Daughter of the God-King(89)
Tenderly he placed a hand against her face, the palm completely covering her cheek. “I am very careful, Hattie.”
“I know.” She leaned into his hand. “Sorry. Sometimes I worry.”
“You needn’t,” he said gently. “I will always come home to you.”
It was shaping into her worst fear—that after having the ground cut out from beneath her with respect to every other constant in her life, she would lose him, too. Stop being maudlin, she commanded herself—you are not one of those women. Mustering a smile, she teased, “And where is home?”
“Wherever you are,” he answered easily.
Shaking her head, she pronounced, “You are the most complete hand—I can never catch you.”
“Not true—I am well and truly caught.” Rising, he came around to help her to her feet, his hands beneath her elbows. “And here is Monsieur Smithson.”
To Hattie’s surprise, Mr. Smithson indeed stood beside her, smiling happily. “My best wishes, Miss Blackhouse.”
“Thank you,” she replied, and hoped he wouldn’t notice that she was a bit unsteady on her feet. “It is indeed a relief to know at long last.”
“Shall we begin?” asked Berry.
Glancing up, Hattie noted that the innkeeper stood within the room at a small distance, his expression wooden. Before she could gather her wits to make an inquiry, however, the vicar opened his Book of Common Prayer and intoned, “Dearly beloved…”
Chapter 36
“Ooooh no,” said Hattie in an ominous tone. “I will not hold—forever hold my peace.” She then ruined the effect by hiccupping.
Drawing her arm firmly under his, Berry said to Smithson, “Continue, if you please.”
Nonplussed, the vicar addressed Berry with an apologetic air. “If the lady has an objection, I’m afraid I must desist.”
“The lady has no objection—do you, Hattie?” Berry said in a tone that brooked no argument.
“I do have an objection,” insisted Hattie, who wondered why the room was so warm. “I told him not to marry me—I am going to be his mistress, instead. You are here under false pretenses.” She smiled so as not to hurt the clergyman’s feelings.
The vicar stared at her, his brows elevated. “But—my dear, if this man wishes honorable matrimony—”
“There would be nothing honorable about it,” Hattie explained kindly.
“Hush, Hattie,” said Berry, his other hand caressing hers on his arm. To Smithson, “Please proceed.”
“Please do not,” objected Hattie with a great deal of firmness. “I am sorry for the incon—for the conven—for your trouble.”
As Smithson closed the book in some confusion, Berry drew his pistol with a smooth movement and held it at arm’s length, pointed to the vicar’s head. “You will proceed.”
Smithson gaped, speechless.
“Now look what you’ve done, Daniel—or whatever your name is,” Hattie said crossly. “A man of God, for the love of heaven.”
“Proceed,” said Berry, his voice like steel. The innkeeper stood and observed as though the events unfolding before him were completely routine.
Ashen of face, Smithson nevertheless stood upon principle. “I’m afraid I cannot proceed without the lady’s consent.”
The pistol did not waiver. “Consent, Hattie.”
She stamped her foot. “I will not. You have run mad.”
“My arm grows tired.” Berry cocked the hammer back with a click.
Hattie hit upon an impediment. “You don’t have a ring—it doesn’t count unless there is a ring.”
“Yes it does. Tell her.” He gestured with the pistol.
Swallowing, Smithson explained, “Monsieur Berry is correct—technically it makes no difference.”
“I am trying to protect you,” Hattie said in an exasperated stage whisper to the vicar. “Look alive.”
Staring down the barrel of the pistol, the officiate tried a different tack. “If I may inquire, Miss Blackhouse, what is your objection?”
Drawing her brows together, Hattie thought about it carefully—although it was hard work to concentrate. “I love him too much to let him marry me.” Realizing this did not sound like a plausible objection, she added, “It is a long and sordid story.”
The barrel of the gun within inches of his eyes, the vicar offered, “He does seem very sincere in his affections, and if you love him—”
“He is not what he seems,” she hinted darkly. “And for that matter, neither am I.”
“Hush, Hattie. Give the man your consent.”