Page 56 of A Lady’s Rules for Seaside Romance (The Harp & Thistle #3)

A nne watched Victor fumble with the letter.

There was a sick, roiling feeling in her stomach.

She was moments away from knowing if she had the unfortunate luck of being in a second marriage, one she would have to separate from immediately.

How humiliating, especially since Victor admitted he wanted to marry her if they weren’t already!

But maybe, maybe they weren’t actually married and she was worrying about nothing?

Oh, who was she kidding? They had gone through the ceremony. There was no chance the ding had to be a part of it. What other marriage ceremony required a ding? None of them did, but they were all legitimate ways to marry.

While waiting for the confirmation to be read to her, Anne couldn’t help but compare Victor to Bernard with such a future looming over her.

Marriage to Bernard had been a prison. A gilded prison.

Yes, she and her parents had managed to snag a marquess, a future duke, for her.

It had elevated her station, and it had brought her Mary and Freddy.

And of course, Bernard’s sister and father, whom Anne adored.

But it had been a prison for her as well.

Years of mental anguish, constantly wondering where he’d been, or where he really had been if he’d told her where he would be.

He would come home hours, days, after his expected time and that had sent her into fits.

Never had he explained where he had been, laughing at her if she’d asked.

All she’d had had been her imagination, and that imagination would run wild until she’d vomited, pulled out her hair, or locked herself in her room to scream until she’d passed out.

It had been years of hell.

But Victor was nothing like Bernard. Nothing .

Aside from both being tall and both having dark hair, the two men couldn’t have been any more different.

She didn’t flinch when Victor reached out to her. She didn’t cry after he touched her, and unlike with Bernard, she actually wanted more of Victor’s touch.

Victor had, to her great surprise, never lain with a woman, whereas Bernard would lay with whomever was convenient in the moment.

Anne would be the only woman Victor would ever love, ever touch, in his entire life if she allowed it.

That seemed to embarrass him, yet it only endeared her to him more.

Logically, she knew he would never stray from her.

But his lack of experience was solid proof he wasn’t a scoundrel, something she so desperately needed.

That wasn’t all that made him different from Bernard, though.

The days she didn’t see Victor, she missed him and couldn’t wait to see him again.

She wasn’t choked by the sense of doom like she had been with Bernard.

The days she saw Victor were full of sunshine and she went to bed those nights smiling.

Victor listened to her when she talked—he didn’t brush her words aside or ignore her.

He never laughed at her. He wouldn’t dare, wouldn’t even consider it, even if he had been a man who laughed often.

Victor knew what it was like to have to be responsible. He had a business, and he had to watch over his brothers. He’d raised them for a few years, but she knew well enough that even when they’d all gone their own ways in life, Victor had never stopped worrying about them.

Just like she would never stop worrying about Mary and Freddy, whom Victor practically treated like his own.

Victor was a good man. Why was she so afraid to be married to him?

If all went well, Mary would have her own husband in a few years. Freddy would not be home like Mary has been until he was done with university. And then, he would marry and have a family of his own. Their home would become his, and Anne would feel like an intruder if she remained there.

What would her life look like once her children had begun their own lives?

She had no idea what that would be like. But she could visualize Victor. He would be there with her, if she wanted him to be.

No, Victor and Bernard were nothing alike.

Because Victor loved her, whereas Bernard hadn’t.

And Anne loved Victor.

And maybe marriage could be terrifying if the husband was a scoundrel. But if he weren’t, it could be wonderful, right?

What did she want her life to look like when her children began their own lives? She wouldn’t intrude on Freddy, even if he offered her space to stay put, as she could imagine his future wife would not be happy with that, but did she really want to be alone until the day she died?

No.

She wanted Victor.

Anne took a sharp inhale at the realization that yes, she loved Victor.

And yes, she wanted to spend the rest of her life with him.

Was it terrifying? Of course, and there was nothing she could do to change that.

But at the same time, Victor wasn’t a scoundrel.

She had always trusted him. Why should that change?

And if for some reason he did turn into a nightmare of a husband, which would have already happened with the trauma he’d experienced in his life, she would simply go live somewhere without him.

He would be the Duke of Invermark someday, after all, and there would be plenty of property she could live in if it came to that.

It would create gossip, but she had already planned to separate from him if it turned out their marriage ceremony was legitimate.

What was holding her back, then? Even having a plan to escape, though it would likely never be needed, helped her immensely.

Though his surprise gambling was a sticking point, and something they would need to have an honest conversation about, she knew for a fact that Victor was not in dire finances, which meant gambling didn’t affect him the way it had affected Bernard.

Though there would always be difficulties in life, she would have those with or without a husband at her side.

And while it was true she didn’t want some unknown husband beside her, she did want Victor there.

Maybe his ending of their friendship had been the slap in the face she’d needed.

She simply could not comprehend living without him in her life.

It was impossible. She couldn’t go through the rest of her life without him. She needed him. She wanted him.

For too long, she’d taken advantage of the fact that he was always there.

All this time, all these years, they had loved each other deeply.

But her trauma from her previous marriage had colored her vision too dark for too long and she hadn’t seen it until now.

Victor had patiently waited for her all this time.

The least she could do was take a chance on him, take a leap of faith.

Yes. Yes, she did want to be married to Victor.

Upon this realization, she had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling or spewing a string of nonsense that would go against everything she had previously said about her thoughts of marriage.

Anne returned to the present moment and calmly watched Victor read through the note.

The poor man looked exhausted. His black beard had grown out more than he liked, his black hair was messy, and even though he had changed into fresh clothes earlier, they were already rumpled.

The lines around his eyes were now coupled with dark circles.

Poor thing. She would have to do something to relieve his stress once they returned to Brighton.

Being the only one to show him how love translated in the bedroom sent a shiver up her spine.

He didn’t know it yet, but their evening was already planned out.

It would be long and sensual and Victor wouldn’t even know what hit him.

Oh, she couldn’t wait.

Victor dropped the letter and stared at her with that intense, green gaze.

It caught her breath. “What did he say?” she asked.

Victor stared at her for a few more seconds, blinked, and then picked up the letter. He didn’t say a word, shoved the letter at her, and looked off into the distance.

Anne took it and read.

Mr. McNab,

Quite a curious experience you and Lady Litchfield have been through.

I can confirm that the blacksmith’s ding does not determine if you are married or not.

What does determine it above all is her consent in the marriage.

A marriage, whether in England or Scotland, can only be made between two willing parties.

Since she was not willing, you are not married.

Sincerely,

Peabody Hickinbottom

Solicitor at your service

Anne was stunned—and it felt as if the world around her was starting to collapse.

But this was what she had wanted. It was what she’d asked for.

Anne looked up at Victor, not caring if he could see her thoughts, see the horror in her face.

“There. I know you are satisfied with this conclusion,” Victor said. He wouldn’t look at her. But the pain etched in his face was obvious.

“Victor, please.” She stepped toward him and placed a gentle hand on his arm.

He ripped it away and took a few steps back.

She clasped her hands together. “I know that wasn’t what you wished to hear, but maybe—”

“I don’t care,” Victor said. “I don’t care for your platitudes right now.

I don’t care for your words of comfort. I’m glad you are relieved.

I would never wish you to be married to me against your will.

But for Christ’s sake, can I not be upset for one blasted minute?

” He hissed the last words through his teeth.

Her heart broke at his distress. All she wanted was to comfort him, to make him feel better. But she had caused this.

Why, oh why, had she had to have her face shoved into a marriage, then pulled back out right before she’d drowned, simply to discover that actually, she did want Victor now and forever?

“Victor—”

“No.” He turned his back to her and then, seemingly remembering he had one other letter, picked it up. He opened it, read it, and started laughing.