Page 76 of The Dangerous Love of a Rogue
He picked up her hand and wove his fingers through hers, then rested their combined hands on his thigh, in clear view of her father, mother and brother sitting opposite.
From their dire looks anyone would think she was going to her death. His reputation was surely not that bad. But then, society had tarnished him from birth with prophetic words about the outcome of his parentage, and he had done nothing to dispel their prophecies.
But why the hell should I care about the people who don’t even care to know me?
The carriage rocked into movement.
Mary’s mother was the only one who looked at Mary, her face a picture of concern. While Mary was doing her utmost to pretend Drew did not exist.
She knew he existed the night before last. He rubbed his thumb across her wrist above her glove to remind her of his presence. Not a single muscle in her face moved. He supposed she had learned that stony expression from her brother.
When the carriage entered Whitechapel’s narrow streets, lined with crowded and crooked houses, the stench of the city’s less affluent area assaulted Drew’s nostrils.
Pembroke must have brought them here to avoid the world believing Mary had been forced to marry him. Yet the state of Drew’s face was testimony of that.
Reputation was everything in high society – but it never mattered what people did behind closed doors, just as long as no one actually saw.
The coach stopped beside a small church.
Drew opened the door and leapt out before a servant could reach it. He kicked down the step and raised his hand to help Mary down.
The look Marlow gave Drew when he descended the step spiked him into saying, ‘So, what do I call you once we are wed? Papa?’ He had a vicious vein running through him today.Sod them and their lies.
‘You may call me Lord Marlow, and it will always be so.’
‘Please stop stirring the pot,’ Mary whispered.
Drew shot her a smile, saying,must I?He was enjoying making Pembroke and Marlow uncomfortable.
She shook her head, saying,do not, then her fingers slipped from his and she turned to her father.
The rejection kicked Drew in the gut, making his ire burn hotter. His patience was wearing thin,I love you, you foolish woman…
She walked beneath the thatched canopy of the wooden lychgate, her hand on her father’s arm. Pembroke and Lady Marlow followed. Drew followed them, his hands slipping into the pockets of his trousers.
The vicar waited inside the church porch.
Drew took off his hat and gloves and entered the church.
The dark stained glass let only a little light in, making the small church gloomy.
The vicar led them along the aisle to the altar, the sounds of their footsteps on the glazed stone tiles echoing from the walls.
The vicar bid Mary and her father stand on the left, and Pembroke and his mother to sit. Then he looked at Drew with disapproving eyes. ‘Stand here, Lord Framlington.’
Drew placed his hat and gloves on the end of a pew. If he did not hit someone, or something, soon, he was liable to explode.
A page of the leather-bound book the vicar held was marked with a red ribbon. He opened it on that page and began reciting the words.
When they came to the point where Marlow had to put Mary’s hand into Drew’s, Drew grinned at him.Fuck you, Marlow. She is mine.
The vicar continued reading, looking from Drew to Mary and back again.
When it came to their vows, though, Drew forgot her family, and, looking into her eyes, made his promises with a firm intonation he hoped Mary believed.
She looked at the knot of his cravat, and when it was her turn to speak, she mumbled the reply with no conviction.
This would never be a romantic memory to hold dear for the rest of their lives, but he wanted it to be sincere.
