Page 55 of A Scottish Bride for the Duke
Of course, logistically, she could not, given the distance between their locations. And yet, the sadness in her eyes had almost unmanned him; he had almost recommended that they wait. Only the consideration of her reputation prevented any such suggestion. She might not care about her reputation, but if she was to behiswife, he did.
“Are you ready?” Joseph asked, his hands tucked behind his back. “It’s time.”
Adrian glanced at the door, which remained closed.
As she had no family in attendance, it had been decided that his mother would walk her down the aisle, delivering her to him. At the thought, his heart beat a little unsteadily.
The doors at the far end opened, and an organ began to play as Isobel stood silhouetted against the sunlight. Her hair looked as though it had been caught alight, and Adrian had to resist the urge to let out a small gasp.
She looked, as always, fiercely beautiful. Whatever fear had plagued her at the ball was not in evidence here.
She accepted his mother’s arm, walking toward him slowly. When she reached him, he took hold of her arm, drawing her closer to him. The ancient church, somehow, didn’t seem sacred enough of a place for her.
“Yer Grace,” she murmured.
“If we are to be married, you can at least call me Adrian.”
“Adrian.” She tried the word on her tongue as though she had never said it before, but he knew she had—in fact, he had a strong memory of precisely the way she had said his name in the past.
“Are you ready?”
Her chin rose. “Are ye sure ye want to do this, Adrian?”
“Even if I were not, the altar is hardly the place to back out.” He gazed at her face through the veil, wondering what lay behind her eyes and wondering what she saw behind his. “I am committed, Isobel, and I hope you are, too.”
The vicar began the service, and Isobel turned to the front. Adrian looked down at her red hair, muted under the veil and the dim light of the church. She wore a pale blue gown that looked rather lovely against her creamy complexion.
Simply put, she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.
The vicar declared them husband and wife, and Adrian took her veil, raising it over her head.
“Well, wife?” he asked, looking down into her face.
She gazed back steadily. “Husband.”
Then, because it seemed the most natural thing in the world, he bent down to kiss her.
Isobel’s heart thumped in her chest as Adrian’s lips pressed against hers.
She had never kissed a man in front of an audience before—and even though it was barely a kiss, more a light brush of his mouth against hers, she had to fight the urge to panic. To run.
This is allowed, she reminded herself.He is my husband.
He was indeed her husband, but it didn’t feel real. He took her hand in his and led her back down the aisle. First, the wedding breakfast, then they would be alone. She would be alone with the duke. Her husband.
Her breath came a little fast.
What would happen then?
As they emerged into the spring sunshine, the duchess—now the dowager—followed them outside, beaming.
“Congratulations, both,” she said, kissing first Adrian, then Isobel on the cheek. “I already felt like you were my daughter, dearest, but now I can say for certainty that you are.”
“Thank ye,” Isobel said, flushing despite herself.
“I’m sorry your mother and father couldn’t be here to celebrate with you. But mark my words, my dear—they would be proud of you.”
“I hope so.” Isobel blinked back tears.
