What the Duke Wants(66)

“To get married?”

“I don’t believe I’ve ever seen a more eager groom. Quite odd,” Lady Southridge commented, her fingers resting on her chin as if deep in thought.

“Eager, dedicated, stubborn, take your pick, but I’m starting to wonder if I’m talking to myself since I’m not getting any answers,” the duke grumbled.

And, because really there was nothing else to say. “Yes,” Carlotta answered. While she would have wished for a few more moments to ready herself, as she dwelled on it, this was quite perfect.

And appropriate.

Her hair was braided, lovingly —if not lopsided— by Berty.

The duke, Charles, she reminded herself, was simply being himself. Demanding… all because he loved her that much.

Lady Southridge was meddling, because, that was simply what she did.

And Bethanny and Beatrix had excused themselves quite silently and were now returning with some flowers they had pilfered from the gardens. The little minxes!

What more could she ask for?

“Delightful! I was beginning to think I needed to cause another scene… but a man can only do so many before he gets a complex.”

“I have all faith your ego will survive.” Lady Southridge shook her head.

He glared at her.

“Shall we?” Carlotta stood and walked towards the vicar who had been watching the exchange with avid interest and found it amusing enough to grin slightly.

At least she thought it was a grin.

It might have been annoyance but she chose to believe it was a grin. This was her day, after all.

“My lady,” the duke offered her his arm, and escorted her to the small prayer chapel within Greenford Waters. It was a cozy room, with wooden hewn crosses and stained glass windows that let in amber colored light. Flowers dotted the altars, and candles flickered in the colored light.

“It’s beautiful,” Carlotta whispered as they walked in.

“I’m thankful you appreciate my efforts,” the duke commented.

“You did this?” She glanced over at him, her eyes wide.

“Of course! It’s not as if I have no forethought,” he grumbled, then grinned. “Of course, Tibbs helped.”

“The plot thickens.”

He raised an eyebrow then paused. “I, well. Should I walk you in then? Or would you rather… it seems I didn’t have as much forethought as I believed. Dash it all. You’re walking in with me.” He answered his own question. “Berty? Bethanny? Beatrix, follow Miss Lottie. Lady Southridge? Get Tibbs, I want another witness.”

Lady Southridge nodded and left, returning less than a minute later with a very satisfied looking Butler.

“Now.” The duke glanced around, and finding that all was in order. Turning to Carlotta, he asked. “Shall we?”

He asked, he did not demand, nor push her down the aisle —which she didn’t think he’d hesitate to do, rather endearing, that. Rather, he asked.

“I love you.” She reached up and caressed his face with her gloved hand, her fingers trailing the line of his jaw.

“This damn wedding cannot happen soon enough,” he cursed, then pulled her in. His hands wound around her back, pulling her flush against his body while his mouth met hers in a hungry passion.

The vicar cleared his throat.

Berty gagged.

And Lady Southridge chuckled. “My, my how the mighty have fallen.”

“You try my patience, Miss Lottie. Are you ready?” he whispered against her lips, the sweet scent of peppermint and desire intoxicating her.

“Yes.”

“Finally,” he replied and led her down the short isle.





Chapter Fifteen




The wedding was long. So long that Berty and Beatrix fell asleep on Lady Southridge, who wasn’t in much better shape if her constant head bobbing was any indication. In hindsight, Charles thought that perhaps it was the vicar’s only way at retribution for being woken up at the break of dawn.

Apparently, this vicar wasn’t an early riser.

Therefore, after not one, but two sermons on the virtue of patience and brotherly love —which he didn’t see the relevance for at a wedding, for heaven’s sake, brotherly love?— and an especially long vow process —including vows he had never heard of at any other wedding, ever —since when did a man promise his wife a pig?— Charles was finally convinced the end was in sight.

He should have known better.

After yet another sermon —this one on self-control, which was causing him to quickly lose whatever control he’d had— the vicar pronounced them man and wife —and Charles silently swore that the vicar would be finding a new parish to preside over.

It was only eleven in the morning when all was said and done, and Charles was not in any mood to wait till nightfall. So, after being quite patient through a luncheon prepared by the Greenford Water’s staff, he made their excuses and, to the amused grin of Lady Southridge, stole his wife away. Far away. Thankfully he had heard Lady Southridge mention a picnic to the girls.

He knew he loved that woman.

Or at least liked her. He could afford to be charitable since it was his wedding day.

And so, without any hesitation, he swept his beautiful wife into his arms, and strode purposefully down the hall.