The Leopard Prince (Princes #2)(95)

“Oh, and this is Cecil and Freddy Barclay.” Tony cleared his throat. “Cecil was to marry my sister.”

“Not anymore, I fear,” Cecil said ruefully.

They all chuckled, the boobies. “And you must be the little sister,” a male voice said in her ear.

Violet whirled to find Harry’s third friend standing behind her. He’d left the boy kicking his heels in a pew. Up close, the man’s eyes were a beautiful green, and he was suspiciously handsome.

Violet narrowed her own eyes. “Who are you?” “Granville, Bennet Granville.” He bowed.

Violet didn’t curtsy. This was too confusing. Why would a Granville be helping Harry?

“Lord Granville nearly killed Mr. Pye.” She scowled up at Bennet Granville.

“Yes, I’m afraid he’s my father.” His smile slipped a bit. “Not my fault, I assure you. I had very little to do with my conception.”

Violet felt her mouth start to relax into a smile and suppressed it ruthlessly. “What are you doing here?”

“Well, that is a story—” Mr. Granville cut himself off, and his gaze moved over her head. “Ah, I think they’re emerging.”

And the questions Violet had been about to ask slid from her mind. She turned to see if George had decided which man she would marry.

GEORGE SIGHED LUXURIOUSLY. She could fall asleep right here in Harry’s arms. Even if she was perched on a vestry table.

“Well?” He nudged her with his chin.

Apparently he wanted an answer now. She tried to think, hoping her brain hadn’t turned to mush like her legs. “I love you, Harry, you know I do. But what about your reservations? That others would think you my pet”—she gulped, hating to say the word—“monkey?”

He nuzzled the hair at her temple. “I can’t deny that it will bother me. That and what they will say about you. But the thing is”—he raised his head and she saw that his emerald eyes had grown soft, almost vulnerable—“I don’t think I can live without you, my lady.”

“Oh, Harry.” She cradled his face in her palms. “My brothers like you, as does Violet. And, really, they’re all that matter in the end. The rest can go hang for all I care.”

He smiled, and as always, her heart sang at the sight. “Then will you marry me and be my lady for all our lives?”

“Yes. Yes, of course I’ll marry you.” She felt tears start in her eyes. “I love you desperately, you know.”

“And I love you,” he said rather absently, in her opinion. He carefully removed himself from her sensitive flesh.

“Oh, must you?” George tried to hold on to him. “I’m afraid so.” Harry was swiftly rebuttoning his breeches. “They’re waiting for us out there.”

“Oh, let them wait.” She wrinkled her nose. He’d just proposed to her in a most romantic manner. Couldn’t she savor the moment?

Harry leaned forward to flip down her skirts and kiss her nose. “We’ll have plenty of time to lounge about after.”

“After?” “After our marriage.” Harry frowned at her. “You did just agree to marry me.”

“But I didn’t imagine right away.” She checked her bodice. Why wasn’t there a mirror in here?

“You were ready to marry that popinjay out there right away.” Harry gestured with an outflung arm.

“That was different.” Did she look like she’d been doing what she had been doing? “And Cecil isn’t a popinjay; he’s—” She noticed that his expression had darkened alarmingly. Perhaps it was time to change the subject. “We can’t get married. We need a license.”

“I already have one.” Harry patted his coat pocket. It crinkled.

“How—?”

He cut her off with a kiss that could only be described as masterful. “Are you going to marry me or not?”

George clutched at his arms. Really, some of Harry’s kisses left her quite weak. “I’m going to marry you.”

“Good.” Harry tucked her arm through his and marched her to the door.

“Stop!” “What?”

Men could be so obtuse. “Do I look like I’ve just been tumbled?”

Harry’s lips twitched. “You look like the most beautiful woman in the world.” He kissed her soundly again. He hadn’t exactly answered her question, but it was too late now.

He opened the door.

The two camps had merged into one lump, crowded around the altar. Good Lord, they hadn’t been fighting, had they? Everyone turned expectantly.

George cleared her throat, trying to put together the right words. Then she saw something and stopped dead. “Harry…”

“My lady?” “Look.” She pointed.

A Persian carpet of lights danced on the formerly dingy floor: cobalt blues, ruby reds, and amber yellows. She followed the beam of light back to its source, the rose window above the altar. It glowed, lit from without by sunshine.

“The sun has come out,” George whispered in awe. “I’d almost forgotten what it looked like. Do you think it’s shining in Yorkshire as well?”

Harry’s green eyes sparkled down at her. “I have no doubt, my lady.”