The Mark of a Rogue (Scandalous Sons 2)

Cavanagh snatched his glass of brandy from the table and drained the contents. “Forgive me, Trent. I did not wish to ruin your nuptials, but the situation cannot be helped.”

“Who the devil are you marrying?” Wycliff asked incredulously.

Cavanagh breathed another weary sigh. “Lady Cassandra Mills.”

Stunned, Lawrence struggled to form a coherent word.

“Cassandra Mills? But she hates you.” Wycliff shook his head. “Why would she agree to marry you knowing her father will disown her? Hell, your father must be jumping for joy at the prospect of his illegitimate son marrying into such a prestigious family.”

Lawrence continued to gape. Their battle with the Brethren must have muddled his friend’s mind. It was the only logical explanation he could muster.

“She has little choice in the matter.” Cavanagh stood. He strode to the drinks tray and sloshed brandy into his glass. “After the shocking event near the Serpentine, it’s marry me, or marry no one. Either way, it will be the biggest scandal of the season.”

Cavanagh remained at the drinks tray. He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, muttered to himself in between swallowing mouthfuls of liquor.

Sensing Lawrence’s anxiety, Verity touched his arm and whispered, “I doubt things are as dire as they seem.”

Lawrence turned to the beautiful woman at his side who always tried to make the best of dreadful situations. “They despise one another. What basis is that for a marriage?”

“No basis at all,” Cavanagh replied.

“Then what the hell happened to make you drop to your knees and place your neck on the executioner’s block?”

With slumped shoulders, Cavanagh returned to his seat. “It all began with the letter I received two days ago.” By the time he had finished the incredulous tale, they were rendered mute—dumbfounded.

The silence grew mournful while they contemplated Cavanagh’s sorry fate. He had every opportunity to punish the chit and yet he had chosen honour over vengeance.

“What’s the worst that can happen?” Cavanagh eventually said though Lawrence suspected the copious amounts of brandy had helped rouse his optimism. “We’ll live separately. She can take a lover. I shall have no objection.”

Lawrence shook his head. He wanted to grab his friend by his cravat and shake sense into his addled brain. “And nothing can dissuade you from this foolhardy course?”

“Nothing.”

They continued to sit in silence.

Lawrence pulled out his pocket watch and checked the time. This was his wedding day, yet it felt as if they were sitting at a wake. He decided to risk going home, and so stood. “Are we permitted to attend the nuptials?” He took Verity’s hand and drew her to her feet.

Cavanagh nodded. “We’re marrying at ten tomorrow at Lord Mill’s house in Cavendish Square.”

“We’ll be there, but now I wish to take my wife home.” For today, he would push his friend’s problem from his mind and focus on worshipping the only woman in the world who had ever truly loved him.

After minutes spent hearing Cavanagh’s repeated apology for ruining the celebrations, Verity hugged their glum friend and told him life had a way of bringing happiness if only he might learn to open his heart.

The comment was wasted on Cavanagh who at present looked like he would rather marry Mrs Crandall than Cassandra Mills.

It was three in the afternoon when they returned to Manchester Square to a line of staff all waiting to offer their congratulations. One mischievous wink from Mrs Henderson told Lawrence that they had finished creating the romantic scene in the garden.

“Don’t worry about Mr Cavanagh,” Verity said, as the staff resumed their duties, and they handed the butler their hats and gloves. “I suspect he’s not being totally honest with himself when it comes to his feelings for Lady Mills.”

Lawrence frowned. “Trust me. When they’re together in a room, the air vibrates with a volatile tension.” He didn’t want to think of his friend suffering for the unfortunate nature of his birth. “We will see what tomorrow brings. For now, let us focus on our happiness. There’s something I want to show you.”

Verity’s eyes widened as he claimed her hand and drew her along the hall. “The last time you insisted on showing me something, I recall a rather passionate encounter in the study.”

Lawrence smiled at the memory. “And I can promise more of the same. Indeed, it is your fondness for watching me strip naked outdoors that led me to plan something eventful for our first night as husband and wife.”

“Something eventful?” she repeated, slightly breathless. “Such as what?”

“Wait and see.”