Say Yes to the Marquess(32)

Happy. Joyful. Even laughing. Having the time of her life.

But Rafe wasn’t getting married.

And Clio was not going to be his bride.

“What time is it?” Phoebe asked. “Mr. Montague, will you check your pocket watch?”

“I . . . er . . .”

Bruiser looked down at the flashy watch fob where it disappeared into his pocket. Rafe would wager it wasn’t attached to a timepiece of any sort.

Rafe pulled out his own watch and opened it. “It’s seventeen minutes past two.”

Phoebe nodded. “You should have the wedding at eighteen minutes past two.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, kitten.” Daphne gave her younger sister a pinch. “No one has a wedding at two o’clock, much less eighteen minutes past. Whyever would they do that?”

“Wait a minute,” Phoebe replied. “You’ll see.”

No sooner had she said this than a shaft of light pierced the stained-­glass window above the altar. A column of luminous, breathtaking gold enveloped Clio in its warmth. Her fair hair gleamed. Her skin glowed. Her blue eyes had the depth and richness of lapis. Even the stupid lace tablecloth was transformed into a thing of delicate beauty.

“Cor,” Bruiser said, forgetting his Montague role completely. “I did promise dazzle, didn’t I?”

Rafe didn’t know about Clio, but he was dazzled.

He was dazzled to his bones.

“What is it?” Clio looked around at them. “You’re all staring. Have I grown a second head?”

“No,” Daphne said, sounding uncharacteristically genuine and kind. “Not at all. Oh, Clio, you’re lovely.”

“Lovelier,” Bruiser corrected.

“Loveliest.” The word was out before Rafe had time to consider it.

He wouldn’t take it back if he could. She was, quite simply, the loveliest thing he’d seen in years. Perhaps in all his life.

“Me?” She laughed and touched her tablecloth veil. “In this?”

Everyone hastened to assure her it was the truth.

“You should see yourself,” Rafe said. “You’re . . .”

He couldn’t find any words to describe it. He hoped the look in his eyes would convey the message. When a man admired a woman this intensely . . . surely it must be palpable.

Her eyes warmed. One corner of her lips lifted. And then, as if he’d called it into being, a wash of pink touched her cheeks.

Thank God. He hadn’t seen that blush since yesterday. He’d missed it.

“Really?” she whispered.

“Found it!” Cambourne came jogging into the chapel, breathless and looking smug. As always. “I knew there had to be one in this place somewhere. Took me all morning searching, and even straight through luncheon, but I finally found one.”

“One what, Teddy?” his wife asked.

The man held up a finger in a signal to wait, then disappeared for a moment. When he returned, he did so slowly. And with a great deal of scraping, clanking racket.

“It’s a ball and chain, see?” He laughed, demonstrating the clamshell shackle and rattling the iron links. “Now that’s what this wedding’s missing.”

And there—­in the space of a moment—­any small progress they’d made toward dazzling the bride disappeared.

“Have no fear, dumpling,” Cambourne said. “We won’t let him get away.”

Thank you, Sir Teddy Cambourne. You obnoxious prig.

“A ball and chain,” Clio said. “How amusing.”

She was forcing a laugh to be polite. Because she was kind, and she wouldn’t want anyone to feel slighted. Even the man who’d just slighted her.

The earth had turned, and the shaft of sunlight had moved on, leaving her looking pale and small, draped in a tablecloth and clutching a soggy bouquet.

Rafe was furious. The brute in him was rising. He wanted to shake Bruiser, punch that smirking fop Cambourne in the jaw, throw Clio over his shoulder, and carry her somewhere else. Somewhere far away from all these fools who paid more attention to malicious gossips and scandal sheets than to the obvious loveliness—­inside and out—­of their own sister.

But none of that would help his cause.

She’d only given him a week to convince her. He couldn’t risk changing the subject. But if there was going to be any bridal excitement generated, it wasn’t going to happen like this.

His only alternative was clear.

“I have to leave.” With a curt bow to the ladies, he turned to make his exit. “Mind the dog while I’m gone,” he told Bruiser.

“You’re going?” Clio called after him. “Will we see you at dinner?”

He didn’t turn around. “No. I have business in London. I’ll be leaving at once.”