Page 20 of Temptress in Disguise
Minutes passed.
Reverend Smollett squirrelled the banknotes into his pocket.
Mr Sloane withdrew his gold watch and checked the time. “At this rate, I’ll not arrive home until dawn. Daventry will want a report?—”
The sound of discordant song filtered into the church. Men and women piled into the old building and began filling the pews. Though they were all invariably drunk, they sang and smiled and were keen to make merry.
Mr Chance reappeared, herding them like sheep. Soon, they were all seated and staring at the altar. After a quick appraisal, he came to stand before her.
“I know they’re not family,” he said, straightening his coat, “but I’m sure they’ll make for a lively congregation. I sensed you found the emptiness disturbing.”
She stared at him, wanting to clasp his hand and press a kiss of thanks to his knuckles. “It’s silly, especially in light of why we’re marrying, but the atmosphere was so bleak.”
He glanced at the grinning rogues. “Be prepared for them to heckle. I imagine a few crude words will pass from their lips.”
“Dearly beloved,” Reverend Smollett began, evidently tired of the delays. “We are gathered here tonight to celebrate …”
And so it went on—a sermon extolling the importance of love and commitment—words that should have given them every reason to flee.
Despite the crowd’s jeers, Mr Chance kept an impassive expression when promising to cherish her always. Then it was Naomi’s turn to pledge her troth, to swear before God to love and obey this dangerous man she hardly knew. It was like asking her to ride an untamed stallion, not knowing if she’d feel the rush of exhilaration or the pain of rejection.
“I will,” she said beneath the power of Mr Chance’s compelling stare.
“Who giveth this woman to be married to this man?”
In the absence of family, the reverend called on Mr Sloane. The agent captured Naomi’s cold hand and placed it gently on Mr Chance’s broad palm. “I trust you will take care of her.”
“I always protect what’s mine.”
The possessiveness in his tone proved oddly comforting. The mere touch of his skin played havoc with her insides. When he wrapped his firm fingers around hers, she could not recall ever feeling so safe.
“With my body I thee worship.” His tone turned husky as he repeated the vow and slipped the ring on her finger. He would insist on touching her intimately, those powerful hands holding her enthralled while she could do nothing but clutch the bedsheets.
But it was too late for regrets.
A mere minute passed before the reverend declared them man and wife. The throng stamped loudly, cheered and gave a rapturous applause.
“Kiss her!” someone shouted.
“Lock yer lips!”
“We should do as they ask,” he said while she was trying to come to terms with the weight of the burden on her finger. “Every lady deserves to be kissed on her wedding day.”
She could barely breathe. “Not before an audience.”
“I’ll make it brief.” A wicked smile tugged at his lips. “Though you may demand a thorough ravishment at a later date.”
“I lack Miss Wendon’s knowledge for pleasing men.”
“I’m not like other men. Miss Wendon doesn’t have the first idea how to please me. You, on the other hand, have an innocence I find bewitching.” He captured her chin and drew her closer. “Relax. Let me taste you.”
She closed her eyes, felt his breath caress her lips before their mouths met. As expected, he tasted warm like fine wine, rich and instantly intoxicating. While she kept her hands balled at her sides, he drew her into a dance, the melding of their mouths like a slow, sensual waltz. Heat flared deep in her core. Her head whirled. Her pulse raced.
She was out of her depth.
If a mere kiss could drug her senses, what would happen when he wanted more? And there was so much more to come. She could sense him fighting against his restraints.
As if he couldn’t help himself, he slid his tongue gently over the seam of her lips before abruptly pulling away.
