they hadn’t touched nearly enough since she’d agreed to marry him, but when they had, he always seemed intent on offering comfort.
Even when she didn’t deserve it.
She looked at him out of the corner of her eye, ignored how splendid he looked, and informed him, “I need to speak to Basil alone.”
“That isn’t—” He cut himself off and silence filled the small space. With a barely discernible sigh, he asked, “Why?”
