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Pembroke’s opulent Palladian Hall was magnificent, but when Drew saw his future wife walk down the stairs she outshone all the gilded splendour. She had changed her clothes and dressed in a pale shimmering dove-grey muslin, shot through with silver thread. The fabric caught the daylight from the long window above the door, and it made her appear unearthly. The colour engaged with her eyes; and her dark hair and pale skin made a perfect contrast for the colour too.

The bonnet she wore was a slightly darker grey, and at the edge of its brim were small white rose buds. She looked like a virginal bride. She was not that.

When she looked at him, her beauty knocked the air from his sore lungs, and a memory of how flawless her porcelain skin was under that gown dried his throat.

A slight lift of her lips, scarcely a smile, acknowledged him as she stepped from the bottom stair.

I love you , the thought spun through his head. He was certain of it. The ground shifted, tilted, beneath his feet when he had seen her.

Her look did not say, I love you too . Her eyes were cold. But then, when she’d walked downstairs, she would not have been admiring him; he sported a black eye and a bruised jaw.

Drew swallowed the knot tied in his throat.

‘Are you ready?’ Marlow asked his wife who’d followed Mary downstairs.

Marlow had lectured Drew on the way to the bishop’s palace to obtain the licence. The return journey had been full of threats. If Drew hurt her; if he did not look after her; if he treated her false; if Marlow heard that Drew was behaving inappropriately, setting up a mistress or having an affair… Marlow had found a hundred different reasons to threaten Drew, promising castration at least, murder at most.

Drew did not care. The only thing he did care for was Mary, and judging by her look, she no longer cared for him.

He sighed. He would not survive if she turned her back on him.

He had informed her father it was a mistake to tell him not to do things, because he was a contrary man. He also told Marlow his daughter was as contrary, and if they had not warned her off, she’d probably never have gone near him. Then ignoring the pain of his broken rib, he had patted Marlow’s shoulder with a smile, rejecting her father’s prejudice.

Marlow’s hand had fisted, and Drew had readied himself not to flinch if the man hit him. Marlow had gritted his teeth, dropped his hand and snapped, ‘You are not worth hitting.’

Now, Drew lifted his arm, offering it to Mary. His rib, and his heart, hurt like hell, but he was not going to show it and let any of them know how much they had upset him.

Mary rested her hand on his sleeve.

Pembroke glowered.

Ignoring him, Drew walked Mary towards the front door. ‘I suppose your brother has been insulting me again,’ he said to her quietly.

Her gaze flicked up to meet his, then darted away, in a way that implied Drew was right.

Clearly all the words he said to her counted for nothing compared to Pembroke’s.

‘And you’ve been lapping it up…’ he said. ‘Do you think I am a villain now?’

She did not answer, yet her eyes told him to be quiet .

Never tell me not to do something , Mary. Have you learned nothing about me? It is like a red rag to a bull.

‘What did he say? Am I charged with something new or is it still seduction? Perhaps I should ask him to a duel and shoot him so he has a decent complaint. Or I could?—’

‘This is not a game,’ she whispered harshly as they led the wedding party out into the street.

‘Am I laughing?’ he answered.

But then, he could not help himself, he had always been easily spurred. He looked over his shoulder at Pembroke. ‘Have you the cheque?’

Mary’s hand, as light as a feather, flinched, her fingers clawing for an instant.

It had been the only way he could think of to hit back at Pembroke, but yet again he had not thought about Mary.

When they reached the carriage, Drew held Mary back, letting the others enter first.

He did not want to cause her any suffering, but he did not know how to manage this – and she is hurting me.

A footman held the carriage door open and two grooms held the horses’ heads. The coachman was already in his seat. Another two grooms hovered by the footplates at the rear of the glossy black coach. All were dressed in Pembroke’s livery.

Hell, if this was the service Mary was used to, she would find life sparse at the Albany in Drew’s two unstaffed rooms.

Drew handed Mary up, then climbed in after her. Pembroke’s pale impenetrable gaze was no more than a mirror. The man must be good at cards; no one would guess what was in his hand.

As he sat beside Mary, Drew grinned, striking back. Let them think he was taking Mary just for their money. Let them feel the pain of this too.

Mary pressed up into the corner. He slid up close, only because she sought to move away.

His ill-temper was getting worse by the minute.

The door shut.

He picked up her hand and wove his fingers through hers, then rested their combined hands on his thigh, in clear view of her father, mother and brother sitting opposite.

From their dire looks anyone would think she was going to her death. His reputation was surely not that bad. But then, society had tarnished him from birth with prophetic words about the outcome of his parentage, and he had done nothing to dispel their prophecies.

But why the hell should I care about the people who don’t even care to know me?

The carriage rocked into movement.

Mary’s mother was the only one who looked at Mary, her face a picture of concern. While Mary was doing her utmost to pretend Drew did not exist.

She knew he existed the night before last. He rubbed his thumb across her wrist above her glove to remind her of his presence. Not a single muscle in her face moved. He supposed she had learned that stony expression from her brother.

When the carriage entered Whitechapel’s narrow streets, lined with crowded and crooked houses, the stench of the city’s less affluent area assaulted Drew’s nostrils.

Pembroke must have brought them here to avoid the world believing Mary had been forced to marry him. Yet the state of Drew’s face was testimony of that.

Reputation was everything in high society – but it never mattered what people did behind closed doors, just as long as no one actually saw.

The coach stopped beside a small church.

Drew opened the door and leapt out before a servant could reach it. He kicked down the step and raised his hand to help Mary down.

The look Marlow gave Drew when he descended the step spiked him into saying, ‘So, what do I call you once we are wed? Papa?’ He had a vicious vein running through him today. Sod them and their lies.

‘You may call me Lord Marlow, and it will always be so.’

‘Please stop stirring the pot,’ Mary whispered.

Drew shot her a smile, saying, must I? He was enjoying making Pembroke and Marlow uncomfortable.

She shook her head, saying, do not , then her fingers slipped from his and she turned to her father.

The rejection kicked Drew in the gut, making his ire burn hotter. His patience was wearing thin, I love you, you foolish woman…

She walked beneath the thatched canopy of the wooden lychgate, her hand on her father’s arm. Pembroke and Lady Marlow followed. Drew followed them, his hands slipping into the pockets of his trousers.

The vicar waited inside the church porch.

Drew took off his hat and gloves and entered the church.

The dark stained glass let only a little light in, making the small church gloomy.

The vicar led them along the aisle to the altar, the sounds of their footsteps on the glazed stone tiles echoing from the walls.

The vicar bid Mary and her father stand on the left, and Pembroke and his mother to sit. Then he looked at Drew with disapproving eyes. ‘Stand here, Lord Framlington.’

Drew placed his hat and gloves on the end of a pew. If he did not hit someone, or something, soon, he was liable to explode.

A page of the leather-bound book the vicar held was marked with a red ribbon. He opened it on that page and began reciting the words.

When they came to the point where Marlow had to put Mary’s hand into Drew’s, Drew grinned at him. Fuck you, Marlow. She is mine.

The vicar continued reading, looking from Drew to Mary and back again.

When it came to their vows, though, Drew forgot her family, and, looking into her eyes, made his promises with a firm intonation he hoped Mary believed.

She looked at the knot of his cravat, and when it was her turn to speak, she mumbled the reply with no conviction.

This would never be a romantic memory to hold dear for the rest of their lives, but he wanted it to be sincere.

‘Have you a ring, Lord Framlington?’ the reverend asked.

Lifting his right hand to his mouth, Drew gripped the signet ring on his smallest finger between his teeth, pulled it off, then he took it from his mouth and polished it on his coat.

His mother had given him the ring. His father, whoever he was, left it on her bedside as a thank-you gift for a night’s entertainment, and later, an unwanted son. The gift had become his compensation for his undesired life. Fitting , he thought as he slid it on Mary’s finger.

She did not even lift her gaze then.

Yesterday, this was not how he had pictured their wedding. He’d thought her feelings for him would hold. He’d thought she would be glad. Happy, despite her parents’ fury.

He sighed as her hand trembled in his, love lodging like a spear, not an arrow, through his heart.

Then, finally, she looked up.

He smiled, emotion rising from his heart, offering reassurance.

The vicar said words for Drew to repeat. She held his gaze as he spoke, her pale eyes shining with intensity. The hours which had passed since her father had entered the room at the inn slipped away. It was just the two of them again.

She repeated words too, her fingers holding his hand firmly, as she spoke with clear, true emotion.

Then the vicar said, ‘I now pronounce you man and wife. What God has united, let no man set asunder.’ His book snapped shut.

Drew leaned to kiss Mary. She turned and the kiss fell on her cheek as her fingers slid from his.

He turned and faced her family. He could have heard a bloody pin drop in the silence of their acclamations. ‘Is no one going to wish us happy?’ he asked.

Her father grunted, Pembroke jeered and her mother bit her lip.

Lifting his fingers to his forelock, Drew tugged it and briefly bowed his head at her mother. ‘Ma’am.’

‘You are not amusing, Lord Framlington,’ she said, her eyes flashing.

It was a look he had seen in Mary’s eyes.

‘You need to sign the register.’ The vicar’s voice cut the hostile air. ‘Come this way.’

Marlow offered his arm to Mary before Drew could. Drew reached out and held her elbow, making her the rope in their tug of war again.

He followed the vicar with his hat and gloves in one hand and Mary in the other.

‘Why are you deliberately upsetting them?’ she whispered.

He leaned to her ear. ‘They are insulting me.’ Stop siding with them. No one ever cared about his feelings.

She did not speak again, and her arm was taut.

They watched the vicar enter their names in the large record book on an old chest in the vestry. When he asked for Drew’s father’s details, Drew looked to the ceiling and mumbled the Marquis’s name, the man who’d been forced to claim him but had never been a father to him. Then they signed their names.

Her name was now Lady Andrew Framlington. Mary Rose Framlington – that sounded good.

Pembroke signed as a witness, along with Mary’s father, then the deed was done.

They donned hats and gloves, and a few moments later climbed back into the carriage.

The next stop was Pembroke’s offices, where Drew was surprised to discover Pembroke’s businessman, Mister Philip Spencer, was also his brother-in-law. Drew’s eyebrows lifted; he’d not realised Pembroke had married a commoner.

Within a quarter hour the cheques from her father and brother were signed and in Drew’s pocket. Cheques that meant safety, happiness and hope. No more hardship, no more threats of debtors’ jail, and he could help Caro now.

A smile held Drew’s lips as he walked back to the carriage. But then he saw her face. It was her money. He did not care what her father thought. But… Devil take it . He must remember it was hers. No matter how much he hated the men in her family, he loved her. He needed her money, and he needed her. Love, it turned out, could be a warm emotion, but also a solid, cold lump of heavy stone in his chest.

When they returned to Pembroke’s mansion, Drew did not go in but held back at the foot of the steps. ‘Stay with your parents and pack your things. I will collect you at five. My curricle should be back at the stables by then.’

‘Where are you going?’

‘I have things to arrange.’ He set his expression in a smile. He was too angry to be natural.

‘To arrange…?’ Her eyebrows lifted, and her expression asked more questions.

‘I have debts to pay, Mary.’ He tapped her under the chin. ‘I will collect you at five.’

‘At five then.’ She nodded, her expression suspicious.

He thought about kissing her but remembered the kiss she turned away from at the church and did not attempt it.

He walked away without a word to her family. But he did glance back and smile at Mary.

She was clasping the iron railing and watching him with a look of doubt.

Before he paid his debts, he would go to his boxing club and knock six bells out of someone, no matter that his rib hurt like hades.