Page 77 of Married to the Icy Duke
Her response, when it came, was a breathless, fluting thing.
“I do.”
The rector closed the Bible with a gentle snap and took a step back.
“Then I gladly pronounce you husband and wife. Your Grace, you may kiss the bride.”
When he had thought over this moment at home, Isaac had imagined pressing a demure, chaste kiss to Charlotte’s cheek. It seemed the best choice.
However, he found himself stepping forward, curling his fingers under her chin. Her eyes widened when they met his, her pupils blown wide with what could have been desire.
He met her lips hungrily, pressing her against him as though that simple contact could ever be enough.
I will never have had enough of this woman,he thought dizzily.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, he recalled that this was their wedding day, and that an entire congregation was watching him kiss his new bride. With an effort that was almost painful, Isaac pulled away.
Charlotte’s eyes were huge, her lips ever so slightly redder than before. She almost trembled when he took her hand, the two of them turning automatically to face the congregation.
Applause broke out, but Isaac barely heard it. He could think only of the woman beside him.
His duchess. His wife.
Charlotte.
Charlotte’s head was reeling. The journey from the church to Isaac’s house, where the wedding breakfast would be held, had gone by in a flash. It seemed that at one moment, she was there,and now she was here, and she was not entirely sure what to do next.
I’m married,she thought, over and over again.I’m married to him. He kissed me so hard in front of all those people—our wedding guests!—that I thought I might faint.
What was worse, I was so disappointed when he stopped kissing me.
The good thing about managing one’s wedding guests was that it neatly dampened any desire she might have felt. Her chest had been burning when she left the church, an ache plunging down the length of her body so intensely that her knees almost buckled.
After greeting a dozen or so burbling old ladies and gentlemen, all offering the most ridiculous advice regarding marriage, however, the desire had mostly disappeared.
So had her husband. He had melted away into the overcrowded ballroom almost as soon as they’d entered, leaving Charlotte to her friends and guests. She could not decide whether she was relieved or disappointed.
“The trick is,” the Dowager Abbington was saying, “to keep your humorscool.”
“My humors?” Charlotte managed. “I don’t believe …”
“Cold baths,” the Dowager said firmly, her rheumy blue eyes boring into Charlotte’s. “Encourage him to take them too, ideally before bed. He might not agree, butyoumust take them. Blocks of ice under the pillow work wonders.”
Charlotte cast her mind back through the conversation, trying to work out what this ‘trick’ was meant to achieve.
Or discourage, perhaps?
“Wouldn’t a block of ice melt and make the bed wet?” she ventured gingerly.
The Dowager seemed offended. “Wet bedding is a small price to pay for balanced humors, my dear. Now, I recall …”
“Do excuse me, Dowager,” Charlotte interrupted, before another lengthy anecdote could begin. “I must greet my other guests.”
She hurried off, not giving the poor Dowager a chance to recover. Finding a quiet corner, Charlotte snatched up a glass of wine and took a long sip.
I haven’t had the chance to drink or eat anything at all at my own wedding breakfast,she thought grimly. What was the time? Did it matter?
No, she supposed that it did not. A bride and groom could hardly slip away early from their own wedding. Out of everyone,theirabsence would surely be noticed.
