Page 60

V ictor stared down the long nave of St. James’s Church, eyes locked on the doors leading to the narthex. He didn’t dare blink and miss Juliana’s entrance.

He’d already taken stock of the sparse crowd in attendance for the wedding. His father sat in one of the front pews next to Cilla and Timothy. After one complaint too many from his mother about Victor’s bride, his father sent her back to Lincolnshire—indefinitely.

In his mother’s absence, Victor admitted his father’s health improved, and a spring returned to his step.

For many reasons, it was a great relief to Victor.

Not only did he love his father, but he was in no rush to assume the duties of viscount.

Drake had commissioned Victor to paint portraits of the rest of the family, both individually and in toto.

After his and Juliana’s wedding trip, of course.

On the other side of the nave, Victor’s future mother-in-law sat in the front pew next to Honoria. It would be such a pleasure to have such kind and supportive women in his and Juliana’s lives.

Drake had written to the Whytes in Derbyshire and received no response, not that it surprised either of them. But Drake promised not to let it go. Lord Whyte had to return to London for the winter session of Parliament.

And at that moment, Lydia had been the farthest thing from Victor’s mind.

“Breathe, Pratt.” Nash’s deep voice threatened to pull his attention away, but Victor resisted.

It had been an odd decision asking Lord Nash Talbot to stand up with him, and although Cilla had suggested Timothy, Victor owed a great deal to Nash.

Not only had the man spared Victor from a disastrous match, but he’d had an active hand in Victor securing Juliana’s love. Although Victor wasn’t quite sure he’d ever forgive Nash for bringing Juliana to The Knave of Hearts that fateful night.

Still, the men had made a sort of peace, and when Victor finally handed over the sketches of Adalyn to her husband, Nash deemed them an excellent likeness—though missing a small beauty mark high on Adalyn’s left breast. And although Nash professed to have every confidence in his wife’s virtue, he stated he found it comforting that the revealing sketches were merely from Victor’s imagination.

It had only been a month since he’d been shot, but once the king’s funeral had passed, Victor insisted he was recovered enough for the wedding.

There had been no need to rush, as Juliana confided she wasn’t with child, but Victor couldn’t wait to make her his bride.

So Ashton had tightly wrapped Victor’s still healing wounds and told him to avoid any unnecessary exertion.

Like breathing, apparently. The deep breaths Victor pulled into his lungs to calm his jittery nerves sent a shock of pain through him, and Nash gripped Victor’s arm to steady him.

“How the hell you think you’re going to get through a wedding, much less a wedding night, is beyond me.”

Victor shot him a menacing glare, but just as quickly remembered he should be watching for Juliana’s entrance and returned his attention to the entryway.

And as the doors swung open, his breath hitched at the sight of his bride, and he barely registered the twinge that pulsed in his midsection.

Wearing a shimmering pearlescent gown of soft pink, Juliana floated down the aisle on her brother’s arm as if on a cloud. Locks of her golden hair flowed over her shoulders and framed her face, the image of her burned in his mind forever.

Juliana’s gaze lowered as Drake placed her hand in Victor’s.

Crescent lashes feathered against her pink-colored cheeks.

And when she raised her eyes to meet his, he sucked in another breath, not even caring about the pain.

The love he saw shining in the cornflower-blue depths nearly knocked him off his feet.

How could he have missed it for so long?

He did his utmost to convey the same adoration, awed she’d ever been his to lose. “Tesoro mio.” His treasure, and he would cherish her for the rest of his days.

Juliana’s tremulous smile sent his heart racing, and although he knew the importance of the ceremony, and he repeated his vows flawlessly, as far as he was concerned, Juliana had become his—his wife, his life—on the wonderful night they’d spent together.

The words they exchanged in front of the vicar simply confirmed it.

Everything Juliana hoped for stood before her—personified in Victor Pratt.

A man who not only accepted her hopes and dreams—but championed them.

Who had greater ambitions than an idle life for himself.

Who loved her as she was. And as they pledged themselves to each other, she felt his love for her deep in her bones. He’d put his own life before hers.

Although he looked resplendent in his dark gray coat and silver waistcoat adorned with red roses at the points, pain etched the corners of his eyes when he moved, and Juliana longed to urge the vicar to make haste so Victor could sit.

Everyone—Ashton, Victor’s father, Drake, Priscilla, even Juliana—urged him to wait another month or two to heal. But Victor would have none of it.

He’d given her a devious smile, saying, “With our luck, I can’t take any chances of losing you.”

She’d acquiesced, realizing once they’d married, it would be so much easier for her to take care of him and fuss over him as she wished.

When the vicar finally pronounced them man and wife, she wanted to throw herself into his arms and cover his face with kisses, something Victor clearly guessed, judging from the mischief in his blue eyes. But she behaved like a proper lady should and refrained from creating any more scandal.

However, after exiting the church, and in front of their family and close friends, Victor pulled her into his arms. “Finally.”

At first a soft brush of lips, the kiss grew hungry, and Victor removed one hand from her waist and cupped her face, tilting her head just so. Thank goodness his other arm remained wrapped around her when her knees buckled. She would never tire of Victor’s kisses.

“Ahem.” The male voice broke through her haze of pleasure.

Breaking the kiss, Victor chuckled. “I may have become carried away.” But his grin indicated he wasn’t the least bit sorry.

She peered around him to find Drake gaping at them.

Aunt Kitty elbowed him in the ribs, and Honoria gave them a nod of approval.

Simon grinned, and even Charlotte’s lips twitched.

Mother dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief.

Dr. Marbry wrapped his arm around Priscilla and tugged her close, while Lord Cartwright smiled warmly.

Adalyn leaned her head on Nash’s shoulder.

Their family. Hers and Victor’s.

Victor brushed aside a tear which had trickled down her cheek. “Tears, cara mia?”

“Of happiness.” She gave a small poke to his chest. “But I want to learn Italian so I know what you’re saying.”

“That can be arranged.” He drew her in for another long, luxurious kiss, and all thoughts of foreign languages vanished.