Page 32 of The Lady of the Lamps (Vows in Vauxhall Gardens #1)

When he had spoken of that night, she had thought he wanted to discuss the marital act. She wished she knew more of what it entailed, but Jemima had never been very forthcoming, and without her mother, there was no one who felt it was important to impart those details.

And no one, aside from Spencer and the bishop, knew that she would be wed by the following day.

She initially thought they should wait until their wedding night—and she could admit to herself that it was partly because she was nervous, and keen to put off the moment for as long as possible.

But while he had been gone, she’d wondered if she was being silly.

She had enjoyed kissing him, however brief it had been.

And morally, she could not see that it mattered all that much whether the marriage was consummated the day before or the night of the ceremony.

And they were alone in an inn, where everyone already thought they were married…

They sat at the small table in the corner of the room and ate the meal, which was a perfectly serviceable stew. Beatrix was surprised at how famished she was, in spite of her nerves. Nerves about being alone with Spencer, about marrying him, and about Thomas finding them before the vows were said.

If he did find her, would he drag her home and force her to marry him?

She was old enough to say no, but she knew well enough that there were men of the cloth who would turn a blind eye to an unwilling, or even unconscious, bride.

She’d heard horror stories whispered among the staff, when they’d thought she wasn’t listening.

And after the previous night, she wouldn’t put anything past Thomas.

She wasn’t sure why he was so keen to marry her, when he didn’t seem to like her very much.

It wasn’t like it was for monetary gain, for he was the one who would pay her dowry, if he chose to do so.

It was saving him that sum, she reasoned—but it was a small amount compared to the fortune he had inherited.

She supposed it wouldn’t look very good, with their betrothal public knowledge, that she had reneged. Perhaps it would damage his male pride. But once the choice was out of his hands, he would have no option but to accept it.

And tomorrow, she would be Lady Beatrix Leighton. The thought sent a shiver down her spine. She had dreamed of this man since that night under the lamps, seven years earlier. It had not happened how she had imagined, but she was on the precipice of marrying him.

If only her father was there to see her marrying the man she truly thought she loved.

But then if he had been, there would have been no Thomas, and they would not have been pushed into this situation…

Perhaps Spencer would have proposed marriage anyway.

But he hadn’t before…

Doubts and worries plagued her as she got ready for bed, Spencer having tactfully left the room to give her some privacy.

She wanted to marry him. But did he truly want to marry her? Or would he feel trapped in this union, once all was said and done?

By the time he returned, she was under the blankets, rather nervous about spending the night with him—even if he did seem determined to protect her virtue.

She couldn’t quite believe she was at an inn, unmarried, sharing a room with a man. It was all extremely scandalous—and yet there was nowhere else she would rather be. She felt safe here, away from Thomas, away from the life she had thought she would have to lead.

“I will see if they have any extra blankets,” Spencer said, wringing his hands. His dark hair almost seemed to shine in the glow from the fireplace. “And make a bed upon the floor. I shan’t disturb you—”

Beatrix took a deep breath and tried to be brave, hoping the blush in her cheeks was not as furious as it felt.

“There is no need,” she said softly. “The bed is big enough for us both.”

Spencer’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he visibly swallowed. “If you are sure…”

She nodded. “Yes. We will be wed in the morning. It does not matter, surely, if we share a bed now.”

As he climbed in beside her she felt the mattress dip, and her heart began to race. He had blown out the candles, but the fire still burned in the grate, keeping the autumn chill at bay, and she could see his brown eyes clearly.

“We shall break our fast in the morning, and then go back to the church. Once the minister has the license, we can be wed, and then you shan’t need to worry about Haxbury anymore.”

She wasn’t sure what made her do it, but she reached out and took his hand. No other part of them was touching, but still he gasped at the surprise contact.

“Thank you, Spencer,” she said. “For saving me. I will be forever in your debt.”

He shook his head, and drew her hand to his chest. She could feel the beating of his heart, sure and perhaps, somewhat fast. “No. I do not know if I am the right man to be your husband, but I shall endeavor to be worthy of you. You do not owe me anything, Beatrix. I am happy to help you.”

He leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers, and the heat within Beatrix grew hotter. He pulled her closer, the blankets caught between them, and his tongue dipped between her lips, making her groan.

Suddenly, she was not afraid. She wanted to be his.

Tomorrow she would be legally, but tonight she wanted to be physically.

His hands moved to her hair, which she had unpinned for sleep, and the feeling of his fingers against her scalp sent sparks flying through her body.

She had not known simple touch could feel this heavenly.

She kicked the blankets off, feeling too warm to be entrapped by them, and was shocked when their bodies came into contact.

His body didn’t feel like hers. Where she was soft and curved, he was all hardness and straight lines. He was still fully dressed, save for his cravat, jacket and boots, but she did not think it would be comfortable to sleep so.

Or to do anything else…

She was shocked to find how wanton a single kiss was making her. Before he got into bed, she had been nervous at the thought of lying with him as man and wife. And now… She didn’t even know what she wanted, but she wanted more.