The Wicked Wedding of Miss Ellie Vyne (29 page)

For him, now, there was only one.

Ellie Vyne. He loved her with all his heart, body, and soul. Deep inside him, a small voice whispered,
About
time
too.
He had the strangest idea it was Sophia’s voice.

“Grieves brought me up here to find a maid,” she exclaimed and gestured angrily at her skirt. For a usually perceptive woman, she was being very obtuse.

“I’m afraid there is no maid here.” He limped forward. “And I can’t get down on one knee, so we’ll have to make do.”

Her eyes widened.

He was studying her face. “Why are your lips so red?”

“My…? Well, Lady Mercy thought I should wear lip rouge, and I…James Hartley, what on earth is going on?” He heard the door to the adjoining room open behind him and knew she’d seen Parson Bentley enter.

He reached over and rubbed the color off her lips with one sweep of his thumb. “I like you and your lips just the way they were made.”

“James, we can’t—”

“Vyne, I have let you get away too many times. Now I have you where I want you at last. I am sorry I ever insulted you when you were sixteen, but I was stupid and careless. There now, I made my apology.” He reached inside his jacket and drew out the special license he’d obtained. “We can argue about it later, as I’m sure we will. But right now we’re getting married, woman.” He narrowed his gaze to her lips. “Unless, of course, you would prefer to be arrested for masquerading as the count de Bonneville and stealing the Hartley Diamonds.”

She pouted, but only for a moment. Almost immediately, her mouth opened with an argument. “Blackmail again? How typical of you, Hartley.”

“May I remind you, Vyne, you set me a challenge last summer in Brighton when you abandoned me in that maze?”

To that, she merely sighed, as if it was all too tiresome to recall.

He slid an arm around her waist. “Caught you, Miss Vyne.”

***

He was mad. Must be.

“Hartley, there is a ballroom full of prospective,
suitable
brides down there, not to mention your grandmother, who has, no doubt, vetted them all very carefully.”

“Yes. Imagine their joy when we go down and announce our ill-matched, most unlikely, and wretchedly unwise union.”

“Joy?”
She could think of another word for it.

He pulled her closer and kissed her. “I need you to hold me upright.”

“So I see.”

“Are you finally ready to be Mrs. Hartley?”

She sought desperately to make him see sense. “I’ll make a terrible wife. I’m sure we’ll never be able to agree on paint color.”

“Or names for the children.”

“I’ll make you sorry you married me. You’ll be miserable.”

“Then you’ll get your vengeance, won’t you, wretched woman?”

Oh yes. So she would.

“I deserve it,” he added softly. “Torture me every day for the rest of my life. Please.”

In any case, from the look in his eye, he was not about to let her leave that room a single woman. A very purposeful, naughty smile eased across his mouth, in full view of the parson.

“James.” She laid a hand to his shoulder. “A very strange thing happened recently. Someone bought Lark Hollow. Do you know anything about that, by chance?”

His eyes lightened. “I thought it might make a nice country retreat. It really is lovely—or it could be, if it had the right owner. The admiral can stay, and I’m making one of the rooms over just for you. With some books, a fire, and chairs with lots of cushions. And the dog, of course. All overlooking a walled garden.”

She was amazed that he remembered all that. Heart pounding, she gave in. Ellie flung both her arms around him for another kiss. He was not content with that one, but wanted another and then another.

“Thank you for my gloves.”

“Someone has to keep your hands warm.”

She gazed up into his blue eyes and feared if they did not stop now, he might get his own wicked way with her there and then. The arrangement of her hair would be spoiled, her frock probably torn, and they would be late going down to his grandmother’s ball. “You don’t mind about my real father?”

“We cannot choose our relatives, Ellie. Why did you think it would matter to me?”

“Because you’re a snob and a Hartley.”

“And you leap to conclusions, like all women.”

“I believe I had every reason to assume—”

“You abandoned me rather than give me a chance to prove you wrong.”

“For pity’s sake, what else could I do?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Explain everything and let me help you? I suppose that’s too simple.”

“Help me? As well as you help yourself? Good Lord!”

“Kiss me, wench. I’ve missed our quarrels.”

So she kissed him again, a gentle, lingering caress. “It seems my father chose to leave rather than take the post you offered.”

“I thought he might.”

“You’re very clever. Much cleverer than you look.”

“A compliment, Vyne?” She was surprised and charmed to witness a slight sunset flush color his cheek. “Are you feverish?” he exclaimed. “You know I’m the stupidest person you ever met. An utter wastrel.”

Perhaps she had better not tell him she knew about his charitable work, just yet.

She chuckled. “Rafe must come and live with us. He’d love Lark Hollow. It’s close enough to visit Sophie and his uncle as often as he likes.”

James nodded slowly. “If you agree.”

“Of course. He is your son.” Ellie had very few judgmental bones in her body. How could she afford any? And she had a feeling—a very certain feeling—that Rafe would have a little brother or sister before another Christmas came. “James Hartley,” she said, suddenly somber, “you found your purpose finally.”

He raised an inquiring eyebrow.

“To make me happy. All the time.”

“I can only try.” He winked, a little twinkle in his eye. “You’re ready then, Vyne, to marry this despicable rake?”

Now that the moment was upon her, it didn’t seem nearly as terrifying as it had before. It wasn’t a wedding with orange blossoms and thrown rice, but then nothing about their courtship had been usual. Feeling brave, she tucked her arm under his good one. “Lean on me.” They’d get through it together. He couldn’t do without her, poor fellow. It was a very good thing she was there to love him.

***

A short while later it was done.

“Well, my darling wife, are we ready to announce our wicked wedding to the world?”

She opened the door. “Ready when you are. We’ll face the scandal together.”

He looked down at her, and just before they stepped out into the hall, he whispered, “I can’t think of any scandal I’d rather have. I love you, Mrs. Hartley.”

The notorious Ellie Vyne Hartley beamed up at him. “I knew that, of course. I just had to make you see it, didn’t I? Sooner or later you’d find your way and follow me out of that maze.”

Music and perfume drifted upward on a swell of warm air from the ballroom below. For a breath they hovered on the threshold, and then, on the count of three, tearing their gazes finally away from each other, they stepped through the open door and into a new beginning for them both. Together.

I’d like to thank Aubrey Poole for her terrific editing and all the folks at Sourcebooks for believing in me as a writer.

Jayne Fresina sprouted up in England, the youngest in a family of four daughters. Entertained by her father’s colorful tales of growing up in the countryside, and surrounded by opinionated sisters—all with far more exciting lives than hers—she’s always had inspiration for her beleaguered heroes and unstoppable heroines.

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