Page 76 of Married to the Icy Duke
It was not nerves. He was Isaac Cecil, Duke of Arkley, a key member of the Ton’s Devils. He was notnervous.
The doors opened, and everybody craned their necks to see, including the rector.
Isaac did not allow himself to turn around. It was nothing personal, of course, only that he did not want to gawk at his bride like some blushing groom.
That,he reminded himself fiercely,was not the arrangement.
And Charlotte had been extremely clear as to what she wanted their arrangement to be, hadn’t she?
I want to see her.
The thought took root in his mind and would not be denied. Clenching his jaw, Isaac kept his eyes fixed on the distant stone wall behind the rector’s podium. He could sense looks from those around him—the rector, of course, as well as Tristan, and perhaps a furious glare from Sybella—all wondering why he did not turn and look at her.
Whispers echoed through the church. He heard slow footsteps approach—Gabriel and Charlotte, arm in arm. When he sensed her just behind him, Isaac finally,finallyallowed himself to turn.
His mouth dried up at once. He found himself rooted in place, unable to move.
Isaac had already seen the dress, of course, but it was so much different here and now than it had been at the modiste’s.
Charlotte was glowing. Almost literally, as the church was poorly lit, her skin seemed to glow in the gloom. Her hair, sleek and glossy, was done up in a complex style, with ringlets falling over her neck. The stray locks seemed to invite him to reach out and touch them, to touchher.
He imagined himself running his fingertips over the creamy curve of her neck, shifting the ringlets aside to place his palm over the soft skin there. He imagined letting his fingers run lower, lower and lower to where the swell of her bosom was exposed by the low neckline.
He swallowed thickly, trying desperately to work moisture into his mouth. It did not seem that Charlotte had noticed his stare. She was looking up at her brother, who smiled encouragingly, pressed a kiss to her temple, and turned towards his pew. Pausing, he threw a baleful, warning glance at Isaac.
Hurt my sister,the glance no doubt meant,and I’ll make you sorry.
Then he was gone, and it was just Charlotte and Isaac standing alone before the rector.
NowCharlotte looked up at him, drawing one ruby-red lip between her teeth. There was anxiety in her eyes; he could read it clearly. In the silence that followed, Isaac quite clearly heard Tommy whisper loudly to Sybella: “Pretty.”
His throat tightened again. Tommy was improving day by day; there was no denying it. The rector was now smiling fondly at the little boy.
He doesn’t understand the gravity of it,Isaac thought dizzily.He merely thinks that it’s sweet. He doesn’t understand what this means—that Tommy has spoken aloud in front of all these people.
Charlotte understood, though. She sucked in a breath, glancing first at Tommy, then up at Isaac, eyes wide.
There was no time to discuss it, of course. The rector cleared his throat grandly, beaming around at the congregation.
“Pretty, indeed,” Isaac murmured, and the rector heard the comment. He chuckled, shaking his head.
“I could choose no better word myself, Your Grace. A bride is most pretty on her wedding day. Now, to the ceremony. Brothers and sisters, we are here today to view the joining of this man and this woman, before God …”
He began his well-rehearsed sermon, and Isaac let his mind slip away. His mind did not go far, however, pulled as if by magnetism to the woman beside him.
Charlotte was so close, soclosehe could almost touch her. He wanted to touch her so badly. It was like an ache deep inside, an internal battle he was losing at a rapid pace.
I am not going to be able to do it,he realized, in a giddy rush.She wants a cold, bloodless marriage. A marriage of convenience.
I do not think I can hold up my end of the bargain.
The sermon seemed to fly by at breakneck speed until, in the blink of an eye, the rector urged them to stand and face each other.
“Do you, Lord Isaac Cecil, Duke of Arkley, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?”
“I do,” Isaac intoned, his voice deep and ringing out in the silent church. The rector nodded approvingly and turned to Charlotte.
“And do you, Lady Charlotte Harding, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?”
