Page 69 of Dare to be Wicked

Lottie snorted. “Piffle. Eliza’s still here, so he’ll be perfectly content, though I think it will be a brave man that comes to ask for your hand, my dear. Everyone knows you’re his favourite.”

“Don’t be so shatter-brained,” Eliza protested. “I am nothing of the sort.”

“Yes, you are. You’re his annngel,” Lottie said, drawing the word out and smirking. “He’s never called me ‘angel’ in his life.”

“No, indeed,” their mama said with a wry smile. “As you’ve never given him reason to, you wicked creature. Perhaps I should take this opportunity to ask what exactly you were up to in the summerhouse. Hmmmm? You’re lucky I have such a carrying voice, I suspect.”

To Eliza’s amusement, Lottie turned a startling shade of scarlet. Oh, she must ask her sister exactly what had gone on there before she disappeared off on her honeymoon. Mama had been forthright about explaining the mechanics of sex, and the ways in which gullible girls could get themselves into tricky situations. She believed girls ought never be ignorant of the world, or of men, and certainly not of their own bodies. She would never send them off to their wedding night with no clue of what was to happen, but one simply could not ask her about the finer details—too embarrassing for words!

“Now, don’t keep that poor young man waiting any longer,” the duchess instructed, handing Lottie her bouquet, and shooing them all out of the bedroom. “He looked dreadfully pale and anxious when he arrived, and I doubt your father has done anything to put him at ease.”

Cassius paced the length of the vast marble fireplace in the grand saloon and tried to resist the urge to check the time. Again.

“You are supposed to look resigned to your fate, old man,” Ash drawled, amusement glinting in his bright blue eyes. “Not like you’re desperately eager to throw yourself into the fire.”

Cassius turned back to his friend and snorted. “Just you wait until it’s your turn. I swear if I must delay much longer to make her my wife, I think I shall run mad.”

Ash sighed, arranging his long limbs elegantly as he leaned against the mantel. “This falling in love business seems far too taxing to my mind. I think I prefer to be adored by others but to keep my heart to myself. It looks dashed uncomfortable to always be at the mercy of one’s emotions.”

“Says the man wearing that waistcoat,” Cassius said, wincing as he regarded his friend’s lavishly encased chest. Today’s effort was purple silk embroidered with… with…. He squinted at the motif. “Are those lobsters?”

Ash scowled with indignation, smoothing a loving hand over the purple creation that was assaulting Cassius’s sensibilities. “Indeed they are not, you cretin. That’s a heart with a crown, held between two hands. It’s an Irish symbol of love, loyalty, and friendship. It was a birthday gift from Lady Aisling.”

Cassius raised an eyebrow. Aisling was the eldest daughter of the Earl and Countess of Trevick, Luke and Kitty Baxter. She also had an older brother—the Viscount Harleston—who guarded her and her younger sister like Cerberus patrolled the gates of hell.

“Does Conor know you’ve been receiving gifts from his sister?”

“No, and don’t you tell him,” Ash said crossly. “She’s a sweet creature and, yes, she has a tendre for me, but I don’t see her from one year to the next so there’s no harm in it. And she has the most amazing skill with a needle and thread. It seemed a shame for such fine work never to see the light of day, and she made me promise to wear it on a special occasion.”

“Well, you’ll be wearing it while Conor pitches you off the nearest cliff face if he gets wind of it,” Cass said dryly and then his heart gave an uneven thud in his chest as he saw the duchess and Eliza come and take their places.

Eliza sent him a dazzling smile and the rest of the guests looked expectantly towards the door.

“Ash,” he said, groping about for his friend’s arm as he could not take his eyes from the vision before him. “Ash!”

“I know, I know, old man. It’s time for you to do your bit,” Ash said, and Cassius heard a decided wobble to the fellow’s voice. “Ah, and she looks a picture. I take back every word. You’re a lucky fellow, so don’t mess it up.”

Cassius could neither breathe nor move, and he hardly dared blink. To his astonishment, he felt his throat tighten and his eyes prickle, and he had to fight to keep his composure lest he be teased for the rest of time for blubbing at his own wedding. He felt slightly better as Ashton sniffled and accepted a handkerchief from his twin, who had obviously come prepared in the full knowledge that her brother was the sentimental sort. Cassius was not, and yet… and yet, Lottie was so beautiful, so radiantly happy he wanted to weep. Her happiness shone from her, turning a beautiful girl into something quite beyond description. The force of emotion her joy provoked in him made it hard to breathe. After all, he had the soul of an artist, and did not great beauty stir such men? Beauty of this magnitude had inspired sonnets and odes, operas, and paintings of the kind that made people stare and gasp and wonder at such heights of artistic achievement. She was his heart, his soul, his muse, and he would never grow tired, never grow used to someone who was as both as constant and changeable as the sea or the sky.

The solemnity with which the duke gave her hand to him did not help his composure. Her father’s green eyes were very bright, though that made Cassius feel better, for if a man like the duke was moved to tears then surely lesser mortals were allowed the same privilege?

“You look like poetry, or a painting by one of the great masters,” Cassius said, his voice not quite as steady as he would have liked, but he was determined to get the words out. “A work of art.”

She gave him a fondly exasperated look and leaned in close to whisper in his ear. “I do hope not, Cassius, for aren’t things like that untouchable? And I was so looking forward to my wedding night.”

He gave a sudden bark of laughter, for of course Lottie would say such a thing with everyone watching them. Cassius turned towards the priest to discover the fellow’s beady eyes narrowed at him suspiciously. Heat crept up the back of his neck and he shot a glance at Lottie, whose shoulders were shaking with silent laughter.

“Wretch,” he murmured under his breath.

Happily, the ceremony proceeded peacefully thereafter, except for the odd sniffle as they were reciting their vows. When it was done, Cassius could not have said if it had gone on for hours or was over in the blink of an eye. It seemed to have done both somehow and left him dazed and happy as the priest finally got to the bit he’d been waiting for.

“You may kiss the bride.”

He grinned at the duke who rolled his eyes, and then Cassius bent and kissed his new wife.

Though he had meant it to be a no more than a press of lips—they had an audience after all—Lottie threw her arms about his neck and held on. He laughed, knowing that she would always bring joy and merriment into his life, as well as mayhem and madness and heaven alone knew what else, but he was ready, ready for all of it.

“Oh, you do look divine. What a glorious dress.”