replies softly, tonelessly, and when the time came, she slipped the white glove from her left hand and let him take her pale, work-roughened fingers in his brown ones again. “With this ring...” she heard Lord Chadwick say, and he touched the tip of her thumb with a wide gold band that was warm with his body heat. “In the name of the Father...” He moved it to her index finger. “... and of the Son...” Middle finger ... and of the Holy Ghost.” Now he was slipping the band down over the knuckle of her ring finger, to the place where it would remain forever. “Amen,” he said, and his hand tightened possessively over hers.
He rose from his knees in one lithe movement, drawing her up after him. She still kept her eyes resolutely downcast until she heard him mutter in a commanding undertone, “Look at me, Ginevra.” Slowly, shyly, she peeked up through her lashes, and as she did he lifted the lace veil away from her face, and she could see him clearly for the first time. The sheltering mist vanished from her mind as if burned away by the fire leaping in his eyes, and their gazes locked, jewel-bright, blue and gold. She stood mesmerized, unconscious of anything but the man towering over her, until one corner of his stern mouth twitched and he murmured, “Well, little Ginnie?” And sliding his large hands around her slender neck so that his fingertips caressed her nape and his thumbs traced the delicate line of her jaw, he bent to kiss her.
To her surprise his mouth was firm yet gentle, urging rather than demanding her response, and as her lips began to move under his in this, her first kiss, she quivered, stunned by the unsuspected sensations he was arousing in her. By the time he raised his head she was breathless, her face flushed with wonder, and, oddly reluctant to break contact, quite involuntarily she reached up her hand to stroke the hard line of his mouth. Someone in the congregation suddenly sobbed with pent-up emotion. Chadwick, wryly aware of the enrapt eyes concentrated on them, caught Ginevra’s fingertips in his own and kissed them lightly before tucking her arm under his. “Later, my love,” he whispered as the reedy organ gasped out the opening chord of the recessional, and Ginevra’s astonished delight at the endearment was tempered by the knowledge that his voice sounded amused and somehow triumphant.
When the Chadwick coach finally climbed out of the lambent Kennet Valley and crossed southward into the shady forests of Hampshire, Ginevra gratefully pulled back the russet leather curtain from the window to allow the cool breeze to fill the interior of the carriage and play over her flushed cheeks. She peered out the window behind to see if she could catch a glimpse of the baggage coach that followed with Emma, the marquess’s valet, and the luggage. When she did not see it, she settled against the cushion with a sigh, and beside her her husband asked solicitously, “Are you weary, my dear?”
She turned to smile from beneath the stiff brim of her hat. “I am a little tired, my lord, but mostly I am overwarm.”
“Of course you are,” he agreed, although he seemed personally unaffected by the heat. “This afternoon is exceptionally sultry. Why don’t you remove that very fetching bonnet and rest awhile? We still have two or more hours to travel before we reach Queenshaven.” Even as he spoke he began loosening the jaunty yellow bow tied just under Ginevra’s left ear, and with a moue of relief she massaged her nape and smoothed the damp honey-toned tendrils that had escaped from her heavy chignon. Before he set it on the seat opposite them, Lord Chadwick perused the bonnet, a confection of lacy woven straw and sun-colored ribbons. “My compliments to your milliner,” he said with the air of a connoisseur. “Is this French? Never tell me it was crafted by some village seamstress!”
Ginevra shrugged. “No, of course not. It came from London. Papa contracted with a woman called
He rose from his knees in one lithe movement, drawing her up after him. She still kept her eyes resolutely downcast until she heard him mutter in a commanding undertone, “Look at me, Ginevra.” Slowly, shyly, she peeked up through her lashes, and as she did he lifted the lace veil away from her face, and she could see him clearly for the first time. The sheltering mist vanished from her mind as if burned away by the fire leaping in his eyes, and their gazes locked, jewel-bright, blue and gold. She stood mesmerized, unconscious of anything but the man towering over her, until one corner of his stern mouth twitched and he murmured, “Well, little Ginnie?” And sliding his large hands around her slender neck so that his fingertips caressed her nape and his thumbs traced the delicate line of her jaw, he bent to kiss her.
To her surprise his mouth was firm yet gentle, urging rather than demanding her response, and as her lips began to move under his in this, her first kiss, she quivered, stunned by the unsuspected sensations he was arousing in her. By the time he raised his head she was breathless, her face flushed with wonder, and, oddly reluctant to break contact, quite involuntarily she reached up her hand to stroke the hard line of his mouth. Someone in the congregation suddenly sobbed with pent-up emotion. Chadwick, wryly aware of the enrapt eyes concentrated on them, caught Ginevra’s fingertips in his own and kissed them lightly before tucking her arm under his. “Later, my love,” he whispered as the reedy organ gasped out the opening chord of the recessional, and Ginevra’s astonished delight at the endearment was tempered by the knowledge that his voice sounded amused and somehow triumphant.
When the Chadwick coach finally climbed out of the lambent Kennet Valley and crossed southward into the shady forests of Hampshire, Ginevra gratefully pulled back the russet leather curtain from the window to allow the cool breeze to fill the interior of the carriage and play over her flushed cheeks. She peered out the window behind to see if she could catch a glimpse of the baggage coach that followed with Emma, the marquess’s valet, and the luggage. When she did not see it, she settled against the cushion with a sigh, and beside her her husband asked solicitously, “Are you weary, my dear?”
She turned to smile from beneath the stiff brim of her hat. “I am a little tired, my lord, but mostly I am overwarm.”
“Of course you are,” he agreed, although he seemed personally unaffected by the heat. “This afternoon is exceptionally sultry. Why don’t you remove that very fetching bonnet and rest awhile? We still have two or more hours to travel before we reach Queenshaven.” Even as he spoke he began loosening the jaunty yellow bow tied just under Ginevra’s left ear, and with a moue of relief she massaged her nape and smoothed the damp honey-toned tendrils that had escaped from her heavy chignon. Before he set it on the seat opposite them, Lord Chadwick perused the bonnet, a confection of lacy woven straw and sun-colored ribbons. “My compliments to your milliner,” he said with the air of a connoisseur. “Is this French? Never tell me it was crafted by some village seamstress!”
Ginevra shrugged. “No, of course not. It came from London. Papa contracted with a woman called
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