Page 28

“It is a reasonable enough request. She will return with me to Chilham to live under her stepbrother’s protection until the certificate is here.” He extended his arm to Evie. “Come, my dear.”

“You have overstepped yourself for the last time this night. I will depart before I consider it necessary to beat you.” Bash turned on his heel, Evie clinging to him as they wove through the crowded gardens. Bash ordered their wraps from the hotel.

Evie leaned into him as they waited for their cloaks in the foyer. “He will not cease his pursuit of proof, Sebastian.”

“He should accept my word as a knight.” He sighed. Even if my word is less than truthful at the moment. But tonight that changes. Tonight truth will be had. He patted his waistcoat, thankful he had brought the license with him on a whim.

As close guard of the Prince Regent, doors opened for him.

He’d never thought he would be using his position to gain a marriage license from his grandmother’s friend within a moment’s notice though.

As he looked down at Evie, he was not upset about the turn of events.

While it did seem the most logical step, he still hesitated to take away the freedom she had so fought for.

But in reading her expression, he didn’t see any sorrow in her eyes.

He saw resilience and acceptance. Had she accepted her fate of wedding Sir Josiah or him?

He handed her into the gig. With the certificate signed and witnessed, they would be all aboveboard.

However, should her stepbrother ever inquire of the date, that was another battle entirely.

People forgot. But this one would be a difficult one to overlook.

However, with his connections to the Prince Regent, if he ever needed to call in a favor to see that Evie was accepted into society, he would.

As the idea formed in his mind, he knew he could save her.

He simply had to bring her to court with him in London and introduce her properly as Lady Larkby to silence the gossips in the ton.

Evie drew in a sharp, short series of breaths, and he found her sinking onto the seat, bravado gone and raw terror in its place.

She rested her face in her hands as her breathing spiraled out of control.

She closed her eyes. Not again. Please, Lord, not now.

Her breathing came in gasps now, and she slid to her side on the carriage bench, attempting to still her racing heart by focusing on the tufted leather, the stitchwork of the gloves clutched in her hands—anything other than her fear of being found out by Sir Josiah and forced into a marriage with him.

But by his snide grin and the way he’d claimed her hand, she had little hope of escaping him forever.

He was like a dog on the hunt, and she the fox.

Sebastian’s voice rumbled, sounding as if it were coming from above water.

The gig rocked for a few moments before it halted, and at the gentle touch on her shoulder, her breathing slowed as she caught the scent of leather and peppermint.

He drew her into his arms, cradling her until the shaking in her limbs lessened, and she discovered they were parked in a private grove of trees on the opposite side of the hotel, far away from the prying eyes of guests. He was so thoughtful.

“Did I ever tell you that I suffered from anxiety as a boy?” he whispered into her hair.

She stilled, not trusting her voice yet. She turned her head slightly to glimpse up at him. “You? A yeoman?”

He nodded, brushing her hair from her cheeks. “It took me years to conquer it, and even now I have to recall the verses Grandmother shared with me every night before I went to bed.”

She thought of the embroidered verses on the handkerchief on his bedside table. “The ones from First Peter that are on your handkerchief?”

He smiled down at her. “Yes. Your excursion into my bedroom is paying off.”

“I was unforgivably nosy, wasn’t I?” She shivered, and he held her tighter, as if he knew that he was the only thing grounding her from an attack of anxiety.

“But it speaks well of your character that you forgave my forwardness. Can you quote the verses from chapter five for me? I read them afterward and found comfort in them.”

“Of course.” He cleared his throat. “‘Casting all your care upon him; for he careth for you. Be sober, be vigilant; because your adversary the devil, as a roaring lion, walketh about, seeking whom he may devour.’”

If that isn’t the truth, I do not know what is. Sir Josiah is a lion, and I am his prey.

“‘Whom resist stedfast in the faith, knowing that the same afflictions are accomplished in your brethren that are in the world. But the God of all grace, who hath called us unto his eternal glory by Christ Jesus, after that ye have suffered a while, make you perfect, stablish, strengthen, settle you.’”

She nodded, soaking in the verses.

“I know my words may sound all well and good, but I’ve been through such attacks as these.

For me, the lion stalking me is fear. It is only in Christ’s strength that I have found my way through the battle of anxiety and fear.

” He stroked her hair again. “I know this attack of fear is partly my own fault.”

“You have been a source of peace for me. The fault lies with Sir Josiah.”

“So you have not had attacks before your betrothal?”

“My first attack came after my father’s death when my stepbrother mentioned marrying me off the moment I turned sixteen.

” She rubbed a fist under her eyes. “I suppose that since then, I associate any arranged marriage with that feeling. I pushed aside mentions of a match by being useful to my stepbrother. I-I usually can ignore my anxiety when he and Sir Josiah are out of my thoughts. My writing helps me forget the fears that torment me, but seeing him, a man who is the culmination of all my fears, there is nothing to hide behind.” She shook her head.

He nodded. “Distraction is all well and good. I’ve done it myself. However, when the distraction is not on hand when a spell comes—”

“It fails,” she whispered.

“Yes. These verses helped me in ways that I cannot even explain, and it would be my honor to share them with you.” He reached into his pocket and withdrew a handkerchief. “My grandmother made this for me. I keep it whenever I am away from home.” He pressed it into her hand.

She ran her finger over the stitching, something blooming in her chest over this knight’s thoughtfulness. “I can’t take this.”

“You are merely holding on to it for me.” He lifted her hand to his and kissed it lightly.

The touch sent her heart lifting, and the fears melted away at this man’s selfless act and humility at admitting that he was not fearless, as she had assumed. “I shall treasure it and use it well.”

“I only ask that you do not use it well for your nose though.” He shuddered.

“You should have thought of that before you gave it to me.” She lifted it to her face.

He halted her from dabbing it to her nose and helped her to sit upright while still keeping an arm about her. She hoped he would continue to sit beside her, continue to keep her at his side. She hadn’t felt this safe in so long … not since the moment Bash had saved her from those drunkards.

He withdrew a second handkerchief, dabbing her cheeks before folding her hands about the cloth. “This does help explain your determination not to wed. I am curious though. Does your anxiety apply only to arranged marriages?”

She tucked both handkerchiefs into her pocket and rolled her shoulders back. No more tears. It’s time to take charge. “I have never had an attack when thinking of a match made of kindness and friendship, if that’s what you are asking. I am a romance writer, after all.”

“Kindness and friendship.” The corner of his mouth tipped up. “That is very promising news for me. Shall we go on a twilight ride before we return to Grandmother’s? I do not know about you, but this charade is beginning to wear on me.”

Any intimacy she felt between them faded at his comment. She had indeed felt the strain of the conversation to come. “A drive is just the thing I need, but it is hardly proper.”

“I concur, which is why I have a proposal for you.”

“A proposal, sir?” She clutched the neck of her fan, waiting for her heart to race once more, her breaths to turn short and ineffective. But instead of panic surging through her blood, she felt … hope?

“I know you associate an arranged marriage with that memory of powerlessness, but I swear to be a good husband, a loving husband in name only, if you are in agreement. If this plan causes you distress, I will see you on a boat to the Americas to avoid a match with Sir Josiah.”

“A-are you asking me to elope with you to Gretna Green?” Excitement at the idea of marriage over the anvil brewed. It sounded very much like a love match.

“I was granted a special license.” He reached into his coat and withdrew a folded document. “I requested the license in the likely event our union might be questioned and there was no way to salvage the fabrications we’d made, merciful though our intentions were at the time.”

She unfolded the document, reading it and running her finger over the seal. He had thought of everything. Her heart sped at his kindness. He was all goodness. “Are you certain you wish to do this for me?”

“I would do anything for you.” He took the paper and folded it, returning it to his pocket.

“Never fear—it will be in name only, but it will be the proof we need to keep your reputation safe. The deal shall continue on as we had planned—this is only a formality to aid in the legitimacy of our claim.”

So much for a romance blossoming. “A formality—what every future bride wishes to hear. I suppose we did fly too close to the sun.” She could continue on with her dream, but with his protection and name.

She would never lose it. In her heart she had feared that while he’d claimed he would not marry in the future, he would come to change his mind once his duties became less demanding, and when such a time came, she would be out of a job once more.

“I have thought this through, and I see no other course but forward, tearing the tangled web of lies with a sword of truth in the form of a holy ceremony with a certificate to prove the match.” He grasped her hand in his.

“Vivienne Poppy, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife? I would never go back on my word—we would be bound by name only.”

She grasped his hand, sealing their deal. “Very well, but you should know that I sleep with a weapon on my nightstand and Charlotte near.”

He grinned. “I would expect nothing less, my lady.”

“Let us get this business over with and return to Grandmother Larkby.”

He snapped the reins, directing the horse in the opposite direction of Lark Manor. “Hold on—it is rather a long drive to Bristol. I do not dare have us married in Bath, where anyone might see us.”