Page 45 of A Lady Igniting Wicked Passions
Then he took Arabella’s face in his hands and kissed her on the lips. He held the kiss for a long moment. And in that moment, passersby began stopping. A murmur of voices arose. Lord Eversden emerged from his house, his wife reaching for his coattails and then stepping back when she realized she could be seen.
Eversden was too angry to care. He came to a halt on the pavement, opposite where Arabella and Aaron stood, locked in their embrace, kissing with passion.
It was now public. There could be no sweeping under the carpet. Aaron had forced Eversden’s hand. There could only be one solution now. He would marry Arabella.
Chapter 26
Her wedding was not at all how Arabella had imagined it would be. Her father obtained a special marriage license within a few days of Aaron’s grand, public gesture. The ceremony was conducted at a church on Ulster Street, not far from the mass of construction that was the new Regent’s Park. Aside from the bride and groom, Arabella’s mother and father were present to witness the ceremony.
Arabella wore a fine dress of cream and gold silk which matched her bronze curls. It showed off the creamy, porcelain texture of the skin of her neck and chest while also leaving her arms bare. Aaron dazzled in his military uniform.
The walk along the aisle, escorted by her father seemed rushed and he glowered all the way. The priest looked disapproving, having been told the reason for the hastily arranged ceremony.
Besides which, he could not fail to be aware of Aaron’s actions of three days earlier. It had, literally, stopped traffic. Dozens of eyes had been fixed on them and then dozens of whispers began, radiating outward to the very edges of London and beyond.
The fact that it was a duke who had been involved. Arabella was not widely known, her identity was wondered at by those who did not know and, learning it, they shrugged. It was not a name to make waves in the social sea.
But Aaron Blackwood, Duke of Ashenwood, was. The head of an ancient and highly regarded family. A pillar of English society, reduced to the behaviour of a scoundrel and a rogue.
Aaron looked at Arabella as they stood before the stern-faced priest. He looked like a demigod to her. Strong, handsome, and noble. His smile was wry, his eyes sparkled. Arabella could not help but smile in return.
Though these were not the circumstances that she had envisioned for her marriage, that could not be helped. This way they were both free. No-one could blackmail either of them using the threat of exposure. She thought that Aaron’s smile came from that same realization.
That same sense of freedom. There would doubtless be consequences that neither of them would like. But for now, in this surreal moment, Arabella would not consider them. She would take pleasure from this day and hoped Aaron would too.
The ceremony was rushed and it seemed no time at all before she was receiving a ring on her finger and Aaron was gently cupping her face to bestow another public kiss. But this one was a husband to his wife and, if not entirely free of gossip, it was at least free of scandal.
For the duration of that kiss, as she stood on her tiptoes to press her lips harder against his, time and place melted away. It did not matter any longer. Nor did the disapproval of her father or mother. She and Aaron would show them how this was not a marriage of convenience, but one of choice.
As their lips parted, Arabella looked up into his jade eyes she smiled and saw that smile returned. Then Arabella laughed and threw her arms about her husband. The joy of this moment was one she had never believed she would experience when the groom in question was Simon Edgeworth. How strange was fate and how tangled its paths.
They left the church in a barouche, driven by one of Aaron’s men. The collapsible hood was lowered as was customary for a wedding carriage. Few people had gathered outside of the church to view the happy couple. Those that were there, booed and made catcalls.
None threw paper or rice. As they drove away, Arabella saw the priest slamming shut the doors of his church. Her last glimpse of him was a glowering face with drawn brows and a tight mouth.
“We are not popular,” she said as they drove away in the direction of Aaron’s London residence in Finsbury Square.
“We do not care,” Aaron replied with a rakish grin. “And the reason we are disliked is that we have shown them two people can be happy without adhering to their interminable customs and rules.”
Arabella laughed happily, putting her hands around Aaron’s arm, and hugging him tightly. He kissed the top of her head, then rested his cheek against her head.
“Will Helena every forgive you, do you think?” he asked.
“I neither know nor car. She was a blackmailer and is beyond the Pale,” Arabella said fiercely.
“I am looking forward to seeing our old friend Sir William Gove that I shall not be voting for his reprehensible Bill, nor any other that he wishes to see enacted. I will throw my support, foursquare, behind Flint. If he will still have me,” Aaron replied.
“He will.”
The carriage arrived before a tall white townhouse, forming a square with other similar buildings with a wide, open green space in its centre. The house had a grand entrance and occupied one entire side of the square. A footman stood at the door, holding it open as the driver descended from his seat to open the carriage door. Aaron descended and then offered his hand to Arabella.
“Welcome to the latest addition to the Ashenwood estate,” Aaron said.
“It is very grand,” Arabella replied.
Aaron grimaced. “Truth be told, I despise it. I would live in a crofter’s cottage rather than a palace and this place is the devil to keep. My father, in his wisdom, took a lease for one hundred years. I cannot even sell the damn place.”
“If you do not like it then we will spend as little time as possible here,” Arabella said brightly. “I would dearly love to see Ashenwood.”
