The Bride Who Got Lucky

by Janna MacGregor

  “How do you even know if I’m worthy of your name?” She hiccupped and turned to view her refuge, Langham Park. She trembled as if hit by a blast of arctic air. As natural as breathing, he needed to touch her. He ran his hands up and down her arms trying to ease her discomfort, then gently turned her to face him.

  “How do you know if I’m worthy of you?” As soon as he uttered the words, his father’s accusation that no one cared for him reared its ugly head. Would it be the same with her? He cast the thought aside as he grappled with convincing her. “You see, I’m not”—he exhaled—“very successful at courting. If I gave you the impression I didn’t care, that’s not the truth.”

  She blinked twice in rapid succession then swallowed. The slim column of her neck mimicked the movement.

  “Marry me,” he pressed gently.

  Her gaze dropped to the floor then returned to his. “I care—”

  “I care about you.” If he could hold her, he’d whisk away all her reservations. “Hear me out,” he whispered. “Do you think I take these actions lightly? I had no choice in this matter. Same as you. The consequences of Portsmouth have led to this juncture. Besides your brothers, others saw us together. Aulton is on a vendetta to ruin you. You’ll be the one to suffer the hardest from the rumors, not me. Do you think I care so little about your welfare?”

  The amount of pain in her eyes, her own self-doubt along with her reservations about him led him to believe he was losing her. He’d not allow that to happen. “Your parents and I couldn’t see another solution.”

  She chewed her lower lip. On a sigh, her resolve crumpled. She dropped her head and her shoulders at the same time.

  “I’d never let you go so easily. After everything”—he lowered his voice—“we’ve shared?”

  Her lips pursed together. “I’ve never seen your home. Do you have any other estates? What do you do in your leisure? What do you eat? A couple to be married should be privy to such information. We need more time than an hour.”

  “Are you frightened?”

  “No, of course not … well, maybe a little.” The small glimpse of fear on her face dissolved as her lips tilted in a weak smile.

  The tension locked inside his chest started to ease. “I’m not happy we’re at this point either.” Her green eyes reminded him of the lush meadows of his youth, a place and time when his expectations for life were pure and filled with hope. “But only because I would have handled this all so differently.”

  Even with a grass-stained gown and hair spilling in a haphazard manner about her face, she was lovely this evening. He took a proverbial deep breath and stepped into the unknown. “Come, be my wife. Let’s build a life together.”

  He took her chin in his hand and raised her head. Slowly, he brought his face toward hers and stopped. Her breath teased his lips, beckoning him to close the distance. Her gaze begged for reassurance.

  “If you marry me, you’ll see our home this evening. I have a house in Cambridge and several warehouses here in London. I own three ships, and I’m not a picky eater. Luckily, I employ a marvelous, but extremely temperamental, chef. In the past, I preferred the color blue. Now, I much prefer green, the same as your eyes. I have a male servant as my de facto housekeeper. My valet is a prima donna, but he’ll entertain you, I promise.”

  “Thank you.” The resignation in her voice made him want to allay her fears, but he was at a loss as to how to ease her discomfort. “Sometime will you tell me about your family? I’d like to—”

  “Yes, later.” An acute surge of disgust rushed his thoughts. He’d not let his father’s poisonous words weaken what he was trying to build with her—a chance for a happy marriage and a happy life.

  “Would you like to know my greatest secret?” He drew back and placed his hands on her cheeks. His thumbs traced the gentle angles on her face.

  “Yes.” Her whisper was as soft as swan’s-down.

  With the slightest touch, he brushed his lips across hers. On a sigh, she opened to let him in. He wouldn’t allow her more and drew back.

  “It’s you. I want you in my bed tonight and all the nights we have together on this earth. I plan to take you places you won’t believe.” Hoping she could divine his fervent wishes, he took both of her hands in his. The delicacy of her fingers belied the iron will she’d shown him time and again. “I want to travel the continent, perhaps find adventure in America. I want us to have dinner with Mr. Bentham so you can have all your questions answered.”

  When he chanced a glance at her face, he wished he hadn’t made the effort. Her eyes were hooded, and he couldn’t determine if this was the Emma from Lady Emory’s ball who could slice him in two with a properly placed word, or the befuddled Emma from Portsmouth when he held her in his arms.

  He took a step back and dropped her hands. Never had he felt so ill-prepared and unsure of the outcome of her decision. He ran his hand through his hair. “This is a poor way of expressing my thoughts.”

  He had only one thing left to share. God help him if it didn’t work. “What I want most in this world is you to want me as much as I want you. Do you understand now?”

  A surrendering moan escaped under her breath while her eyes flashed. She curled her fingers in his hair. A gentle tug brought him back to her lips. Her rich scent, the fit of her body against his, and her taste left an indelible mark on him, as if she’d imprinted him as hers.

  His heart pounded and his blood raced. Every part of him spiraled in a sudden anarchy, ready to fly apart. He pulled her tighter against him, and it was difficult to determine where he ended and she began. This force between them was an eddy that dragged him deeper into an abyss he never wanted to escape.

  She broke free on a gasp. Determined not to let her go that easily, he took her lips again while he circled her waist and gathered her flush to his chest. He’d never understood how a man could become lost in a woman—until this moment. For the first time in his life, he felt it. He wanted to stay lost forever and feel her body next to his.

  There was no place else he’d rather be.

  She pulled away once more, and her eyes searched his so deeply he feared she’d see everything within him—every noble act and every wicked sin.

  “That was it,” she whispered.

  He struggled for control and the ability to understand. “That was what?”

  Her chest heaved, and the pink flush on her face intoxicated him. “The kiss.”

  He’d told her she’d recognize the “kiss” when it happened. He hadn’t planned it, but this kiss, this force between them, was all-encompassing. “Will it do?”

  She nodded once, and her eyes never left his. She was as affected as he was.

  “Marry me? If you care for me, have mercy. Marry me.”

  She nodded again, slowly this time. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”

  Her dulcet whisper was forever engraved on his heart, the one he’d so carefully locked away. Her inherent radiance promised a place where he could escape and bask in her glorious light. His darkness gave way to her, like the night to the day.

  She had found him and brought him home.

  Chapter Eighteen

  A knock on Emma’s chamber door echoed through the room like a church bell tolling a somber event. Her mother swept into the room ready for battle. “You may leave us, Arial.” Her mother waited until the door closed before she allowed her smile to transform into something luminous. “You and I shall chat before the ceremony.”

  “What if I’m a failure as a wife?” Emma whispered as she plopped into the chair in front of the fire. The words she thought she’d never utter tasted bitter in her mouth. Only her mother would understand her fears. Even though her mother had prepared her for this day—this new life—the thought of leaving home terrified Emma.

  Her mother smoothed her dress, and her gentle smile never faltered. “Failure? Sweetheart, let me explain something to you. Your husband-to-be put aside his work and rushed to accommodate your entrance as his wife. He
even instructed his solicitors to start enquiries about a new residence in London—one befitting his countess. He’ll ensure you’re not a failure. You’re lucky.”

  Her mother’s words pummeled Emma’s insides. “What if he never loves me? I just gave up my freedom for something I don’t understand. I’m in uncharted waters and have no idea how to navigate my way through.”

  “My lovely girl,” her mother whispered. “Love comes in many forms, and sometimes it takes a little while before people recognize it in their heart.” Her mother’s voice grew tender. “Somerton’s protecting you in a way that changes his life too. Look at me.”

  Resorting to an old habit from childhood, she resisted the urge, but finally gave in. Her mother’s will was a force to be reckoned with.

  Her mother gracefully sat in the velvet chair opposite Emma’s seat.

  “You know your Somerton better than I knew your father when we married. You’ve had the opportunity to spend time with him over the years. He’s been a constant presence at family gatherings.” Her mother pressed her hand over Emma’s and squeezed. “Your Somerton is a patient, kind, and thoughtful man. The way he plays with Claire and Alex’s children—”

  “Mother, I’m not a child like the twins.” How could she make him happy, or be a wife he’d be proud of? She wasn’t like other women. She had her own dreams of how she wanted to live her life, and none of it entailed the responsibilities expected of an earl’s wife.

  “It’s apparent to your father and me that Somerton has a tendré for you. And you for him.” Her mother rose and kissed her cheek. “Give this a chance. Go and take your place by your Somerton’s side.”

  “I don’t know what to do. How to act.” Her breathing grew labored as the reality of her situation settled.

  “There’s no need to act. Be yourself.” Her mother’s blue eyes were a constant in Emma’s life. Whenever she needed comfort, she always found it in her mother’s tender gaze. Her mother released a deep breath. “I need to tell you what happens in the marriage bed. You both have a responsibility to make each other happy. To cherish each other.”

  Of all the things she expected her mother to say tonight, the topic of lovemaking was not on her list. “Claire explained it to me,” Emma said. She studied the fire and snuck a peek at her mother. “Don’t worry. I’m prepared.”

  “That’s what I thought.” Her mother quirked an eyebrow and regarded her. “You’re full of life and that’s irresistible. He’s under your spell.”

  “Thank you.” Her mother meant to soothe with her kind words, but it was far from the truth. “I don’t want to leave you or Father.” The confession proved what a coward she was. “I don’t want to leave my home.”

  Her mother nodded in understanding. “I was scared when I married your father.” She tilted Emma’s chin until she held her gaze. “But he was so gentle and loving to me that within days I knew where my home and heart resided. You understand?”

  Emma nodded as she fought against her tears.

  “This is a big step for both of us it seems. I’ll miss you, too.” Her mother’s whisper betrayed her own tears as she gathered Emma in her arms and squeezed tight. “Your Nick is a wonderful man. I can only let you go because in my heart I know he’ll care for you, and in return, you’ll care for him.”

  “I love you,” Emma whispered. “I’m lucky to have you as my mother.”

  “I love you, too. I’m so lucky you’re my daughter.” Her mother stepped away to wipe Emma’s eyes with a handkerchief. “You’re beautiful with your tears.” Her mother swallowed hard and straightened her shoulders. A duchess through and through, she called out as she glided to the door, “Your father and I will see you downstairs.”

  * * *

  The pleasant drone of the vicar buzzed around the salon. The service barely registered as Nick looked at his wife-to-be. Emma had dug in her heels about changing into a more suitable gown. It made little difference to him her dress sported grass stains from her earlier walk. She could wear a horse blanket, and he’d still see every inch of her beauty inside and out.

  With an exhale, he released the nervous energy trapped inside his chest. Vaguely, the vicar announced his name, Nicholas Armand Drake St. Mauer, the Earl of Somerton. More importantly, he was marrying Lady Emma Eliza Juliana Cavensham, a woman whose sigh had signaled her resignation. From now on, her fate and her life were irretrievably entwined with his.

  Her gaze held his as they stood beside each other. He squeezed her hand to reassure her. She wanted romance and courtship, not some hurried service her parents prayed would forestall the gossips determined to mock her. From this point forward, she was his, and he would see her protected, cherished, and most importantly—happy.

  The deep crevice between the vicar’s eyebrows warned he grew tired of the service. Nick had allowed his thoughts to wander and repeatedly had to ask the vicar to restate some parts of the vows. Emma seemed to suffer from the same affliction.

  The vicar tapped his toe as if calling both of them to attend him. “My lord, the ring?”

  “What ring?” He paid little heed to the question as all his focus was dedicated to his lovely bride.

  “My lord, we can’t continue the ceremony without the ring.” The vicar rolled his eyes and heaved a breath. “Shall I come back later?”

  Emma’s eyes grew round, and the most mischievous and effervescent smile broke across her face. It took every ounce of resolve not to pick her up and carry her out of the salon, an act declaring to the world she was his.

  She made a half turn and faced him with her back to the witnesses, namely her entire family. Her stance ensured they were in their own private world. “We can’t marry.”

  “Pardon?” His mind refused to give credence to her words.

  The humor in her eyes glistened like finely cut diamonds. “The church requires you place a ring on my finger to symbolize our union, our partnership. Where’s the ring?”

  “Exactly. Where’s the ring?” The vicar chimed in like an unruly parrot. It wouldn’t be a surprise if the man next demanded a plate of seeds.

  “A ring,” Nick repeated. A war of emotions fought to gain control, but his brain retaliated and demanded an assault head-on. “I need to give you a ring?”

  Her seductive scent wrapped around him, but other matters took precedence. How could he have forgotten? The service required he place a ring on her finger.

  “Indeed, my lord.” The delight in her answer broke a dam within him.

  A warning whispered he should proceed with caution. Without a ring, she could walk out the room, out of his life, and no one could stop her. The vicar would probably be the first to escort her so he could finish the rest of his evening in the company of someone who would actually listen to him.

  Nick bent his head to hers, but didn’t allow her to look away. This was an honest escape if she desired. He didn’t even want to contemplate the ensuing loneliness if he let her go. His father’s words once again had come home to roost and steal the sliver of happiness he’d found for his future.

  For an eternity, her gaze locked with his in a battle of wills. “This is quite a conundrum.” As he waited for her verdict, he felt heavy and stiff as if a sudden voracious fever had invaded his body.

  Emma glanced at the double doors, then back to him—the most beguiling smile lit her from within.

  Her brother, McCalpin, cleared his throat.

  Nick glanced over Emma’s head. The duke had his head bent to the duchess.

  “Emma?” The duke’s baritone voice rang through the room.

  She didn’t waste a glance at her family.

  “I’ve always subscribed to the thought that when you see an opportunity, run with it.” The corner of Emma’s mouth twitched and drew his attention to the beauty spot adjacent to her naturally red lips. “The way I see it, I have one choice. Wouldn’t you agree, my lord?”

  She was playing with him like a cat batting its prey before the kill. “My lady, I agree you
have a choice. However, the way I see it you have more than one.”

  She nodded her head and tried to appear sincere as she contemplated his answer. “I hate to disagree, but you’re wrong.”

  Behind him, her family grew restless with agitated murmurs.

  “I only have one.” She held his gaze.

  The simple declaration set off alarm bells.

  “What are they doing?” the duke demanded.

  “Sebastian, wait.” Steel threaded through the duchess’s whisper. “Allow them to work this out.”

  “What are they working out?” Pembrooke asked.

  “Lord Somerton and Lady Emma?” the vicar asked, not hiding his growing impatience.

  “I do apologize, sir.” Emma’s gaze never strayed from Nick’s as she addressed the vicar. “We won’t be much longer, but you, above all, understand the importance of this moment.”

  “Give him my ring, Alex.” Claire’s alto voice cascaded toward them.

  William finally joined the fray. “She’s leaving. Ten-to-one odds she walks out the door.”

  “Bloody hell,” growled Pembrooke. “He didn’t bring a ring?”

  The vicar humphed at Alex’s profanity.

  Emma lowered her voice. “I will marry you.”

  Nick strained to hear the soft whisper.

  “I could no more leave your side than I could fly across the moon. I gave you my promise.”

  Inside his chest, every gnarled organ relaxed.

  “I’m yours forever.” She took his left hand in hers and squeezed. “Give me your signet ring.”

  Relief pounded through him as he slipped off his seal ring, the one with the lion guarded by a shield, the Earl of Somerton crest. He took her left hand in his and placed it on her finger. The gold was still warm from his body heat. “Have I told you today that you’re brilliant?”

  “No, but that should be part of your vows. Now, pay attention.” Emma returned to her place beside him and faced the vicar.