Page 11 of The Rules of Matrimony (The Matchmaking Mamas #4)

Following tradition, there was no clapping or cacophony of cheers echoing through the church. The solemnity of the marriage rites penetrated Ian’s mind, but something else utterly transfixed the rest of him.

Amie.

She looked the part of an angel—no, a goddess. Her divine vanilla essence hung between them like a euphoric cloud. And that kiss. She was something of a heathen for launching herself at him in a church, no less. His heart was still quaking in his chest from the effects of it. Impossible. That particular organ was meant to be dead, and he refused to believe Amie had woken it.

She gave him a nervous, dazed smile. She was too naive to understand what she had done. This was Paul’s fault since he had not kept the ceremony a secret from their friends. Ian tore his eyes from Amie’s, his awareness of her too much. He needed to get a grip on his emotions. He looked at Miles instead. This was his fault too. This curly-haired man of the cloth. Their surprise vicar.

Ian glared at him.

Miles grinned back. Then, without further ado, Miles threw his arm around Ian and slapped his other hand on his chest. “I never thought I’d see the day, let alone officiate. It was an honor.”

Ian shrugged his arm away. “I ought to kill you.”

“But you won’t.”

“No, but I suppose I should thank you for coming instead.”

Miles laughed. “You’re welcome.”

“Amie,” Ian said, trying to look at her but nowhere near her mouth. “This is Miles Jackson, an old friend, who is usually more reverent than he just now demonstrated.”

Miles dipped his head. “It’s an honor to meet a woman who can put Ian in his place.”

Ian skewered Miles with another glare.

“Me?” Amie shook her head as if completely ignorant to what she had just done.

Before Miles could expound and earn himself a punch to his mouth, Paul interrupted. “Congratulations to the happy couple.” Paul’s russet hair fell onto his forehead. Louisa, his wife, who was heavy with child, reached up and fixed it for him.

“I ought to kill you too.” Ian took a step toward him, but Louisa slid between them, her large stomach creating ample space.

Louisa blinked her smiling eyes at him. “I have been anxious to meet your wife. Be a dear and introduce us.”

His wife. That word froze him in place and momentarily made him forget his ire. He was married. His worst nightmare had come true. “Uh, Miss Tyler ... I mean, Lady Reynolds ...” He hesitated, more flustered than he’d ever been in his life. He had never imagined a Lady Reynolds in existence after his grandmother. It took him a moment to remember what he was saying. “This is Mr. Paul Sheldon and his wife, Mrs. Louisa Sheldon.”

“Better known as Fisher and Nymph,” Tom said, squirreling into their circle. His wide grin swung toward Amie. “Would you care to know what we call your husband?”

Ian sighed. “And this is Tom Harwood, an obnoxious tease, and he is married to ...” He glanced around just as Tom’s wife stepped away from Ian’s mother’s side and hurried to join them.

“Cassandra, if you please,” she said. “I know we are meeting for the first time, and it seems highly unusual to address us by our given names, but I assure you, we will all be fast friends very soon.” Cassandra dipped a curtsy and reached for one of Amie’s hands while Louisa took the other.

“Several of the group came all the way from York to catch the wedding, but Paul and I are in London until the summer if you need anything,” Louisa said, her ever-present smile beaming. “You must know, you have exceeded all our expectations. Not just anyone could be the right match for Ian, but you are perfection itself.”

Paul must’ve neglected to tell them the specifics of their arrangement, though Amie did look perfect today, didn’t she? Each curl by her face was flawlessly coiled, and her cheeks bore a rosy bloom. Her gown was exquisite. Her lips a crimson red ...

Ian gulped.

Tom must’ve sensed the direction of his thoughts, for he said, “I didn’t get a kiss like that at my wedding.” His mouth turned down in a ridiculous pout.

Cassandra elbowed him. If she hadn’t, Ian might have. Ian’s neck burned at the mere mention of that kiss.

Cassandra started telling Amie a humorous story about Tom to put him on the spot instead. Paul took the opportunity to lean over and whisper, “I couldn’t keep your wedding from the Rebels. They would have revolted.”

Ian knew he was right, but it still rattled him. “You broke my trust.”

Paul’s gaze was far too humble. “I did, and I hope someday you will forgive me.”

How could he stay mad at such a genuine effort? He forced some bluster into his voice, though he knew Paul would see through it. “What’s done is done, but I won’t be keen on sharing secrets with you in the future.”

An arm swung around his shoulders again. “That’s because in the future, all your secrets will be with your wife.” It was Miles again. Miles, who was far happier than Ian had seen him in years. At least marriage agreed with someone, even if it would never agree with Ian.

Ian sighed. He had hoped to prevent all this marriage advice. There was one secret he planned to share with his wife, and that was the specifics of their contract. “Don’t you have any other vicar duties to attend to?”

“I’ve been demoted to just the vicar?” Miles laughed in the quiet way he always did and motioned to Jemma across the room with Mrs. Tyler and Mr. and Mrs. Nelson.

Jemma caught the gesture, gave her excuses, and moved to join their group, her latest dress creation the color of a green apple. The circle expanded to include her. “Lady Reynolds,” Jemma gushed, “we are so pleased to share your special day with you.”

“This is Mrs. Jemma Jackson,” Ian clarified. “She is married to this lowly just vicar.”

Tom cleared his throat. “No offense, but you aren’t very good at this nickname business. You mean Vixen is married to Mr. Romantic. I’ve been saying these names for years. When will they catch on?”

“I am all of the above,” Jemma said with a laugh, “and I was once against marriage myself, so I can give hope to everyone everywhere.” She tapped Ian’s arm. “Even this one.”

Amie’s brow rose, and Ian squirmed. She seemed a little overwhelmed, but he could tell she was making note of every detail and wasn’t in a hurry to be pulled away.

Jemma glanced up at him. “I’m afraid Lisette and Walter Bentley were unable to make it. They had a few fields burn, and a tenant home was destroyed. They didn’t dare leave until everyone was cared for, but they sent their love and felicitations.”

Alarm struck him. “Was anyone hurt? What needs do they have?”

Miles slapped his back, his voice steady and calming. “Relax, we have it well in hand. You take care of Lady Reynolds, and we will take care of the Bentleys. You were there for all of us; now it’s your turn for a break. Enjoy yourself for once.”

Ian took in his friends’ supportive, loving faces, and the last of his anger dripped away. Louisa and Cassandra still flanked Amie’s sides, each of them eager to bring her into the fold of the Rebel Society. How could he have wanted to keep his own wedding from them? All his many reasons about gossipers gathering seemed paltry now. His friends were the best part of his life. Each one had already written to him offering help, ideas, or support for his criminal law research without any hesitation. And now this. “Thank you. All of you. I’m sorry—”

“We know,” Tom said quickly. “You love us. As much as I hate to cut short a sincere apology, your parents are anxious to speak to you. After the years they’ve been made to wait for this day, I don’t blame them.”

Ian looked past Cassandra’s curly blonde hair to see his father with his arms folded across his chest and a mixture of annoyance and disappointment on his face. Ian’s mother was whispering something to his father. He would guess calming words.

Anxious, indeed. More like on the verge of a fit of temper. He steeled himself and stepped away from his friends.

A petite arm encircled his elbow. He glanced down to see Amie. Her timid smile eased the rising tension inside him.

She motioned with her head to his parents.

He nodded and extended his arm more fully to her. His awareness of her beside him was stronger than ever before, especially her soft touch. His wife’s touch.

He set his jaw, willing himself to keep his mind clear, and together they walked to the bench his parents were standing in front of.

His mother embraced Amie and kissed her cheek. “Welcome to the family.”

When Mother stepped back, his father took her place. He stood there frowning at them.

Amie, who must’ve been intent on being an unruly wife, did not hesitate to greet his father. She threw her arms around his shoulders. “Thank you for giving me away.”

Ian had been completely dumbfounded when Amie had walked into the church on his father’s arm. He still did not know who had put him up to such a task. He had not expected him to attend, let alone come in with Amie on his arm, as if he were somehow controlling the wedding too.

Ian couldn’t wait to find out who was behind it. Even Paul wouldn’t have stooped so low. Thankfully, Amie did not hold on to his father as long as she had to Ian during the ceremony. He hadn’t even realized his hands had fisted at his sides until his nails started digging into his palms.

He wasn’t jealous of his father’s touch. No ... it was something else—a surge of protectiveness.

His father reached for his throat, clearing it several times. “Yes, well, if your husband is content to not secure his career, I suppose you will do,” his father said. And then he surprised Ian even more than Amie by kissing her on the cheek with a muttered, “Congratulations.”

How that one word must have cost him when, in all honesty, he was disgusted that his son had married the wrong woman.

His father stepped back and extended his hand to Ian. “Son.”

Ian stared at it. What was his motivation behind shaking hands? His father always had a motive for every act he made. Ian wouldn’t shake it.

The next thing he knew, Amie lifted his arm at the elbow just enough that his father caught his hand and shook it. The contact was short, abrupt, and completely unwanted. Amie had some explaining to do. She was breaking all the rules.

His mother beamed and wiped moisture from her eye. “I cannot stop tearing up. I’ve cried more today than I did at my own wedding. I cannot remember being so happy. Thank you, Amie, for completing our family.”

Mother was right. Her happiness was all because of Amie and not at all because of him.

Amie ducked her head. “You are too kind.”

At least she was not confessing to their arrangement. He wasn’t prepared to face the barely concealed ire of his father right now. There were too many emotions battling inside Ian as it was, and he did not care to feel any of them.

“I have invited everyone over to the house for a wedding breakfast,” Mother explained. “But I think there are three people who have been very patient behind you.”

If his mother had been teary-eyed, Mrs. Tyler was positively weeping. Amie held her mother for a good five minutes before Ian tried to separate them.

Mr. and Mrs. Nelson looked honored to be in his presence and mentioned three times how they were now related to the Earl of Kellen. When Ian finally pried Amie away from her family, he took her outside to his carriage.

He helped her inside, directed the driver, and then climbed inside himself. He collapsed onto the bench next to Amie and sighed. It was over.

He blinked. Why had he sat beside Amie instead of across from her? When the carriage lurched forward, their arms bounced against each other, sending heat waves through him.

“It is kind of your mother to throw a wedding breakfast for us,” she said.

He willed her arm to stop touching his, but it didn’t work. “We won’t be joining them.”

“We won’t?”

“We are starting our wedding trip right away.” Away from prying eyes. Away from well-meaning friends and relatives. And hopefully, away from each other.

Amie looked over at him, surprise etched on her face. “Where are we going?”

“First, to my townhome to collect Tiny and on to my hunting box. Your future home.”

“Oh.” Her quiet voice drew his full attention. Was she disappointed? What did she expect? This was part of their plan. Throwing a large wedding party and kissing over the altar was not the plan.

“You broke rule number one,” he blurted.

She squirmed. “I thought it necessary.”

He gave a nod, willing his cheeks not to burn again. Dashed all, he was a grown adult and could talk about kissing without melting like a puddle. “I suppose it was.” She had been convincing. Or he imagined she had been. She had convinced him, at least.

“I hope I did it right,” she whispered.

His brow rose. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve never kissed a man before.”

“Oh, well ...” He was not prepared for a discussion on the topic. “Uh, it was satisfactory.” An understatement if ever he had said one. His heart had stopped. In fact, the entire world had been thrown to a halt.

She had a gift. One she must keep to herself for the rest of her life.

“Then,” she said carefully, “you aren’t angry?” She looked up at him, those soul-filled eyes begging for forgiveness, and her mouth and chin tilted toward him at the most innocent but becoming angle.

He leaned forward almost reflexively, needing to be closer to assure her. He stopped halfway with a start. He yanked his head back and faced forward. He had plans! His new wife wasn’t going to distract him again. “Of course I’m angry,” he growled. “You broke rule two and three as well. What is the point of a contract if you cannot keep it?”

She held up her hand and pointed to her wedding band. “Does not the contract with God supersede the first?”

He stared at the ring. At her hand. At her.

Blasted logic.

And why did she have to look so beautiful? “I suppose I had better write down the particulars so there is no doubt in the future.” He would need the reminder.

She dropped her hand. “If you insist. For better or worse, I suppose you’re stuck.”

The carriage took a hard turn, no doubt avoiding an oncoming carriage, and Ian was jolted to the side. His arm came up, and he caught himself on the carriage wall before he slammed into Amie.

She was pinned behind his arm, and their faces were close. Even closer than before. Like the tide of the sea toward a raging sunset, her brown eyes captivated him, held his complete attention, and dragged him into their depths.

Stuck? Ian swallowed. They were far from stuck. He feared it was much, much worse than that.