acquire. Amazing the paths life took. He had once been known as London’s most notorious rake. Now he was seriously contemplating marriage to a bluestocking reformer. But he could do worse. Much worse. His gaze moved slowly over the sculpted curves of her body beneath her shimmering gown, the flaming richness of her hair, the perfection of her delicate features. Even in the heat of anger, she was lovely.
And then there was the matter of Lazarus.
Lazarus.
If marrying Julia Prentisse meant finding the man who had set his servants’ quarters ablaze, it was well worth the cost — any cost.
That decided, he rose abruptly to his feet. “Your address?”
When the question drew nothing but a blank stare, he prompted, “Your uncle’s address?”
Her eyes widened with startled disbelief, then she gave him the location.
“Very good.” He gave a tight nod. “You may inform him I’ll be paying a call tomorrow morning.”
“Does this mean…”
He paused at the door and turned back. “Don’t sell the gowns. The pale green would be a very suitable choice for our wedding ceremony.”
CHAPTER THREE
Her hand was trembling. Julia tried to control her reaction, but it seemed the more she focused on that quivering appendage, the more it seemed to shake. Morgan St. James had to be aware of her reaction — he was holding her hand, after all — but his expression indicated little interest or concern for the precarious state of her emotions.
“With this ring I thee wed,” he said. His voice conveyed the same level of emotional intensity one might hear if reading aloud a bill of lading.
At the minister’s nod he slid a thick gold band onto the fourth finger of her left hand. Centered in the band was a dazzling, square-cut sapphire wreathed by glittering diamonds.
Julia’s mind reeled with disbelief. A wedding ring. It was all happening so quickly. Less than a week had passed since their initial meeting, yet in that time Morgan had operated with brisk efficiency, meeting her uncle to obtain his permission for their nuptials, securing a special license for their betrothal, locating a church in which the ceremony could be performed, and making arrangements with a minister to officiate.
Despite the discretion with which Morgan had moved, rumors had nevertheless flown throughout London that the Beast was about to take a bride. The church was packed with gossips and curiosity-seekers, all of whom had come to witness for themselves an event that was being touted as the spectacle of the year.
“With all my worldly goods I thee endow,” he continued evenly. “With my body I thee worship.”
His words echoed off the church walls, rebounding all around them.
Julia’s hand shook even harder. Morgan St. James. Was it true what people said about him? She gazed at the long fingers that held her in his grip. The skin there was taut, deeply scarred, red and angry. Did the rest of his body look the same? A shudder tore through her at the thought. For a moment the urge to run was so overpowering, she almost succumbed to the impulse to flee the church. Morgan must have somehow divined her shameful thoughts, for in that instant his mouth tightened to a grim line, and he loosened his hold on her hand.
Startled, she lifted her eyes to his. He looked icily remote, as though the question of whether she fled — leaving him alone at the altar with more than a hundred spectators to witness his humiliation — or stayed to become his wife was one of supreme indifference to him.
Julia became dimly aware that the minister was asking her a question. She tore her attention away from Morgan to focus on the words being spoken. Would she take him for her lawfully wedded husband? Her silence lasted perhaps only a second or two, yet as she held Morgan’s gaze, it seemed to stretch out between them into infinity.
She took a deep breath, and then answered in a soft voice that sounded completely unlike her own, “I will.”
The remainder of
And then there was the matter of Lazarus.
Lazarus.
If marrying Julia Prentisse meant finding the man who had set his servants’ quarters ablaze, it was well worth the cost — any cost.
That decided, he rose abruptly to his feet. “Your address?”
When the question drew nothing but a blank stare, he prompted, “Your uncle’s address?”
Her eyes widened with startled disbelief, then she gave him the location.
“Very good.” He gave a tight nod. “You may inform him I’ll be paying a call tomorrow morning.”
“Does this mean…”
He paused at the door and turned back. “Don’t sell the gowns. The pale green would be a very suitable choice for our wedding ceremony.”
CHAPTER THREE
Her hand was trembling. Julia tried to control her reaction, but it seemed the more she focused on that quivering appendage, the more it seemed to shake. Morgan St. James had to be aware of her reaction — he was holding her hand, after all — but his expression indicated little interest or concern for the precarious state of her emotions.
“With this ring I thee wed,” he said. His voice conveyed the same level of emotional intensity one might hear if reading aloud a bill of lading.
At the minister’s nod he slid a thick gold band onto the fourth finger of her left hand. Centered in the band was a dazzling, square-cut sapphire wreathed by glittering diamonds.
Julia’s mind reeled with disbelief. A wedding ring. It was all happening so quickly. Less than a week had passed since their initial meeting, yet in that time Morgan had operated with brisk efficiency, meeting her uncle to obtain his permission for their nuptials, securing a special license for their betrothal, locating a church in which the ceremony could be performed, and making arrangements with a minister to officiate.
Despite the discretion with which Morgan had moved, rumors had nevertheless flown throughout London that the Beast was about to take a bride. The church was packed with gossips and curiosity-seekers, all of whom had come to witness for themselves an event that was being touted as the spectacle of the year.
“With all my worldly goods I thee endow,” he continued evenly. “With my body I thee worship.”
His words echoed off the church walls, rebounding all around them.
Julia’s hand shook even harder. Morgan St. James. Was it true what people said about him? She gazed at the long fingers that held her in his grip. The skin there was taut, deeply scarred, red and angry. Did the rest of his body look the same? A shudder tore through her at the thought. For a moment the urge to run was so overpowering, she almost succumbed to the impulse to flee the church. Morgan must have somehow divined her shameful thoughts, for in that instant his mouth tightened to a grim line, and he loosened his hold on her hand.
Startled, she lifted her eyes to his. He looked icily remote, as though the question of whether she fled — leaving him alone at the altar with more than a hundred spectators to witness his humiliation — or stayed to become his wife was one of supreme indifference to him.
Julia became dimly aware that the minister was asking her a question. She tore her attention away from Morgan to focus on the words being spoken. Would she take him for her lawfully wedded husband? Her silence lasted perhaps only a second or two, yet as she held Morgan’s gaze, it seemed to stretch out between them into infinity.
She took a deep breath, and then answered in a soft voice that sounded completely unlike her own, “I will.”
The remainder of
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