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“A kiss does not a lover make,” she assured.
Gabriel begged to differ. He’d kissed no woman he hadn’t meant to bed, and while he was never so confident in Margaret’s presence, he had never had cause to doubt his mastery in such matters as law, or discussion, or seduction … or kissing…
A slow smile turned his lips as he heard his father’s voice:A man must do what he must do, son.Perhaps he’d not entered this bargain intending to seduce Margaret—or perhaps he had—but he resolved to precisely do that. He couldn’t have justified it had he tried, but he felt unreasonably giddy over the prospect, and more than a bit reckless as he smiled down at her with promise. “True enough, Margaret,” he said with a wink. “A kiss does not a lover make.”
She seemed to cow over the silent promise in his eyes, and he swept a hand in a friendly gesture, urging her to enter. He arched a brow when she still didn’t stir and offered a challenge. “Unless you’re afraid of a kiss?”
“Bosh! What have I to fear?” she said, and brushed past him, marching after the pastor and his wife. Gabriel smiled as he followed, pleased that she’d reacted so defiantly to his challenge. It would make his seduction go all the easier. And God save his rotten soul, he meant to seduce his lovely bride, and he was going to relish every moment.
6
“LadyMargaret Willingham…”
The pastor stressed her title before her name as though it were a blasphemy. “Did you come here today of your own accord?”
“Of course.” Margaret said. It was, after all, the only course of action that would ensure her future to any degree. But despite that, it didn’t alter the fact that within moments she would be entered into holy wedlock with the stranger by her side, and she couldn’t help but be terrified out of her wits.
“And you, Mr. Gabriel... I canna read your scribble here,” he complained, pointing to the document in his hand. “What’s this?”
“Morgan,” Margaret offered, impatiently.
The pastor regarded her evenly. “Yes, well…Mr. Morgan, did you also arrive here of your own accord?”
“Of course he did!” Margaret said, anxious for the ceremony to be over, and wholly terrified that Gabriel would change his mind at the last moment. “Do you see shackles on this man’s wrists?” The pastor did not answer Margaret, and she chafed.“Really, sirrah!” She brandished an upturned palm. “You don’t believe I could drag this man all this way per force?”
The pastor narrowed his gaze. “A woman’s tongue makes a frightful lash,” he said, and then he turned to look at his wife, muttering, “They dinna need horsewhips.”
Margaret peered up at Gabriel, trying to gauge his expression. There was little she could read, not the tiniest suggestion of his thoughts, and she wondered if he might suffer regrets—wondered, too, if he thought her tongue as wicked as the pastor did.
More than anything, she found herself wondering, in particular, if he could be thinking about their impending kiss, and her face heated over the thought.
“Shut your gob, Duncan,” the wife proclaimed. “Dinna y’ see the laddie is not unhappy? Gae on with the ceremony sae we can go tae bed. Leave the poor lass alone!” Margaret stared at the whip in the woman’s hand, wondering if she truly would use it on her husband. No wonder the pastor was so discontented. Still, she appreciated the woman’s defense.
“Yes,” Gabriel replied. “I come of my own accord.”
The pastor shook his head, as though lamenting Gabriel’s decision. “Ach well, my son... if you’re dead set about it, and if ye must, d’ye take thisladytae be your lawful wedded wife, forsakingallothers, and keeping only to her so long as ye both shall live?”
“I do,” Gabriel said, without hesitation. And Margaret wondered how anyone could say it if he didn’t mean it. Examining him, not for the first time, he seemed to be a perfectly healthy male, and she was prepared to allow him some leeway in this area. After all, it wasn’t as though they were eloping, madly in love. This was a marriage of convenience. So why did the truth make her jaw tight?
“And you, Lady Margaret...”
“I do,” Margaret said quickly, searching for and handing the man a symbolic ring from her purse. The pastor peered up from his volume, raising his brows. In disapproval? But why? Why shouldn’t a woman provide her own rings? Naturally, she shouldn’t have expected Gabriel to provide them. And neither had she bothered to procure a new one; her mother’s ring would do just fine. And if she hadn’t brought one for Gabriel to wear, it was a simple matter of consideration on her part. Under the present conditions, she would not expect him to go about shackled by a wedding ring. “Go on now… tis late,” she reminded the man. “We simply must make haste.”
The pastor shook his head, casting another dubious glance at Gabriel as though he wished to be certain he should continue. Margaret resisted the urge to stomp the man’s foot as he reached out to receive her ring. He handed it to Gabriel. “‘Tis no’ too late,” he said ominously.
“It is too late.” Margaret argued, sounding more like a fishwife than she cared to. She cast an uncertain glance at Gabriel, hoping his opinion hadn’t been skewed.
The pastor sighed again, shaking his head. “Gae on, then, place it on her finger,” he directed.
“Hurry,” Margaret urged. But she worried for naught, because Gabriel peered down at her, his demeanor composed, and he had the audacity to wink at her as he slid the ring over her fourth finger, sending the most delicious shiver down her spine, so that, for a disconcerting moment, she forgot where they stood. His touch lingered, and then, when he withdrew his hand, Margaret shuddered in total awareness of the man standing by her side. In mere moments, he would be her husband... and she knew him not at all. Her hand trembled as Gabriel held it.
“Now, Lady Margaret,” the pastor was saying, “repeat these words after me... with this ring I thee wed.”
“With this ring I thee wed.”
“With all my worldly possessions I thee endow.”
Margaret’s brows collided. She shook her head. “Notall,” she argued. “Onlysome.” Else wise, why, indeed, would she be wedding anyone at all?