Page 99 of Road Trip With a Rogue
Ellie nodded. “I’ve made you the most beautiful bouquet of lilies and white roses.”
Daisy shook her head in disbelief as Justin said, “Mrs. Ward has sent your favorite lemon cake down from Wansford.”
“I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised at the impressive levels of subterfuge from all five of you.” Daisy sighed. She found Lucien’s hand in the folds of his coat and took it. “Let’s go.”
Lucien’s eyes were brimming with dark promise as he tugged her over to his horse. He released her only for as long as it took him to take the saddle, then he reached down and pulled her up to sit in front of him, astride, just as he’d done when he’d rescued her near Gretna.
Her full skirts billowed out on either side of the horse’s neck, the little pearls flashing in the moonlight, but the handsome animal was evidently well trained, because it barely moved a muscle.
Daisy’s stomach somersaulted as Lucien pulled her back against his chest and wrapped his arms around her. His lips brushed her ear.
“I didn’t mean what I said about finding someone whodoesn’tlove you to experiment on,” he growled. “I won’t share you with anyone. You’re mine.”
Daisy gripped the horse’s mane and turned so her lips just brushed the corner of his own. His breath hitched in the most satisfying manner.
“Same goes for you, Your Grace,” she whispered. “You’re mine. Now and forever. And if you so much as look at another woman, you’ll be getting another scar to add to your collection.”
“Duly noted,” he said, covering her mouth with his. His right hand slid down her thigh as he kissed her, deeply, hungrily, and Daisy smiled inwardly as he found the lump of her holster beneath her skirts. He rocked his hips against her bottom, and she squirmed against his gratifyingly hard erection.
“The fact that you’ll be armed at our wedding shouldnotmake me so hard,” he groaned, kissing her again. “But then, everything you do puts me in this state. You, Daisy Hamilton, are a bloody menace.”
Someone—Harry—pointedly cleared his throat and Daisy suppressed a groan of her own at the interruption.
“God, you’re as bad as Perry and Violet. If you two lovebirds wouldn’t mind waiting untilafterthe ceremony…” Harry grinned.
Finch had expertly turned the carriage in the narrow lane, so Ellie and Tess both climbed back inside.
“Back to the chapel, then,” Finch announced to nobody in particular.
Ellie stuck her head out of the carriage window and sent Daisy a gleeful wave. “You know what I’ve just realized? That hermit at Vauxhall was right!”
“What hermit?” Lucien muttered.
Daisy suppressed a laugh. “Oh, nothing. Just a silly fortune-teller we met at Vauxhall Gardens years ago. He predicted I’d meet my match on a dark highway.”
“And so you have,” Lucien said. “Twice, in fact.”
“Are you disappointed I’m not going to marry you wearing my breeches?” she teased.
His arms tightened around her as he urged the horse to follow the carriage. “I don’t care what you wear, as long as you say I do. You’re going to make a sensational duchess.”
Chapter Forty-Seven
The Times, May 17, 1817.
Married. At Kenwood Park, in the private chapel of the Earl of Mansfield, by the Rev. George Morris, Lucien William Devereaux Vaughan, 12th Duke of Cranford, and Lady Dorothea Georgiana Hamilton, daughter of the Duke of Dalkeith.
Cranford House, Mayfair.
Daisy glanced up from her seat behind Lucien’s desk—the very desk that still made her blush whenever she remembered how she and Lucien had “christened” it the first week she’d come to live with him at Cranford House.
The sight of her husband still made her heart rate increase, especially when he lounged in the doorway in that elegant, slightly menacing way he had, and looked at her with that sleepy, possessive gaze.
He tilted his chin at the letter in her hand. “What’s that?”
“A present from my mother. And a letter.”
“What does it say?”