A Momentary Marriage(15)

chapter 6


Laura wore black to her wedding. With her father dead only two weeks, she was still in mourning. James cast a sardonic glance down her dress and leaned in to murmur, “How appropriate. Practical, as well—you can use it again for the funeral.”

Laura sent him a quelling look and turned to the vicar. The best way to deal with James’s goading remarks was not to answer. It felt very strange to stand beside James like this, linking her life to his . . . and even stranger to know that it would not last long. It was hard to reconcile this tall, commanding man with the idea that life was slipping away from him.

She glanced up at James, and he turned his head to her. It was hard to tell what he thought; his gaze seemed always assessing. Even harder to guess what he might feel. He must feel something, despite his careless dismissal of emotion.

When they came to the point in the ceremony where James was to put a ring upon her hand, Laura realized he would not have one, given how impulsive the decision had been. But she had misjudged him, for he took her hand in his and pulled a ring from his pocket. Three blood-red rubies were set into the gold circle, separated by two diamonds.

James slid the ring along her finger, the cool metal caressing her skin. Her stomach fluttered at his touch. The tumult inside her grew even worse as his words followed, twining all through her: “With this ring I thee wed, with my body I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow.”

James raised his head as he finished, his eyes glinting, as though he knew the sensations that ran through her and was faintly amused by them. When the vicar pronounced them man and wife and said to kiss the bride, Laura’s stomach jumped. She had not considered this, either.

He cupped her face with his free hand, and Laura wondered wildly if he thought he must hold her in place to keep her from avoiding him. He bent toward her, and she closed her eyes, maddeningly aware that she was trembling. His lips touched hers, soft and warm, and her heart began to slam in her chest. But he did not linger, just lifted his head and gazed down into her eyes for a moment.

He drew back, keeping his fingers interlaced with hers as they walked up the aisle. Laura wasn’t sure whether he did it to annoy her or to conceal the faint trembling that had begun in his hand. It was odd indeed to have any part of her flesh against the skin of this man, whom a week ago she would have said she disliked. Yet it stirred a curious sense of excitement in her, as well.

He did not speak until they were at the carriage. There he bowed slightly as he handed her up into the vehicle. “Lady de Vere.”

Laura drew in a little skipping breath. She was no longer Laura Hinsdale, but this man’s wife. Unreal as it all seemed, her life had changed in an instant. Forever.

“Regrets already?” That eyebrow lifted, inciting the familiar spurt of irritation in her.

It occurred to Laura that he did it for exactly that reason—to ignite a flash of temper, however small. In the next moment, she understood why. It was to deflect her attention from him, a quick and easy distraction.

“No. Simply absorbing the fact.” She refused to let him draw her. What, she wondered, did he want her not to see in him? She took in the pinched lines at the corner of his mouth, the dull pain in his eyes. The ceremony, however short the vicar had made it, had taken a toll on him. His hand was trembling more, and he thrust it into the pocket of his jacket.

“I must spend a few minutes at the house before we go on,” she told him. “To change into my carriage dress.”

Was that a faint glimpse of relief in his expression? “Very well.”

He followed her into the house and settled down in the parlor with Demosthenes. Laura changed into a dress better suited for traveling, then slipped into the kitchen to make tea. Minutes later, she reentered the parlor, carrying a tray laden with teapot, cups, and scones.

James, who had been leaning back in the wing chair, opened his eyes. “Now it’s tea?”

“I was too nervous this morning to eat.” She was getting the hang of dealing with him. “I was sure you would not mind.”

“Naturally.” His voice was heavy with irony.

“Try one of these scones. My neighbor brought them this morning as a farewell gesture. They’re quite delicious.”

He broke off a piece and began to eat. “I didn’t realize you were such a managing sort. Perhaps I should have inquired before I proposed.”

“Probably a wise idea,” she agreed blandly, not rising to his jab, as she set a scone on the hearth for Dem. “I fear I’m unlikely to change now. I’ve been at it for years; Papa, you see, usually had his mind on more important things than food or billing his patients.”