The Scandalous Lady Sandford (Lost Ladies of London 3)

“Did you not tell me once that wild roses were your flower of choice?” He brought the posy to his nose and inhaled. “Did you not say you found the scent uplifting?”

He remembered.

Lillian’s heart thumped against her ribs. He’d gone riding just to find her flowers? “I did.”

Fabian handed her the posy. “The rose looks fair, but fairer we it deem—”

“For that sweet odour which doth in it live,” she said, completing the line from Shakespeare’s sonnet. Her fingers trembled as she accepted the small bouquet.

He stepped closer. “A person’s inner worth enhances their outward beauty.” His voice came in a soft, seductive whisper. “The rose is more beautiful because of its sweet scent. Equally, a woman’s compassionate heart only adds to her appeal.”

The words washed over her like the sun’s warm rays. Still, when it came to displays of sentiment, she knew enough of men to err on the side of caution. “Is that your way of thanking me for helping you?”

“If I wanted to thank you, I would have simply said the words.”

“So you’re saying you admire my kind heart?” Her voice carried a hint of amusement. Compliments were hard to swallow.

“I am saying you’re more beautiful to me because of it.”

The comment robbed her of breath. Despite every effort, she couldn’t help but gulp in air.

Fabian smiled. “Perhaps you’re not used to men being so direct. But I speak the truth, Lillian. You’ve always known that.” He stepped back, shrugged out of his greatcoat and handed the garment to Mackenzie who placed it in the cart.

She half expected to see him in a loose shirt and creased breeches, but the sight of him caused desire to unfurl like the first bud of spring. Dressed in a dark blue coat, starched cravat and gold embroidered waistcoat, the Raven looked every bit a lord of the London ballrooms. With his hair tied back in a queue, he still possessed the roguish air of a pirate. It was a look she couldn’t help but find appealing.

“Now, I believe we’ve kept the reverend waiting long enough.” He bowed gracefully and gestured to the path leading up to the church door. “Shall we?”

The last time she’d agreed to be a man’s wife it ended in disaster, ruination and a broken heart that would never fully heal. Lillian had been to Hell, looked into the Devil’s black eyes, felt the scorching flames sear her skin as he branded her a whore.

Though Lord Ravenscroft had committed numerous sins, he was by no means a devil. Somewhere there was good in him. Was the sweet posy in her hand not testament to that?

Chapter Six

All chattering ceased when Fabian entered the small stone church that had stood on the clifftop for centuries. His men had patched the holes in the roof, chased away the bats and rebuilt the dry-stone wall. Over the years, many people had stood at the altar and exchanged vows. No doubt few had used bribery and coercion to woo the bride.

A sudden pang of guilt hit him hard in the chest.

He was the worst of rogues. He knew that. But Lillian would have a better life with him than the one she presently had in London. No one wanted to be the subject of scandalous gossip. No lady should have to look to the gutter for a suitor. In that respect, Lillian needed saving almost as much as Estelle.

Fabian bit back a chuckle as he strode down the aisle. Huddled together in the box pews, the doors draped in pretty rose garlands, sat twenty or more of the toughest sailors ever to sail the seas.

Had this been St George’s in Hanover Square, the throng would smile and nod politely, not jeer, wink and offer wide toothless grins. Still, these loyal, hardworking men had helped him make his fortune, and Fabian would be forever in their debt.

“Bet girls in every port are weeping into their aprons today,” one of them muttered as Fabian walked past. “Who’d have thought to see his lordship wed?”

“Happen his betrothed is a siren. Who else can lure a sane man from a calm sea to a rocky shore?”

“Isn’t a siren half woman, half bird?”

“All the more reason why she’s marrying the Raven.”

Fabian paid them no heed as he stood before the reverend at the altar, his hands clasped behind his back. Sailors told tales and invented stories to relieve the monotony of spending endless months at sea. Besides, how could he offer a witty reply when his tongue felt thick and clumsy? How could he contradict them when he feared Lillian Sandford did possess a magical ability to make a man lose his mind?

The church door creaked open. Nancy Hill and the rest of the women slipped inside, offering whispered apologies as they shuffled into one of the box pews. Ursula smiled and raised a teasing brow. Thank the Lord he’d declined every offer she’d made

to warm his bed. The woman had been persistent in her methods, but Fabian would never disrespect his position or his staff.

“I trust the bride is on her way, my lord?” The Reverend Sykes sneezed into his handkerchief and wiped his nose ten times despite the surrounding skin being red and raw. The fellow suffered from every ailment known to man. Gout in his toe made standing a painful affair. “Old buildings are a curse when one has a weak constitution.”