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“I’ll take your word for it,” she managed to say.
His eyes held hers a moment longer, then he turned back to the path, his boots crunching on the gravel, and he trailed his stick in the water as though nothing had happened.
Because nothing had.
“Those questions relate to marriage, I take it?” he asked.
“Legal impediments. There are none. The other option is to delay the wedding.”
He raised his eyebrows. “I daresay you have some ideas.”
“For the marriage to be valid, the vicar must read the banns three Sundays in a row, in the parish church in which the wedding is to take place,” she recited. “If there are no objections, the ceremony must take place within three months of the third banns, witnessed by at least two people. If there is any disruption or delay, it must start all over again from the first banns.”
“How do you know all this?”
“I like knowing things. It makes me feel…”
“Less like a leaf on the lake.”
Curse it. Another thing she had revealed.
She pressed on. “Therefore, to delay or prevent the wedding, we simply remove one or more of the essential elements, namely: the vicar, the church, the witnesses, the bride, or the groom.”
“I’m sure you have a suggestion.”
“It’s obvious, isn’t it? We kidnap the vicar.”
* * *
Guy whirled to a stop.Kidnap the vicar?Thiswas her solution? Bloody hell. Why did he keep forgetting this about her? When would he learn that she was—
Joking. Of course she was. Laughter danced in her eyes, along with a touch of defiance as if she knew his first thought.
“We should do it immediately before the third banns,” she continued. “Perhaps the Saturday night, so there is no time for the curate to stand in.”
Guy tried to look stern. “Arabella, we are not kidnapping the vicar.”
“We wouldn’t hurt him. He might even enjoy it.” Her face brightened. “We could take him to the seaside.”
“No,” he said, but he was laughing.
“I suppose you won’t let me burn down the church either.”
“Not if we can avoid it.”
She sighed dramatically. “You never let me do what I want.”
“You’re just trying to make me laugh.”
“I like it when you laugh. You become appealing.”
“And the rest of the time I am not?”
“The rest of the time you have that furrow.”
She touched her thumb to the spot between his brows, and he wasn’t laughing now. Her gloved hand was a blur before his eyes, the caress of soft, cool leather like a benediction that made him want to drop to his knees and—
He flung the stick aside, shoved his fists into his pockets, and when she lowered her hand, he was seeing her again, her smiling eyes, her mocking brows, her temptingly parted lips.
