Baron of Blasphemy (Lords of Scandal 12)

He turned on his side, leaning toward her. “I could tell. You just want more independence.”

Her fingers plucked at the covers. “I’ve told you all this already.” Then she looked up at him again. “It’s just that…” She drew in a breath. “You and I are going to be a married unit and…” She shrugged a shoulder. “I’ve told you what I want from a marriage. What is it you want?”

Well…it had been her dowry, if he were being honest. But the more time he spent with her, he was becoming increasingly obsessed with the bed sport, and then there were the possessive feelings he was developing… “These are a lot of questions for past two in the morning.”

“I’m trying to get to know you.” She rested her head on her hand, accentuating her tiny waist and the flare of her hip. “How could I ever make you happy if I don’t?”

If he hadn’t been on the floor, he might have fallen over. “Just a few hours ago, you were resisting our match with all your effort.”

“I’m in a room alone with you, there is no going back from this. Even I know that.”

Very true.

“There isn’t much to tell.” He was lying to her and to himself. “And you’ll make me happy just by marrying me.”

“Liar,” she whispered, but then she lay her head down onto her pillow. “I’ll get the truth out of you somehow.”

Chapter Seven

The next morning, Abigail looked about the simple chapel and frowned. Old wood benches that hadn’t been finished or polished in years filled the chapel, sitting on tired wood floors. The curtains had faded from what was once likely a deep red into a drab brown.

After what felt like an hour of sleep, Chad had woken her. It was still dark outside, and she’d been half asleep as he’d dressed her in an ill-fitting riding habit. Which was apparently going to be her wedding dress.

She’d been loaded into a carriage with Chad and Vanity and they’d set off in the dark. Vanity had sat across from them and her head had fallen onto Chad’s shoulder, where she’d fallen in and out of sleep.

And now…

Now she was about to get married.

She wasn’t entirely certain what town they were in.

When had they even obtained the license?

Not that it mattered. They must have had it because the priest moved about lighting candles as she stood next to Chad, her mouth still thick from sleep.

She looked down at the drab brown dress she wore, and she swallowed down the scratchy feeling in her throat. She would not cry.

Not because she was to be wed in an unknown town in an ugly dress and not because her sisters weren’t here.

She wouldn’t complain that her groom was not of her choosing and their witness, Vanity, was a man she’d known for less than twelve hours.

But as the priest handed her a bunch of wilted-looking weeds in place of an actual bouquet, her hand curled into a fist. “What’s this?”

“Early spring,” the man said as he shrugged. “It’s the best I could do.”

She shook her head and looked at Chad. So this was her marriage…

The flowers were damp at the base and water seeped into her glove, the soggy feeling summing up all her emotions. She squeezed them tighter.

She’d been ruined and this…this was the best that she could do. In flowers and in life.

Last night she’d told him that she wanted him to be happy and she still felt that way. But she wished to be happy too, and this was not even close to the wedding that would fill her heart.

Not that she needed anything excessively large or fancy, but a dress that fit and her sisters in attendance didn’t seem too much to ask. “I can’t do this.”

He clenched his jaw. “We’ve discussed this. Several times. You said yourself that a wedding was inevitable.”

“It is. But here? Now? Wearing this?” She plucked at the overly large waist of her dress. “Where did you even get this?”