Page 26 of A Bride for the Ruthless Duke

“You may be amusing when you have done something less offensive.” She lowered her voice and stepped nearer, the silk of her gown whispering against the pew. “I am told a great many things. I find most of them vulgar, and I find this arrangement the most vulgar of them.”

Theodore’s expression did not change. “You have come to say so.”

“I have come to say so once, in a low voice, and never again where anyone can hear me.” Lady Augusta glanced toward the empty space where the bride would soon stand. “She is about to be my niece. She did not ask for any of you.”

“No.”

The single word seemed to cost more in the church than it would have cost elsewhere.

Lady Augusta studied him closely. “I mean to be kind to her.”

“I expected nothing else.”

“Do not evade me with compliments.”

“It was not a compliment.”

“Then take it as a warning.” Her gloved fingers tightened around the little prayer book in her hand. “Do not make me ashamed of you in front of the child.”

Theodore had replies prepared for most people. His aunt had always possessed the inconvenient ability to make silence more honorable than victory.

“I will try,” he said.

Lady Augusta heard the size of the concession and held his gaze for a moment longer. Then she stepped aside. “See that you do.”

The congregation was small, as he had wished it. A few necessary witnesses. A little curiosity restrained by good breeding. Nothing more. Henry sat in the second pew with his head in his hands, drunk at half past ten in the morning of his own sister’s wedding.

Lady Augusta saw him and drew in a careful breath. “Is that Lord Middleton?”

“Yes.”

“At this hour?”

“Apparently.”

“How very enterprising of him.”

“He will recommend himself no further this morning.”

“Theodore.”

“I am merely agreeing with you.”

“You are never merely doing anything.”

Theodore looked at Henry once and then did not look again.

The west door opened.

Miss Middleton came in.

She came down the aisle on the arm of the Middleton cousin who had been pressed into the office, and Theodore had only one likeness to set her against, the woman moving away from him down a passage with a vase against her hip. Against that likeness, she was pale. Pale, and undeniably pretty. The thought arrived uninvited. Her features were delicate, her carriage graceful despite the strain she was plainly under.

Theodore dismissed the observation at once.

What unaccustomed madness was this?

He had not come here to admire his bride. He had come to wed her.