Never Marry a Viscount
Page 31
“It’ll take a little while for a hired one to arrive here, but Adrian’s made all the arrangements. You can come back to Berkeley Square and we’ll look after you.”
“No.” The word was short, sharp, and clear, and everyone turned to look at Alexander. Sophie felt a surge of hope fill her.
“I beg your pardon.” Bryony was all stiff outrage, clearly already a countess.
“I said no. She stays with me.”
“I don’t think so,” Maddy chimed in with a martial gleam in her eye. “She’s gone through enough. She needs her sisters around her.”
“I compromised her,” he announced. The other two men were following this with rapt attention.
Maddy rolled her eyes. “Of course you did. And we don’t care. Sophie is our sister and she can do exactly as she pleases.”
“I’ve spent the entire day running around London, getting a special license and finding a magistrate to marry us, though perhaps not in the best neighborhood,” he added. “We’re getting married first thing tomorrow morning.”
“Entirely unnecessary,” Bryony said briskly. “We don’t care about scandal and neither does Sophie.”
“Would you let me speak for myself?” Sophie broke in, her voice firm, looking at her sisters huddled around her, looking at Alexander standing so far away. “I would think it would be my decision.”
“Of course, darling,” Bryony said. “You’ll come with us, won’t you?”
Sophie looked at Alexander, and this time his eyes met hers. They were dark, stormy, full of intensity. “Where would we be getting married?” she asked.
He held very still. “The Old Bailey. In the criminal courts.”
“How fitting,” Kilmartyn drawled. “I can’t miss this.”
“And exactly why do you want to marry me?” Sophie said, no longer caring that her sisters and their husbands were a fascinated audience.
He looked like a cornered fox. “I compromised you.”
“We don’t care,” Bryony and Maddy practically spoke in unison.
“I do.” He was the picture of immovable stubbornness.
“Would you be quiet?” Sophie snapped. “This is between the two of us and the rest of you have no say in the matter.” She turned back to Alexander. “Sorry, but that’s not good enough. Tell me why I should marry you. One reason. And I want the real one. You give me an excuse and I’ll go with my sisters.” It was a risk, a very real risk. But she couldn’t take him any other way without destroying her heart in the process.
Everyone was very still, her sisters staring at Alexander, Kilmartyn and the captain watching him with very real sympathy.
“Might’s well do it,” Captain Morgan said. “There’s no way out of it.”
“Trust me,” Kilmartyn added, “these women are hardheaded.”
“Do you think the two of us could have a little privacy?” Alexander sounded desperate.
“No,” came four voices, almost in unison.
Sophie rose, walking toward him. She felt nervous, shaky, but she wasn’t going to let him see her uncertainty. She knew his answer, but there was always the chance that he didn’t recognize the truth. That, or he’d refuse to say the words. But she couldn’t give in—she’d drawn a line in the sand and she couldn’t back down. She stopped when she was just out of reach, looking up at him. “So?” she said.
“Witch,” he muttered beneath his breath. “Because I love you.”
She smiled at him, a wide, brilliant smile, and he smiled back, all the darkness gone from his eyes. “I love you too,” she said, and went into his arms.
EPILOGUE
THE OLD BAILEY WAS the center of the criminal courts of London, smack-dab next to Newgate Prison. As the bride was led in, her future brother-in-law murmured, “It’s a good thing they no longer do hangings right outside here. It would dampen the festive mood.”
Luca was looking extremely unhappy. “I’ve been here a little too often for my liking,” he muttered.
Kilmartyn looked at him in admiration. “As a pirate?”
“No, a pickpocket.” He followed the wedding party inside, looking over his shoulder every now and then.
It was a strange and glorious celebration. The magistrate, Sir Duncan McGrew, also known as the Hanging Judge, presided over the ceremony, the groom had a pirate and a reprobate lord stand up for him, Sophie had her sisters. The police gathered round, bringing their felons and miscreants with them, and there was a tear in many a criminal’s eye at the end, when the shouts of huzzah were so loud Sophie thought her eardrums might burst. She looked up at her new husband as he placed a dutiful kiss on her lips and she smiled.
“This wedding,” she said, “is absolutely perfect. Let’s see you try to improve on this.” Reaching up, she caught his head in her hands, yanked him down, and kissed him as hard as she could.
Sir Duncan was required to read the riot act before everyone peacefully dispersed, some to a prison cell, some to a hangman’s noose, and some to their marriage bed.
“Do you think they’ll be happy?” Bryony asked her husband as she slipped into bed beside him.
“I have absolutely no doubt at all,” said Kilmartyn, “but right now I’m more interested in our happy ending.”
Bryony’s smile was dazzling. “So am I, love. So am I.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
ANNE STUART IS A grand master of the genre, winner of Romance Writers of America’s prestigious Lifetime Achievement Award, survivor of more than thirty-five years in the romance business, and still just keeps getting better.
Her first novel was Barrett’s Hill, a gothic romance published by Ballantine in 1974, when Anne had just turned 25. Since then she’s written more gothics, regencies, romantic suspense, romantic adventure, series romance, suspense, historical romance, paranormal, and mainstream contemporary romance.
She’s won numerous awards and appeared on most bestseller lists, and speaks all over the country. Her general outrageousness has gotten her on Entertainment Tonight, as well as in Vogue, People, USA Today, Woman’s Day, and countless other national newspapers and magazines.
When she’s not traveling, she’s at home in northern Vermont with her luscious husband of thirty-six years, an empty nest, three cats, four sewing machines, and one springer spaniel, and when she’s not working she’s watching movies, listening to rock and roll (preferably Japanese), and spending far too much time quilting.
Visit Anne at: anne-stuart.com.