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He had willed her silently to look at him again, but she did not. Because Victoria Cameron was many things, as he had discovered that night six months ago, butoverawedwas not one of them.
So instead, Ago had looked at her father.
Your daughter and I will be wed as quickly as possible, he had said coldly.
Then he’d strode from the room to order his staff to make the arrangements—and to put off having to field Everard Cameron’s outraged sputtering.
And in those two weeks, he had not found himself alone with his soon-to-be bride. He had made certain he was never left on his own in her presence, in fact, as no good could possibly come of that.
No good had already come of it.
Her father, on the other hand, could only be put off so long. There had been great deal of yelling, in two countries so far. Ago had been obliged to put in an appearance at the older man’s stately pile in Wiltshire on no less than three separate occasions. He had been half hoping that Cameron would come to his senses and remember that this was not, in fact, medieval times. Maybe then he would simply...not turn up on the celebrated Accardi lands, sprawling across numerous acres in the idyllic Tuscan countryside.
Though even if that had occurred, Ago knew himself well enough to know that he was not the sort of man who was all that interested in the trappings of modernity. Medieval Italy lived in his blood, his bones.
And the fact of the matter was that Victoria Cameron was carrying his heir.
As such, no matter what her father did or did not do, there had only ever been one solution.
Something he’d repeated to her father only last night as the older man had seethed and shouted down his study in the stately old villa, demanding more concessions from Ago.
As a matter of honor,Ago had told him, standing with his back to the room so Cameron could not see how truly finished with this discussion he was,I am refusing any gesture toward a dowry, Everard.But do not presume to press my goodwill any further. I do not think you will like where we end up.
Here in the chapel, Ago caught the eye of the priest—who was some or other Accardi cousin, according to local lore. Then he returned his gaze to Victoria, who was gliding to a stop before him.
Ago did not know if her father had not walked her down the aisle because he was punishing her in some way, or if she had refused his arm. If he had to guess, he would suspect the latter. For he knew better than most, did he not, that Victoria Cameron was not at all as under her father’s control as he might imagine she was.
Something in him seemed to thunder, and rage, though he knew well not a hint of it appeared on his face. That same storm and clamor roared as he took her hand. He held it as he nodded curtly to her father, seething in his pew, and then turned to the priest before them.
Victoria’s hand gripped his, tight, and that did not help matters any. It made that storm in him grow teeth, even as it howled all the louder. He wanted to drop her hand as if it was on fire. He wanted to toss it aside—
And then somehow turn back time and prevent himself from ever holding onto her in the first place.
But Ago had been a man of duty his whole life. He might not like what this woman represented. He might resent, with every particle of his being, that she had proven to him, in no uncertain terms, that he was nothing more than a man. And an unworthy man, at that.
Yet that did not mean he was not prepared to do his duty.
He thought of his own difficult father as the family priest began the ceremony, and he repeated the age-old words when necessary. He thought of his grandfather, even more uncompromisingly stern in his day, as Victoria sweetly repeated her own words back.
Ago knew well that both his father and grandfather would despair of the choices he had made, and the dishonor he had brought upon the family name—and yet both would applaud, in the end, that Ago was facing up to his actions and responsibilities so squarely.
Especially because Victoria was carrying his child.
The next Accardi heir.
All potential scandal and personal disgrace aside, that was the only thing that truly mattered, as both his father and grandfather had impressed upon him. At length. It was Ago’s responsibility to make certain that the Accardi legacy continued well into the future. And more, that his own son followed in his footsteps, not his brother’s—living a life of service to his august name when it was his turn.
As Ago himself had always done, before Victoria.
He told himself that this was what fueled him as the priest waved his hands over Ago and Victoria at last, pronouncing them man and wife.
Ago leaned closer, pressing an impatient kiss on his new bride’s mouth. It was swift. Peremptory at best. He told himself he was imagining the wave of heat within him.
Once it was done he turned abruptly, ushering her toward the chapel door whether she wished to go or not.
Though she did not resist. Instead, she matched her long-legged stride to his, moving swiftly with him in a kind of concert he chose not to focus on too closely. For reasons he did not intend to dig into.
Once outside, he marched her halfway down the lane of stately cypress trees that led back to the main house before he remembered it was not necessary for him to keep holding her hand.
