Earl of Baxter (Lords of Scandal 8)

“Dressing?” he asked, wincing as he tried to rise again. Why hadn’t he thought of that? His thoughts were muddled. He swiped at his brow trying to clear his mind.

“You can’t get married without a shirt,” Logan chuckled as he raised a hand. “I’ve brought you one of mine. Yours is…in tatters.”

That made Mason chuckle, a small grin titling up the corners of his mouth as he tried to swing his legs over the bed.

“Let me help you,” Logan said, lunging toward him to catch his elbow. “Are you sure you’re up for this?”

“I’m sure,” he answered. How did he explain he was willing to spend every last bit of his energy to capture this moment? He didn’t. Which was why he took Logan’s hand and hauled himself out of the bed and onto his feet.

Logan slipped the shirt onto his arms and Mason shrugged the garment up over his shoulders. Logan’s manservant entered the room and Mason’s shoulders slumped with relief. He could use the man’s aid.

In a quarter hour they had him ready and he walked down the hall, keeping his shoulders straight. He didn’t want to give anyone an excuse to cancel this event.

As he entered the library, a vicar stood by the large windows that overlooked the garden. Next to him, stood his brother, Bash. Mason looked over at Logan and nodded a silent thank you.

The children and Penny were already there, the girls once again in their red dresses, bouncing on their heels.

They made him smile. He should like to see them grow up. But then he shook his head. Best save those thoughts for later.

A soft rustle came from the door and he turned to see Clarissa walk through the door.

His breath caught. She wore a gown of pale blue silk that brought out the creaminess of her skin and the soft blue of her eyes. The dress hugged her curves, even as her hair cascaded over one shoulder from the coif she’d used to pull it back from her face.

She looked more like the angel he envisioned her to be than she ever had before, and he could barely breathe as he stared at her. “Clarissa.” His voice came out rough and hoarse with emotion.

She crossed the room, reaching his side as she held out a hand to slip her gloved fingers into his. “Are you holding up all right?”

“Never better,” he answered, drawing her closer.

He meant the words with all his heart. With her here, he forgot the pain. His insides hummed with contentment at the sight of her. There was an ache too, but that was need. A desire to touch her, draw her close, and keep her there.

Her smile was gentle as her fingers squeezed his. “I’m so glad to hear it.”

“Are you ready to get married?” He brushed her cheek with his other hand.

“Most unusual,” the vicar muttered, shifting.

Clarissa pressed her lips together, but her eyes danced with merriment. “It is, isn’t it?” Then she loosened her fingers, sliding them up his arm until they rested in the crook of his elbow.

“I think it’s just right.”

He led her over to the vicar and the ceremony began.

The words filtered over him, passing through his mind. But as he stared at the woman he was marrying, the sight of her would stay with him until his dying day.

She was an angel.

She’d saved him once and he’d be a fool not to see that his gift of life most assuredly would end sooner rather than later.

Hadn’t his father always told him it would be so? He shook his head. He’d not think of him now. This moment was for all the happy thoughts.

“Do you take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?” The vicar’s words nearly made him jolt, he’d been so lost in his thoughts and the vision before him.

“I do.”

She was his angel now. Slowly he leaned over, partially because of the pain in his side and partially because he wished to savor the moment and kissed her.

Clarissa was his wife.