Page 83 of Making of a Scandal
It isn’t too late …
By the time the short ceremony had ended, the thought had cycled through his mind in an endless circle. He ceased to notice the things happening around him—his feet carrying him outside, the glare of the morning sun peering out from behind the clouds, the scent of coming rain.
There was only the hope he’d let go of, but it came back to him with sudden clarity.
It isn’t too late … but soon, it will be.
His senses rushed back to him at once, urgency overtaking him and propelling him forward before he’d even realized he had made up his mind.
His path loomed before him in sharp focus, the route from here to St. George’s laid out like a map in his mind. He would make it if he hurried. He might even intercept her before she entered the church.
“Nick?”
Benedict’s voice pierced through the determination driving him, but he pressed on. He picked up speed and turned left, eyes peeled for a hackney coach—his best chance of making it to Hanover Square.
A hand hooked into the collar of his coat, and he nearly came off his feet as Benedict dragged him backward. Nick turned and batted the other man’s hands aside, rage rising to tangle with the desperation spurring him. Benedict had tried to sway him before the wedding, and Nick had allowed himself to be subdued. But, no more. He would not be stopped.
“Nick, where the bloody hell are you going?”
“I’m sorry, Ben. I have to go to her.”
“What?Have you lost your mind?”
Frustration washed through him, growing worse with every second that ticked by. “It’s not too late. I have to talk to her, make her understand that I cannot live without her. I can’t simply stand back—”
“It is too late!” Benedict roared as he seemed to forget the crowd pouring out of the church.
“It isn’t too late. There’s still a chance.”
“Don’t be a fool, Nick.”
He took hold of Benedict’s shoulders, giving his friend a rough shake. “Ihaveto try, or I’ll regret it every day for the rest of my life. Can’t you stop being such a cold bastard for one minute and put yourself in my place?”
Benedict’s nostrils flared, his knuckles cracking as he stared at Dominick as if wrestling with the urge to strike him. “Ihavebeen in your place. Do you want to know how it turned out? Much the way this is going to end for you.”
Dominick shook his head and began to back away, no longer able to stand here and endure this. There was no time.
“No. No, I don’t accept that.”
He turned and ran, ignoring Benedict’s cries for him to come back. He dodged people on foot as he searched the congested street for a hackney. Benedict’s voice hadn’t grown any thinner, but he didn’t look back to confirm that the man was on his heels.
He dashed out in front of a carriage, shouting apologies at the driver screaming epithets at him while pulling back on the ribbons. A hack had rolled to a stop across the street, and he leaped into it just as its occupant was descending, ignoring the man’s shocked exclamation as he bellowed at the driver.
“Get me to St. George’s as fast as you can, and I’ll triple the fare.”
Benedict’s face appeared through the window of the hackney. “Dominick! Goddamn it, don’t do this!”
Clenching his jaw, he turned his head to avoid his friend’s gaze as the hackney pulled away, refusing to acknowledge the sputtered curses that eventually faded away. The hackney dipped and swayed, tipping a bit as it barreled around a corner. His driver was determined to earn the promised fare, though Dominick wondered if he would even make it in one piece.
It seemed to take an eternity to reach Hanover Square, and by then Nick’s panic had reached its zenith. His watch showed ten minutes past ten o’clock—the ceremony had already begun. He tore his entire purse from within his coat and hurled it at the driver without bothering to worry about how much was inside. It was more than anyone had ever paid for a hackney ride, that was for certain.
The murmur of the vicar’s droning voice echoed through the doors at him, swelling ominously as Nick yanked one open and dashed inside. The pews were packed from front to back, with what seemed like the entiretonin attendance for what had already been hailed the most anticipated wedding of the year.
Nick dashed down the aisle, aware of the swiveling heads, slackened mouths, and wide eyes, murmurs of confusion drowning out the solemn words of the clergyman. But he could spare no thought for them as his gaze fell on Calliope and held. He halted halfway to the altar, sucking in great gulps of much-needed air as she and Lewes went still, trading confused looks as they realized something was amiss. The vicar had gone silent, eyes bulging as he stared at Nick over the rims of half-moon spectacles. One could have heard a pin drop as the entire assembly went silent, the sound of his harsh breathing the only thing that could be heard as Calliope slowly turned, her bouquet falling to the floor as their gazes met.
He nearly lost his hold on good sense as she faced him, looking every bit the goddess in her wedding gown, the colorful drape of the fabric at her shoulder, and the glitter of her jewels. Breathing became difficult again for an entirely different reason than his mad dash into the church. He wanted to charge up the aisle and lift her off her feet, carry her out of this place and never look back.
Nick faintly made notice of Lewes, who stood beside her looking at him in slack-jawed shock, his face reddening to the roots of his hair as that shock transformed into rage. But, Nick ignored the inconsequential presence of the groom who wouldn’t be one much longer if he had his way.
