“Quite sure. We agreed to have an unconventional wedding. I just hadn’t anticipated something like this.” She forced a laugh, then regarded him with that gaze that probed too deep. “Has this happened before? Strangers hurling things at you?”
“There has been unrest, as you know.” Yet somehow, this attack felt more personal. To Grace, he said, “I intend to see you well guarded whenever we go out. In the meantime, I’ve considered your wish to return to the country to break the news of our marriage to your family. We shall depart as soon as may be and stay for a brief time. Can you be content with that?”
“Yes.”
He wanted to get her out of town, determine what this direct attack on him might mean. And whether it would throw her into danger. He was not a man to believe in omens, and yet…
Some brides were pelted with flowers and good wishes.
His had been struck by a brick.
CHAPTER 20
Only a rakehell would deflower his wife in the back of a coach.
Lucien had been hard pressed to remind himself of that inalienable fact on the hellish trip back to the country. He had summoned two coaches, one for his mother and Lady Elliot, one for the bridal couple. Damned if he could endure being cooped up with Grace’s stepmother, who was still in a tumult at the thought of facing her husband in the wake of the elopement. He had pressed the coachmen to drive through the night, because he damned well didn’t intend to spend his wedding night in even the finest room of some coaching inn with his mother and Lady Elliot next door and the raucous cries of drunken patrons echoing through paper-thin walls. But knowing he had the right to all the delights of Grace’s body had made him feel a carnal need unlike any he’d experienced before. No question it would be best to wait until he had her at the steward’s house where they would be staying briefly on the Everdene estate. But there was nothing he wanted more than to strip her gown away.
He admired her, damn it. Her cleverness, her calm in the face of upheaval. Her ability to delve beneath the surface, intrigued him. No, fascinated him, truth be told.
But it was more than that. He was still shaken by the unexpected feelings that had stunned him when he saw her walking toward him down the aisle of St. George’s. The gown, with its scattering of stars fit her elegant figure to perfection. Even her skin had seemed to reflect the light spilling from the window. Tendrils of russet-brown hair had curled against her swan-like neck. He’d wanted to dip his head down to kiss it, the jasmine in her hair filling his senses.
When she’d placed her hand in his, so soft, yet so capable, it was all he could do to speak his vows with the briskness he thought necessary for a wedding untrammeled by sentimentality. Then, Freyne outside the church. The brick hurtling toward Grace…
The reality had struck Lucien. It was inevitable that he would disappoint her. It was possible that just being his wife would endanger her.
He thought of his sisters’ faces. His mother’s…
He had ruined lives before. Now, as he and Grace mounted the steps to The Willows to face Grace’s father with their news, he had to wonder. Had he condemned Grace to the same fate when he slid on her wedding ring?
Helen swept up ahead of them, past servants, and even her concerned husband, pleading a headache.
He’d expected nothing less than a coward’s retreat from the woman, he thought as she disappeared up the curved staircase. But this time, Grace would not be facing the repercussions of her stepmother’s histrionics alone.
Grace laidthe lumpy parcel she’d brought from London on the demilune table she’d moved to conceal Avery’s mischief what seemed a lifetime ago. She touched the mustachioed peacock on the wallpaper and wished the confrontation with her father could be so easily solved. But the only way through this tangle was to spill out her news as soon as possible.
With Lucien at her side, she drew her father into the library.
“Your stepmother seems very weary,” her father said. “After your wedding, I must take her to Bath to recover her spirits.”
Grace stiffened her spine. “You and Helen may leave as soon as Susan finishes packing my things to take to Everdene. You see, I am a married woman now.”
Her father went ashen. “You cannot be serious.”
Lucien cut in, his voice crisp, masterful. “The bishop himself performed the ceremony at St. George’s in Hanover Square,” he said, then glanced down at her and fell silent, honoring her wish to deal with her father in her own way.
“Why would you do such a reckless thing?” her father groaned.
“After I encountered Neville at Gunter’s and learned that you’d written to him, revealing that I was going to London, I had no more stomach to endure such manipulation.”
Her father flushed at her accusation, yet still looked defiant. “But the celebration! The breakfast…the dancing…”
“We both know you would not be celebrating.” She met her father’s gaze, unflinching. “You have made no secret about your feelings in regard to my marriage, and Helen has shown no consideration for my wishes regarding the celebrationafterward. Why suffer through a charade before friends and neighbors with pasted on smiles and false good wishes?”
“Of course I wish you happiness!” Her father pressed a fist to his heart. “As for writing to Neville…What kind of father would I be if I did not do all in my power to stop a beloved child from making the worst mistake of her life?”
She could feel Lucien tense beside her, knew it cost him to remain silent.
“I am no child,” she said, crossing to where a small framed portrait of her mother and the three youngest boys sat upon a miniature easel. “I have not been a child since Mama got sick and you ceded all responsibility for her care and the boys’ wellbeing to me.” She ran her fingertips over the frame. They all looked so happy in the image, Bennet on Mama’s lap, Ethan curled up with a toy horse at her feet and Avery caught in the circle of Mama’s arm, a cricket bat in hand.
