The Rogue Not Taken
Page 109
“Of course,” she said. “Why else?”
But she wanted to scream.
“You make a beautiful bride, if I may say so,” the duke continued as though all was perfectly normal. “Of course, the last time I saw you, you were much more . . . interestingly . . . dressed.”
“Shut up, Warnick,” King growled.
Sophie blinked, unable to be embarrassed of her footman’s garb as all her affront was taken up with the fact that she was about to be wed. “We’re to be married here. In your house.”
Warnick looked back at the massive keep. “One of them. Unfortunately, it’s not the nicest.”
“We won’t be going in,” King said. “If nothing else, the Scots understand marital expediency.” He looked to the plaid-covered girl. “I assume you are our second witness?”
“Aye, m’lord,” she said.
“And what’s your name?” he asked, the words an octave lower than his usual voice.
“Catherine.”
He smiled at her, and Sophie couldn’t help the way her heart pounded at the dimples that flashed there, in his handsome face. “Well, Catherine, you may call me King.”
The girl returned his smile warmly, and Sophie wanted to hit him. Hard.
King turned to Warnick, who was watching the scene carefully. “Let’s have this done.”
Warnick nodded. “I suppose we can skip the dearly beloved bit.”
“Indeed,” said King.
“I don’t know,” snapped Sophie. “Catherine seems fairly beloved.”
Warnick’s black brows rose and he looked to King. “Dearly beloved, then.”
King smirked. “Whatever my betrothed wishes.”
“Dearly beloved,” the duke intoned, “we are gathered here today to join this man”—he indicated King—“and this woman”—he waved to Sophie—“in holy matrimony.”
“Wait,” Sophie said.
“My lady?” asked the duke, all solicitousness.
“We’re doing this now?”
“Yes,” said King.
“In the drive of the Duke of Warnick’s castle?”
“Och. You see? She doesn’t like the castle.” Warnick pointed out before leaning in. “My highland keep is much nicer.”
“No no. It’s not the castle. The castle is lovely. But the drive—we couldn’t do it in a place more . . . authentic?”
King stared at her for a long moment and then said, “If I were marrying a more authentic bride, I might be troubled to find somewhere better.”
She gasped at the words. “You’re horrid.”
“Indeed, it seems I am. Aren’t we a sound match.”
“Perhaps we should wait and finish the ceremony another time,” the duke said, looking from King to Sophie.
“Perhaps so,” she said. She wasn’t going to marry him. Not like this. Not with him furious. She turned for the curricle and took several steps before landing herself on a particularly jagged rock. She gasped her pain and reached down to inspect her slipper. “Perhaps never is a good time for Lord Eversley.”
“You should be more careful about where you walk,” King said, his gaze on her foot. For the first time since she’d met him in the drive at Lyne Castle, he revealed emotion. He was livid.
“Well I’m sorry if I wasn’t prepared for a craggy-drived wedding. You should be more careful about where you take me,” she retorted. “Now you’ve torn my slipper.”
Warnick snorted his laughter.
“We’re to be married. In this place. At this time,” King said, looking away from her, the words cold and certain. He glowered at the duke. “Do it.”
She stopped and turned back. “I don’t think you understand,” she began. “I’m not—”
Catherine interrupted her, speaking from her place in the doorway to the castle. “It’s done.”
Everyone looked at her.
“I beg your pardon?” Sophie asked.
“I said it’s done.” Catherine pointed at her. “You said, We’re to be married here.” She pointed to King. “And he said, We’re to be married in this place, at this time. I witnessed it, as did Alec.” She looked to the duke. “You heard it, didn’t you?”
“I did,” Warnick said, surprise in the words. “It’s that simple? No dearly beloved required?”
Catherine shrugged one shoulder. “It’s the marriage that’s important, not how you get to it.” She looked to Sophie and King. “It’s done. We’ve witnessed your intent to be married, and so, you’re married.” She smiled. “Congratulations.”
It couldn’t be true.
Warnick’s brows rose and he nodded. “Fair enough.”
“That was significantly less painful than I expected it to be,” King said.
“No!” she said. If she was to marry him, she wanted something to feel like marriage. They couldn’t be. This couldn’t be it.
The duke looked to her. “You don’t wish to marry him?”
“Not like this,” she said.
“This is the only way it happens,” King replied. “I want it over and done.”
Sophie met his gaze, hating him. Loving him.
“My lady, do you wish to marry him?” Warnick asked again, serious this time.
She didn’t look away from King. Couldn’t. And she told the truth. Made the vow there in that mad place. “I do.”
But she wanted to scream.
“You make a beautiful bride, if I may say so,” the duke continued as though all was perfectly normal. “Of course, the last time I saw you, you were much more . . . interestingly . . . dressed.”
“Shut up, Warnick,” King growled.
Sophie blinked, unable to be embarrassed of her footman’s garb as all her affront was taken up with the fact that she was about to be wed. “We’re to be married here. In your house.”
Warnick looked back at the massive keep. “One of them. Unfortunately, it’s not the nicest.”
“We won’t be going in,” King said. “If nothing else, the Scots understand marital expediency.” He looked to the plaid-covered girl. “I assume you are our second witness?”
“Aye, m’lord,” she said.
“And what’s your name?” he asked, the words an octave lower than his usual voice.
“Catherine.”
He smiled at her, and Sophie couldn’t help the way her heart pounded at the dimples that flashed there, in his handsome face. “Well, Catherine, you may call me King.”
The girl returned his smile warmly, and Sophie wanted to hit him. Hard.
King turned to Warnick, who was watching the scene carefully. “Let’s have this done.”
Warnick nodded. “I suppose we can skip the dearly beloved bit.”
“Indeed,” said King.
“I don’t know,” snapped Sophie. “Catherine seems fairly beloved.”
Warnick’s black brows rose and he looked to King. “Dearly beloved, then.”
King smirked. “Whatever my betrothed wishes.”
“Dearly beloved,” the duke intoned, “we are gathered here today to join this man”—he indicated King—“and this woman”—he waved to Sophie—“in holy matrimony.”
“Wait,” Sophie said.
“My lady?” asked the duke, all solicitousness.
“We’re doing this now?”
“Yes,” said King.
“In the drive of the Duke of Warnick’s castle?”
“Och. You see? She doesn’t like the castle.” Warnick pointed out before leaning in. “My highland keep is much nicer.”
“No no. It’s not the castle. The castle is lovely. But the drive—we couldn’t do it in a place more . . . authentic?”
King stared at her for a long moment and then said, “If I were marrying a more authentic bride, I might be troubled to find somewhere better.”
She gasped at the words. “You’re horrid.”
“Indeed, it seems I am. Aren’t we a sound match.”
“Perhaps we should wait and finish the ceremony another time,” the duke said, looking from King to Sophie.
“Perhaps so,” she said. She wasn’t going to marry him. Not like this. Not with him furious. She turned for the curricle and took several steps before landing herself on a particularly jagged rock. She gasped her pain and reached down to inspect her slipper. “Perhaps never is a good time for Lord Eversley.”
“You should be more careful about where you walk,” King said, his gaze on her foot. For the first time since she’d met him in the drive at Lyne Castle, he revealed emotion. He was livid.
“Well I’m sorry if I wasn’t prepared for a craggy-drived wedding. You should be more careful about where you take me,” she retorted. “Now you’ve torn my slipper.”
Warnick snorted his laughter.
“We’re to be married. In this place. At this time,” King said, looking away from her, the words cold and certain. He glowered at the duke. “Do it.”
She stopped and turned back. “I don’t think you understand,” she began. “I’m not—”
Catherine interrupted her, speaking from her place in the doorway to the castle. “It’s done.”
Everyone looked at her.
“I beg your pardon?” Sophie asked.
“I said it’s done.” Catherine pointed at her. “You said, We’re to be married here.” She pointed to King. “And he said, We’re to be married in this place, at this time. I witnessed it, as did Alec.” She looked to the duke. “You heard it, didn’t you?”
“I did,” Warnick said, surprise in the words. “It’s that simple? No dearly beloved required?”
Catherine shrugged one shoulder. “It’s the marriage that’s important, not how you get to it.” She looked to Sophie and King. “It’s done. We’ve witnessed your intent to be married, and so, you’re married.” She smiled. “Congratulations.”
It couldn’t be true.
Warnick’s brows rose and he nodded. “Fair enough.”
“That was significantly less painful than I expected it to be,” King said.
“No!” she said. If she was to marry him, she wanted something to feel like marriage. They couldn’t be. This couldn’t be it.
The duke looked to her. “You don’t wish to marry him?”
“Not like this,” she said.
“This is the only way it happens,” King replied. “I want it over and done.”
Sophie met his gaze, hating him. Loving him.
“My lady, do you wish to marry him?” Warnick asked again, serious this time.
She didn’t look away from King. Couldn’t. And she told the truth. Made the vow there in that mad place. “I do.”
