Page 43 of Only Scandal Will Do

Now on Jack’s arm, she marched toward the fireplace, where Lord Dalbury stood with the Reverend Hayes and Mr. Redmond, who had put in an appearance at last. Redmond appeared all in, from blood-shot eyes to unsteady feet, but he was standing and seemed mostly sober.

Kat straightened her shoulders, clutching Jack’s arm in a death grip the length of the room. Her brother seemed reluctant to relinquish her when they finally stood together with Dalbury, but moved her hand from his arm to the marquess’s, kissed her cheek and whispered,

“If the bastard hurts you I will kill him.”

She groaned. It was a little late for heroics from that quarter. Then she was standing arm in arm with Dalbury as Reverend Hayes began the service. The sound wafted over her, but she could not comprehend the words. Instead she was excruciatingly aware of Dalbury’s hand on hers, the soft, warm palm pressed against hers with a gentle grip. The hand she remembered well exploring her body, making her feel--

Her lungs suddenly seemed ready to explode. She was holding her breath. Releasing it with a little sigh, she dragged cool air in. She must focus. Find a way to get through the ceremony. The warmth of his hand stole through her, creating a flush of heat. Perhaps if she concentrated just on breathing.

Reverend Hayes continued to drone.

Staring straight ahead, Kat willed herself to remain calm. She’d survived Dalbury once before, she could get through this. But the night in the brothel had been mercifully short-lived; this marriage would last an eternity.

Dalbury said something, squeezed her hand. “My lady. Katarina.” His kind voice sounded urgent. “My lady, you must answer the question.” Puzzled, she turned to him.

He nodded at the clergyman, who said, “Lady Katarina Fitzwilliam, will you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?” When her answer was still not forthcoming, Reverend Hayes placed a hand on her arm. “Lady Katarina, will you willingly take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

Ah, yes. They could no longer force a woman to marry someone. But she was not being forced. She had given her word. And if that one precious drop of blood had been Dalbury’s, she would this minute be on a ship for Virginia. He would not have reneged; in honor, neither could she.

A slight shake of her head to clear it, and she focused on the worried clergyman. In a voice that carried more strength and conviction than she would have believed she possessed, she said, “I will.” The rest of the ceremony seemed a blur, although she must have made the correct replies without additional prompting. Dalbury raised her hand and kissed it, the only signal to her that she was now the Marchioness of Dalbury. Game over. The rogue had won.

Then Kat stood beside her new husband to receive best wishes from each of the small party, accepting them with as good a grace as she could muster. The jumble of sounds, colors, and images whirled, but at last the world began to settle down. Now that the deed was a fait accompli, she grew steadier. With the dreading over, somehow the thought of being married to Dalbury did not appear half as terrifying as the prospect of marrying him.

And he was as stuck with her as she was with him. He could not escape either, and she had already made plans to convince him that life with her would not be all to his liking. With that tantalizing idea in mind, a good deal of her composure returned. For the first time in what seemed like days, she was able to converse normally.

“I was worried there for a minute, Kat,” Juliet said, handing her a glass of champagne. “It seemed like you didn’t know who or where you were. That’s not good when you’re standing there being married, do you think?”

Kat forced a little laugh. “I fear, I was too caught up in the moment. One is only married once, you know.”

“If one can get married once!” Juliet pouted. “I fear I am never to be married.”

“But what can you mean, my dear?” While certainly possessing an unusual personality, Juliet was quite an eligible match. “I would have thought you had men falling to their knees, proposing at every dance you attend.”

“Oh no. I have been left at the altar once and am having the worst time finding another prospective husband.” Juliet’s pique, in less than demure tones, brought her brother to her side. “You were hardly left at the altar. The man was in France and you were in England,” Dalbury corrected her with an unsympathetic grin.

“It was still quite perturbing, Duncan. And you have done nothing so far this season to find me another husband.” Juliet glared at him as if it was his fault.

“I have been occupied with my own concerns, if you have not noticed.” He moved to take Kat’s hand.

The siblings’ banter was reminiscent of her and Jack. If only she could have such a comfortable familiarity with the man who was now her husband. Still, he might prove different than the evidence suggested. He was obviously capable of agreeable moods, pleasing manners, sharp wit. All qualities she treasured in Jack.

He was not her brother, however, but her husband. And he loved Juliet. He did not love her.

Lord Dalbury’s motives for marrying her were to put an heir in his nursery and to ease the lust that had driven him buy her, unashamedly, in a brothel. She could see it, even now, as his hot gaze swept over her. He didn’t even have the good grace to disguise it in public.

At the touch of his hand, she froze. Was this it? Was it time for the final act of this dreary tragedy? Marshalling all her inner strength, she smiled first at Dalbury, then at Juliet. But no one else in the room had left yet.

“Shall we lead the party in to dinner, Lady Dalbury?” His tone suggested he thought she might refuse.

At the reprieve, she heaved a sigh of relief. “But of course, my lord. I was not aware of all the activities, but by all means let us ‘furnish forth the marriage table’. Though I suspect it will not be with funeral meats.”

To her surprise, laughter lit up his face, changing him into a different person. “You fancy Shakespeare? That may be just as well. Our mother, as you may have guessed from our names, was enamored of the Bard. I escaped with the rather ordinary Duncan. But Juliet has had to bear the brunt of it. Everyone seems to be able to quote that one wretched line, ‘But soft, what light through yonder window breaks? It is the East, and Juliet is the sun.’ She is quite outdone when a new swain accosts her with it, thinking he is the first to do so.”

Kat smiled in spite of herself, then asked, “If you would refresh my memory, my lord.

Who was Duncan?”

He ducked his head, and looked embarrassed. “The trusting monarch killed by Macbeth and Lady Macbeth. I do hope I fair better than my namesake.” He paused at the door. “My lady.” He nodded to Juliet. “And gentlemen, we have prepared a wedding feast, if you would follow us to the dining room?”