‘Verging on overkill, don’t you think?’
He followed her eyes as she glanced around. Bedecked in flowers, with the bells pealing and the world-renowned organist still playing, it was acutely apparent that no expense had been spared. Ordered—though none of it paid for—by her father, of course.
Luxurious wreaths and wide velvet ribbons hung from the magnificent, towering stone columns, while generous bouquets of calla lilies and baby’s breath decorated each and every pew filled with the four hundred or so guests.
‘Precisely how I believe you instructed it,’ Lukas replied drily.
Or perhaps, more likely, as had been instructed by some young twenty-something would-be party planner, and the Earl’s latest badly kept secret.
If he hadn’t known better, he might have thought his bride-to-be actually winced. But if she did, she caught herself quickly.
‘Of course. And the fitted lace gown, a six-foot-long train and thirty silk buttons complete with rouleau loops?’ she bit out.
‘It’s from the most sought-after designer of the moment—just as I believe you requested.’
‘Really? You believe I requested a wedding gown so tight that I had to pour myself into it and then be sewn in place?’ She couldn’t help herself; her discreet tone did nothing to disguise the barbed note to her words. ‘It leaves nothing to the imagination.’
The organist was concluding now and the bishop was preparing to deliver his address, so Lukas had to move his head even closer to her ear to ensure they weren’t heard.
Instantly he became aware that her scent—fresh and light, and not remotely cloying—was assailing his senses.
Making his body tighten all the more.
‘If you’d wanted a say in the design of your wedding dress, and if you weren’t in rehab, Lady Octavia...’ he didn’t know why he felt the need to emphasise her name just then—perhaps to keep his mind on the game? ‘...then perhaps you should have bothered to come back and deal with it, rather than spending the last few months partying and sunning yourself on one beach after the next.’
She glowered. ‘Are you guessing now?’
‘I don’t need to. Your glowing tan rather gives it away,’ he made himself say. ‘But, either way, does it matter?’
There was the briefest of pauses, as though she wanted to say something—perhaps along the lines that it mattered to her. But instead she flashed a bright smile which he couldn’t help feeling was a little too practised.
‘Of course not.’ Her smile had an edge that felt an awful lot like a blade. ‘I’ve long held the title of Sedeshire’s lost cause heiress, after all.’
‘Then all the more reason to make it a show and quell any rumours that this is some hastily arranged marriage simply because you are pregnant with my—or any other man’s—child.’
She bristled, though he suspected he was the only one close enough to spot it.
‘Does that title concern you?’ he couldn’t help himself from asking.
‘Lost cause heiress?’ Her head snapped up. ‘Of course not. I learned years ago not to care what anyone thought.’
He couldn’t have said why, but he didn’t entirely believe her.
‘And, for what it’s worth, the lace alone on your bridesmaids’ gowns took months to sew,’ Lukas added, ‘so there will be no question that this wedding took care, and planning, and time. I hope you enjoyed those last months of heady indulgence. But I should warn you, your partying lifestyle is now at an end.’
‘How very autocratic of you,’ she bit out before she could stop herself. ‘And between the intricate lace of my bridesmaids’ dresses and the tightness of this one to show that there is no baby bump concealed beneath, I’m flattered that you paid such close attention.’
‘As you should be.’
Before she could work out whether he was serious or still mocking, he flashed her a wolfish smile.
‘Perhaps, though, having you as the mother of my heir could be a wise selection. Good stock, as they say.’
He knew he would score a hit even before he said the words. There had never been any mention of heirs before, even if he couldn’t entirely explain what had made him even say it.
It seemed his bride-to-be got under his skin a little too much, but she didn’t need to know that. Neither did she need to know that he was lying about heirs; he had never had any intention of ever perpetuating his cold, damaged bloodline.
Not with a father—biologically, if nothing else—like his.