Chapter 14

Philip pushed both doors open and marched into the church. Aaron scrambled to catch up with him as those that had already gathered in the chapel looked around in alarm at the sudden sound.

“Philip, this is a wedding, not a military drill.” Aaron’s curt voice made Philip slow his pace but only a little.

He reached the altar fast, turning on the spot as he took in every inch of the chapel.

They hadn’t even bothered with the official rehearsal the day before. Grace had come separately to talk to the priest, as he had done, for Philip didn’t want the temptation of being with Grace again before this day.

I’ve scandalized her enough as it is. Next time I touch her, we’ll be married.

In his absence from the church the day before, he was pleased to see that many of the arrangements he’d put in place had been seen to. The flowers had been placed at the ends of the pews, and the organ player sat ready at the front of the church.

Xander and Dorian stood by the doorway, ushering people to their right seats though Xander clearly took no pleasure in acting as page boy.

“Are you ready for this?” Aaron asked calmly, taking his place at Philip’s side. “Because if you are, might I suggest you stop pacing up and down?”

“Wouldn’t you pace if our roles were reversed?” Philip hissed as more people entered the chapel and made their way to their seats. He was angered to see there were more people invited to this wedding than he had hoped for. Somehow, he knew this wouldn’t have been Grace’s doing nor the Marquess of Garton’s. He fully expected, from what little he knew of Grace’s family, that it was all her mother’s doing.

“I hope never to be marched to the altar quite like this, no,” Aaron said through gritted teeth. “Need I remind you, though, that you are here out of your choice? And your doing.”

“Thank you, but I do not need reminding of what I did.” He pulled at his hair, an old habit of stress that had the habit of ruffling it when everything else in his countenance was neat and tidy.

I’ve not stopped thinking about what I have done since.

Every night this last week, he had either woken up with dreams of Grace and him in that garden or the pair of them in that carriage. The carriage dreams in particular were torturing him mostly.

The way she had pleaded with him, begged him for his touch, had been his undoing. He had a feeling that if there had been longer left on their journey, he might have given it and given her a taste of the pleasure she wanted.

She wants pleasure. She needs it.

He felt as if a demon rose inside his chest. That demon, clawing to be free, was quite determined to be the man to show her that pleasure.

“Ahem,” the priest cleared his throat.

Philip did his best to stop pacing as he turned to greet the priest.

“I believe all is ready,” the priest said. “Shall we begin?”

“She’s here?” Philip muttered, alarmed that the morning had gone so fast. “Yes. Yes, please begin.”

The priest signaled to the organist who began to play. Xander and Dorian hastily took their seats as Philip turned to look around at the pews. Grace’s mother and cousin had also appeared. They sat in the front seat, Lady Tabitha looking very nervous indeed as Lady Garton was pink cheeked and excitable, unable to contain her smile for she bounced in the pew.

The doors to the chapel opened.

Philip didn’t look at Grace at first. He was too busy glaring at Lady Garton, quite sickened by her look of triumph that her daughter was going to be a duchess.

“Look at your bride, Philip,” Aaron commanded under his breath.

Philip tore his gaze away, turning to look down the aisle.

The Marquess of Garton escorted his daughter. Wan and unable to stand straight, Philip’s heart bled for the man. Yet the Marquess of Garton was smiling despite his troubles, and he was smiling at his daughter beside him.

Philip’s eyes shot to Grace. The first thing he noticed was her scowl as she looked back at him.

Defiance. It’s who you are, Grace.

Something about this thought made that demon lodged in his chest purr pleasantly then his eyes shot further south, and his jaw fell open.

It had to be the first time he had seen Grace in such a gown. There were no frills, no high neckline, and no excessive material around the bodice to hide her figure. It was almost as if lace had been torn from her body, leaving her curves fully exposed.

The deep neckline revealed the perfect cleavage, plump and round. The empire bodice, pressed to the inward curve of her waist, accented the way the lace hugged those delicious hips. The train had been tied up in a bustle behind her back, offering even more of an emphasis to those hips.

Ah, Grace. What are you doing to me?

“Close your mouth,” Aaron urged behind him.

Philip did as he was instructed. Grace crossed toward him on her father’s arm, the embodiment of sensuality and seduction in that gown. Philip didn’t think it would be possible to tear his gaze from his new bride until he caught something out of the corner of his eyes that drew him.

Lady Garton in the front pew was alarmed indeed at the gown her daughter had chosen. She appeared to have fallen out of her seat, only held there by her niece clutching her arm.

“Thank you,” Philip whispered to Lord Garton as he placed Grace’s hand in his own.

“Good luck to you both,” Lord Garton whispered, sharing a smile with his daughter before he retreated to sit beside his wife.

Philip led Grace the final distance to the altar, standing before the priest. Unable to tear his gaze from Grace in that dress, he felt somewhat like a bumbling fool, nearly walking straight into the altar if it had not been for the priest clearing his throat beside him.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Grace whispered as the priest waited for the organ music to finish.

“Like what?” Philip whispered back to her innocently, glad no one could hear their whispers above the organ.

“As if you are ready to devour me,” she murmured. His gaze darkened as he prayed with that look that she understood it was exactly what he wanted to do.

“Dearly beloved,” the priest began, and they both did their best to shift their focus to him.

* * *

“Well, at least you managed to restrain yourself to a peck,” Dorian laughed as he passed Philip a glass of wine. “The way you were looking at her, I thought we might all be treated to another sight of scandal.”

As Xander laughed, Philip downed the glass of wine.

“Remind me why I invited you to my wedding, Dorian?” Philip asked.

“We’re family now, remember?” Dorian said with a smile.

Xander clasped Dorian’s shoulder and steered him away.

“I think it’s time we left Philip to stare at his bride across the room, don’t you?” Xander said to Dorian. “If staring is enough, of course.”

Philip glared after them, resentfully, as they both went to get more wine. The wedding breakfast was hardly the celebration he had hoped his wedding would be someday. It couldn’t be denied that around the room, he saw many people enjoying themselves. Even Grace was happy, smiling away with Eleanor beside her.

Philip caught sight of his sister’s lips framing the word, sisters. For that’s what they were now. As Grace and Eleanor embraced, Philip tore his gaze away from his bride.

They’d finished the formal sit-down breakfast. People were milling now, some taking to the small dance floor he’d had set up for the event in the ballroom with a string quarter at the far end playing lively music to accompany them.

Amongst the general clamor and excitement, Philip felt strangely distanced from it all. His eyes kept sliding back to Grace, tension rising in his body by the second.

In law, she was now his, but the deed would not be final until he had her, and he had every intention of following through on those vows just as soon as his guests left. Unfortunately, none of his guests were in a hurry to leave. It left him angsty and annoyed.

He cast a quick glance back to Grace. As she spoke happily with her friends, her mother was approaching behind her. Philip caught sight of the happy smile on Grace’s face falling, as if it had been slapped off her cheeks.

Something stirred in his gut, making the wine curdle.

Philip stepped forward, intending on stopping Lady Garton from talking to her daughter when another moved to his side.

“Your Grace, may I speak to you for a minute?”

“Lord Morton.” Philip turned to Grace’s father. The man was even paler than earlier today. “Come, sit down.” Philip gently took his arm and steered him to the nearest seat in the room. “How are you? Is there anything I can get for your relief?”

“I thank you for your kindness.” Lord Morton smiled softly. He took a handkerchief from his top pocket and dabbed his brow, clearly struggling in the heat of the room though he made no complaint. “I have requested for one of your maids to bring me tea. I shall be fine with that.”

“Good.” Philip nodded and sat beside Lord Morton. He glanced resentfully across to Lady Garton, who had managed to corner her daughter, but Philip could not turn his back on his new father-in-law when he had asked for a word. “What is it you would like to speak about?”

“My daughter.” He smiled rather sadly. “It cannot have escaped your notice how sick I am.”

Philip didn’t know what to say. He shifted uncomfortably for a second before he could think of anything.

“Is what the physician says so bad?”

“Yes.” Lord Morton didn’t hide the truth. “Grace is eager for me to get a second opinion, and I will, but if this is true, if I do not have long for this world, then I wish to part from this world knowing my daughter is taken care of.” He fixed Philip with an eager gaze. “You will do that for me, won’t you?”

“It’s my duty to provide for her. I intend to follow through on that promise.” Despite the firmness of Philip’s words, he could see that he had disappointed Lord Morton. The man’s face fell.

“I see,” he said in a rather sad tone. “That is not quite what I meant.”

“What did you mean?”

“Ah.” The Marquess looked away. “My tea has arrived. If you will excuse me, I shall go and have it.”

Philip helped the Marquess to his feet again. Lord Morton walked slowly away to meet the maid who had pulled out a small table at the far side of the room, so he could take his tea in peace.

With the Marquess’ words burning in the back of his mind, Philip looked around again, intent on finding Lady Garton and Grace. When he found Grace, he grew distracted. Grace had pulled on a tendril of her honey hair and dipped her chin an inch or two lower.

It drew his attention down to the curves of her voluptuous figure. Without knowing what to do, Philip merely gawped at her across the room.

“The whole room is abuzz about how you’re looking at your duchess as if you might eat her,” Aaron’s voice cut into his thoughts.

Philip turned to see Aaron beside him.

“In jest?”

“I never jest.” Aaron shook his head.

“What do you think of her?” Philip asked, somewhat eager for his friend’s opinion. When Aaron’s eyes raked down Grace’s figure, Philip regretted asking. “I don’t want to hear those thoughts, Aaron.”

“Calm yourself,” Aaron said with a small smile. “She’s yours now.”

Not quite yet.

He had to get her alone first for that.

“I like her,” Aaron said after a minute or so. “Strong, willful, witty. She’ll suit you. Shame about the cousin.”

“The cousin?” Philip muttered. “You’ve spoken to Lady Tabitha?”

“You could say that.”

“What do you mean by that, Aaron? Do you not like her?”

“Not at all.” Aaron chose not to elaborate anymore. “You chose the finer of the two, though, I’ll say that.” He turned away. “I see your mother is enjoying herself greatly.”

Philip’s eyes turned to his mother. She had rarely been seen out in public since she had lost her husband, preferring instead to be tucked away in the country estate they had in Dorset. Today, though, she looked very merry indeed.

“I haven’t spoken to her in years. I shall pay my respects to her for her loss.”

“Thank you, Aaron,” Philip said woodenly as his friend stepped away.

Philip’s eyes slid back to Grace when he saw exactly why her mother had approached her with such purpose. Grace had been given a slice of the wedding cake on a plate. She had the fork halfway to her lips when her mother snatched the fork from her hand.

Eleanor was so amazed that she tried to take the fork back but with little success. Next, the plate was taken from Grace’s grasp too.

That demon which had been slumbering in his chest over the wedding breakfast suddenly raged to life. It was breathing fire now as he glowered at Lady Garton.

Putting down the empty glass that was still in his grasp, Philip crossed the room toward his bride and her mother.

“Lady Garton,” Eleanor was saying pleadingly, “it’s her wedding day. When else can she enjoy her wedding cake?” She took the plate out of Lady Garton’s hand. “Grace, eat.”

“You shall not eat.” Lady Garton took it back again. “Look at you. Look at the display you are making of yourself. How could you do this to the dress we arranged for you? You have butchered it,” she seethed under her breath, no idea that Philip was now so close, he could hear every word. “Every shameful part of your figure is on show.”

“Shameful?” Philip cut in just as Grace parted her lips to say something. As he halted behind her, Grace jerked her head around to look at him. “I thought I told you I would not stand for you to talk about my wife like that, Lady Garton.”

He extended his hand toward Grace. She didn’t take it at first, apparently too dumbstruck.

“Dance?” he said huskily. She nodded then placed her hand in his.