Page 83 of The Dangerous Lord

“Leave a man at the altar?” Damn. He hadn’t meant to say that. It made it seem possible. But it wasn’t. Felicity would never act impulsively when her brothers’ futures were at stake.

Then again, she always surprised him. What if this was a particularly nasty surprise? God knows it would be what he deserved for his overbearing behavior. He rubbed his temples with unsteady hands. The drummer in his head had been joined by a cymbal player and a very enthusiastic trumpeter.

Jordan came to his side. “I suspect that if you asked, the vicar could produce a flask of spirits. Shall I fetch him? You look as if you could use liquid reinforcement.”

He shouldn’t have invited his friends. In truth, he hadn’t expected them to hurry to London on such short notice for his wedding, especially since Sara and Gideon had just left here. But they’d come, and now they would bear witness to his humiliation.

“No, it’s just a headache,” he lied, unable to meet his friend’s eyes. “It’s plagued me for two days.” Ever since he’d made the idiotic mistake of trying to force a certain stubborn female into marriage.

“You shan’t improve it by stickin’ your head out in that nasty cold air,” Mrs. Box put in. “Why don’t you come away from the window before you catch an ague?”

Ian shot her a dire glance. “Mrs. Box, if this wedding actually takes place and you enter my employ, you and I must have a lengthy discussion concerning your bad habit of lecturing your master.”

“I’m only tryin’ to be useful,” she said with a sniff.

“‘Useful’ and ‘annoying’ are two distinctly different things. At the moment, you’re more the latter than the former.”

“Ian,” Jordan interrupted, leaning out the window, “isn’t that her?”

Already half-resigned she wasn’t coming, Ian pivoted to brace his hands on the sill and look out once more. A gig pulled up below with two women in it. The passenger was Felicity, to be sure. He let out a long breath. Then he sucked in another as he recognized the driver, whose serviceable wool gown he’d paid for himself.

Bloody hell, he was in trouble now. Why in God’s name had Felicity brought her to the wedding?

“Who’s the woman with Miss Taylor?” Jordan asked.

Ian grimaced. “My ‘friend’ from Waltham Street.”

Jordan’s silence amply demonstrated that he could guess the significance of that. So could Ian. Felicity could have only one reason for bringing Miss Greenaway here. His jealous fiancée probably intended to throw his “mistress” up in his face. Though it astonished him that Miss Greenaway had agreed to the scheme. She must not have realized what Felicity intended.

The icy air swirling into the chilly vestibule matched the ice caking his heart as he watched Felicity leap from the gig. She paused to speak to Miss Greenaway. Then to his astonishment, she turned and walked to the steps as Miss Greenaway drove off in the gig.

What the⁠—

He headed for the door at once. His soon-to-be wife would explain this to him or by God, he’d take her over his knee.

Mrs. Box hurried after him. “Wait, milord!” she said as she caught his arm. “‘Tis bad luck for the groom to see the bride before the wedding!”

“There won’t be a wedding if I don’t talk to her now.” Shaking off the woman’s hand, he opened the door to the vestibule as Felicity reached the top step. “You’re late.”

Her head shot up and she halted so abruptly she nearly lost her balance. Reaching out, he caught her by the arm to steady her.

“Ian! Yes, I am ... I didn’t mean to be, but ... Good Lord, have you been standing there long?”

“Half an hour. And yes, I saw you drive up with Miss Greenaway.”

In the ethereal paleness of her face, her eyes shone dark and mysterious as the sea. “It’s not what you think⁠—”

“You don’t want to know what I think, I assure you.” He hauled her inside the vestibule, then turned to find Jordan and Mrs. Box regarding him uneasily, like edgy members of a Greek tragedy chorus. He leveled a black look on both. “Jordan, go tell the vicar the wedding will begin shortly, and fetch James, since he’s giving Felicity away. Mrs. Box, join Sara and Emily in the choir room. Tell them Felicity will be there in a moment to dress.”

When the housekeeper hesitated, shooting Felicity an anxious glance, Felicity said, “It’s all right. Go on. I need to speak to Ian alone.”

Her calm tone only further agitated his temper. As soon as the others disappeared, he faced her with a scowl. “Well? What explanation can you possibly have for this?”

“I’m truly sorry I’m late, but we were talking and the time slipped away⁠—”

“You know very well I’m not referring to your lateness,” he interrupted. “Why in God’s name did you go see Miss Greenaway? And what do you mean, you were talking? What about?”

“You, of course. What else?”