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He stopped and considered this. “You’re right, we’ll need a special license. Which means we’ll go to Canterbury and be married there.”
“Oh, Lord. You’ve taken leave of your senses. This explains so much.”
“My parents are both dead, as are yours. And now Henry, too. We don’t have families to attend the ceremony. Or to object.”
“Iobject.” She spread her arms. “Here I am, standing right in front of you. Objecting.”
“You’re not objecting on any reasonable grounds. You’re just being contrary.”
“Well, you’re just being hot-headed.”
“I’m not hot-headed. I make swift decisions, often ruthless ones. The estate would have gone insolvent years ago otherwise. But when I heed my gut, I’ve never had cause to regret it.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Yet.”
He took her by the hand and fairly dragged her out the vestry’s side door, hurrying her toward the waiting coach. “I have a seaside property. A mere cottage, but it’s situated nicely on the cliffs near Ramsgate, just a few hours’ journey from Canterbury. It’s the ideal place to spend a week or two away from London. Less gossip that way.”
The gossip.
Heavens, there would be so much gossip.
Well, if there was going to be gossip about her, Mary supposed she would vastly prefer gossip about how she’d been kidnapped by a shameless, sensual rogue, rather than gossip about how she’d been abandoned at the altar by the milquetoast son of a barrister. Passionate was better than pitiful.
“If we leave now,” he said, “we’ll arrive at the cottage by nightfall. I came here on Shadow, so I’ll ride out. But I’ll be alongside the coach every step of the way.”
He handed her into the carriage, then conferred with the coachman. Bribing him handsomely, she supposed. He was always a man who acted decisively, but she’d never seen him so resolved. Not since he’d declared that he’d purchased a lieutenancy and meant to go off to war.
She flung open the carriage door. “Sebastian, wait.”
He reluctantly turned back.
“What about love?” she asked him quietly. “Don’t you want to marry for love?”
“I’d rather marry someone I trust.”
“Love and trust go hand-in-hand.”
“Not in my family, they didn’t.”
Mary’s heart ached for him. The first time he’d come home with Henry from school, he’d been so mistrustful and withdrawn. Wearing so much invisible armor, it practically clinked as he walked. Over the years, he’d grown comfortable in their home, revealing more and more of himself. Letting down his guard.
But after the war—after Henry died—everything had changed. He’d walled himself away again. She didn’t know how to reach him, and she worried he’d never let anyone else draw close enough to try.
“You’re being so good to me,” she said. “I appreciate it, more than you know. But you needn’t do this. I may find I’m well-suited to being a spinster. Or perhaps someone will care enough to wed me despite the scandal.”
“Someone already does, Mary. You’re looking at him.”
In the silence that followed his words, they were both very still.
“If you think I’m being selfless, let me assure you I’m not. I could not keep Henry alive, and that failure will haunt me until I die. Youmustallow me to protect you, or I won’t know how to live with myself. You’ll have my title and my wealth at your disposal. As a lady of means, you can champion any cause you desire. Aside from giving me an heir, your life will be your own. Let me protect you. That’s all I ask.”
How could she say no to that? Mary rummaged through her mind for one last objection, but came up empty-handed.
No, not empty-handed. Sebastian’s hand was in hers. If she married him, she wouldn’t be alone. And neither would he.
Good heavens. She was truly going to be Mary Ives, Lady Byrne.
She gave his hand a squeeze before releasing it. “Take care on the road.”
