Page 10 of The Rules of Matrimony (The Matchmaking Mamas #4)
Amie wore a soft-pink gown with puffed sleeves. It bore a pretty flounce on the hem and a stylish lower waistline. Aunt had insisted she wear a pearl band in her hair, a gold chain at her neck, and new slippers—pink, to match her gown. Amie had not relished her time with the Nelsons, but she would forever be grateful that their pride had led to a more updated wardrobe. It did not give her full confidence in marrying a viscount, but it did give her a little. If only she could gather her courage to walk into the church. Mama was already inside.
“Are you ready?” The stern male voice made her look up. Lord Kellen met her with Lady Kellen on his arm. “I have never escorted anyone down the aisle before, but I have no intention of dallying and dragging it out.”
She forced a smile. “Thank you for responding to my note. I could have easily asked my Uncle Nelson to escort me in place of my father, but it seemed more appropriate to ask you.”
His cheeks flinched, as if the thought occurred to him to smile, but he changed his mind. “If my son did not object, then I have no reason to.”
“I don’t see why he would. After all, weddings are intimate occasions and generally for the closest family and friends.” And her relationship with her uncle was not close at all, despite their sudden gifts thrown her way.
“I shall be waiting inside.” Lady Kellen released her husband and kissed Amie’s cheek. “You look radiant. Ian will not be able to take his eyes off you.”
Heat bloomed from Amie’s cheeks to her toes. “Oh, he won’t be—”
“He will,” Lady Kellen said, cutting Amie off. “It’s going to be a lovely ceremony.” She turned and left Amie alone with Lord Kellen.
The man arched his back, the tight muscles likely circumstantial. Then he cleared his throat not once but twice. “Shall we?”
Amie set her hand on his and before she knew it, Lord Kellen had led her through the church doors. This was really happening. She was getting married—with strict parameters—but married all the same.
She had never fainted before, but when she saw Ian standing like a regal prince, with his fine-tailored suit emphasizing his long, angular figure, and his exquisite profile fit for a marble statue of a Greek god, she went weak in the knees. Would she be able to make it to him without fainting?
His gaze swung to meet hers, his keen blue eyes drawing wide. She did not dare believe it, but she swore his cheeks colored too. Ian—the stoic Lord Reynolds—Lord Grumpy himself—had actually reacted to seeing her. Did he think her beautiful? The impossible thought did something to her nerves. It steadied her, allowing her to put one foot in front of the other.
However, the flattering thought did not mean she could continue to stare at him and soak in his commanding presence. Her eyes darted to either side of the aisle at their guests. There were more people in attendance than she had expected.
Mama dabbed a handkerchief to her wet eyes, and beside her, Uncle and Aunt sat rigidly in their seats. Cousin Robert was nowhere to be seen. His absence was a fortunate one.
On the groom’s side, Lady Kellen sat beside a young woman lavishly dressed, with a feather in her hair and stunning features. At least she was not Miss Foster. Perhaps a cousin? Ian couldn’t have many friends, despite his earlier assurances that he did. He did not have the personality for it.
But then again, Ian had not mentioned any other guests coming.
There were three other couples in attendance. All about her or Ian’s age. A man with a wide grin leaned over the arm of his bench and winked at her. Her brow jumped up her forehead. What a shocking thing to do. Why would any of Ian’s relations wink at her? His wife, or Amie supposed her to be his wife, leaned forward, too, and gave a little wave. Their knowing looks did not sit quite right, as they were perfect strangers to her.
She and Lord Kellen were mere feet away from Ian now, and she caught him whispering something to the vicar—a handsome young man with short, perfectly coiled dark-brown curls. He smiled at Ian, causing dimples to appear, and motioned for him to look forward.
When Ian did, his gaze met hers again, just as Lord Kellen brought her the rest of the way to him. Lord Kellen took her hand and lifted it for Ian to take.
Ian scowled at his father, making Amie tense all over. But when he took her hand, it was with the utmost gentle touch. Lord Kellen stepped back and found his seat beside his wife.
It was time.
“It is a pleasure to unite you both in marriage today,” the vicar said, his calm voice not quite consistent with his almost mischievous smile. He lifted both his hands, one holding the Book of Common Prayer, and raised his voice for the others to hear. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered together here in the sight of God ...”
Amie did her best to listen, momentarily caught with guilt when he mentioned marriage being primarily for the procreation of children. For the rest of the vicar’s speech, Ian arrested her attention. His blue eyes were bright in the church’s dim light. His high cheekbones, sharp jaw, and cleft chin were such perfectly sculpted masculine features. She followed the straight line of his nose down to his mouth and stopped.
She had never been married before, but she had been to a few family weddings. The groom had always kissed the bride at the end. But she had agreed to the contract and wouldn’t question the matter further. Still, it seemed a little embarrassing to not kiss, as though emphasizing that they did not truly care for each other despite trying to pretend that they did.
But Ian knew best. He was the viscount.
They joined right hands, and Ian repeated his vow, sending a flutter to her stomach. Those words, with Ian’s eyes so intent on hers, wove a spell over her heart. It was her turn next, and with miraculous clarity, she repeated her own vow. Apart from the contract and all the silly rules, she believed her oath. She was promising to be Ian’s wife—in every way. God and the angels were her witnesses.
“The ring?” the vicar asked.
Ian withdrew a ring from his waistcoat pocket and gave it to the vicar. With due reverence, the gold band was blessed before Ian retrieved it again. She lifted her shaking left hand, and Ian slid the ring around her fourth finger.
Her stomach fluttered at the barely existent touch and the slight weight now resting on her finger. Ian covered it with his hand and repeated, “With this ring, I thee wed; with my body, I thee worship; and with all my worldly goods, I thee endow: in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.”
The vicar said a prayer followed by these sacred words, “Those whom God hath joined together, let no man put asunder.” The vicar cleared his throat. “You may now kiss your bride.”
Ian’s face whipped to the vicar’s, his scowl deepening at the words he had sworn would not be said.
The vicar only grinned, clearly overjoyed for them. To him, this was an unofficial but cherished part of the ceremony. It was likely that everyone thought the same. Amie easily recalled Cousin Harriet’s kiss with her new husband last spring in the church in Bath. They had been a love match, but weren’t Amie and Ian supposed to be pretending to be one as well? Hadn’t their outings fueled such rumors all week?
The truth belonged to them alone. And a wedding kiss was off the table.
She had promised to keep all his rules, embarrassment or not.
When Ian faced her again, his eyes were glacier blue, and his cold expression was not that of a happily, newly married man. But happiness had never been part of his plans, had it? Their well-thought-out future suddenly looked rather bleak. For them both.
Well, hang his rules. This was his wedding day, but it was her wedding day too. The only wedding she would get. Shouldn’t they finish it properly?
Was she or wasn’t she his wife?
She had certainly vowed to love and cherish him only moments ago.
She had no idea what possessed her next action. She grabbed the lapels of his jacket and pulled him down at the same time she launched herself up on her toes. Then she did the most audacious thing she had ever done in her life: She kissed Ian.
Their lips touched with a jolt, his mouth softer than she’d imagined. But a peck wouldn’t do for a wedding. She closed her eyes and moved her lips against his, as her cousin had done with her husband. If Amie was only going to do this once, she was going to do it right. The connection, however, did something to her that she hadn’t witnessed last spring or ever ...
A wave of heat poured through her, awakening all her senses. She leaned into it, letting the feeling consume her. Somewhere, a voice screamed for her to stop, while another insisted she make the kiss look as real as possible. The third voice was the loudest and the strongest, and it declared kissing to be the most wonderful experience of her life.
She listened to voice number three, savoring every sweet second. Her hands went up around Ian’s neck, wanting—needing—to be closer, and the weight of his hands fell naturally to her waist. She had never been held like this before, and gooseflesh erupted down her back and legs. Ian’s mouth began to move against hers, responding and answering an unspoken need. Was it the church, or were all kisses this heavenly?
Someone cleared their throat beside her.
The vicar!
Amie broke their kiss, stepping back too quickly and stumbling. Ian tightened his grip on her. She looked up into his turbulent gaze. She had broken his most important rule and even put on a show—just as he had said not to do—and heaven help her, she did not regret a moment of it.
But her husband ... He clearly had not decided whether he would forgive her yet.
She pushed down a trace of fear threatening to steal away the sweetness of the moment they’d just shared. Kissing Ian was the scariest, most terrifying thing she had ever done.
And she wanted to do it again.