“Why don’t I wear it until we’re in our chamber? Alone.”
Henry crossed his arms. “I thought I was supposed to trust you.”
“You can trust me.”
“Then why don’tyoutrustme? I want to look you in the eye when I say my vows. I want you to know I see you when I pledge my troth.”
Katie put a hand to her chest. “That’s probably the most romantic thing you’ve ever said to me. But maybe it’s not you I’m worried about.”
“I won’t allow anyone to look at you in any way that’s less than flattering. If they do, I’ll knock them flat.”
“You do have a strong right arm.” He could hear the smile in her voice.
“You noticed that, did you?”
“I did. I felt bad for the footman at Carlisle Hall, but is it awful if I felt a little breathless too?”
Henry inhaled slowly. “God’s teeth, but I’d like to hurry with this wedding.” He crossed to her, slowly lifted the veil, and kissed her. The sound of someone clearing his throat broke them apart, and Henry turned to see the blacksmith standing in the doorway, his wife behind him. She was a stout woman with a kind smile and soft eyes. Her eyes were misty as she looked at Katie and then Henry.
“These two look more than ready,” she pronounced.
“We still need another witness,” the blacksmith said.
Henry stomped back to the door, flung it open, and peered into the street. He was about to holler for his coachman but closed the door instead. He turned and pressed his back to the door.
“Is the coachman coming?” Katie asked.
“Your father is here.”
*
Katie inhaled sharplyand looked about for somewhere to hide. Hiding had always been her first instinct when it came to her father. That was why she’d begun painting, in fact. She could hide behind her canvas and squeeze herself into a corner with her paints and escape his notice. He seemed happier when he didn’t notice her.
“Bar the door,” the blacksmith said. “It will take him time to find where ye’ve gone to. Bessie?”
“Right,” his wife said. “I’ll sneak oot the back and pilfer someone from the inn to serve as witness.” She slipped away as Carlisle lowered the bar on the front door.
“Is there any way we can hurry this along?” Carlisle asked. Not exactly the words Katie had been longing to hear on her wedding day. Still, nothing about this wedding had been terribly romantic. Yet.
“I need ye to sign the license, but it must be done before witnesses. If ye want the marriage to be legal, that is.” The blacksmith raised a brow and looked from Katie to Carlisle.
“We want it to be legal,” Carlisle said. He paced before the hearth, his gaze flicking to the door whenever a noise from the streets could be heard. Finally, after what seemed half the day, the back door opened, and the blacksmith’s wife returned with an elderly gentleman in a tweed coat.
“This is Mr. Burns,” she said. “I promised him ye’d buy him a whiskey for his trouble.”
“A full glass,” Burns said, pointing at Carlisle.
“That sounds fair enough,” Carlisle said, taking Katie’s hand and crossing to the table where the blacksmith had laid out the license and a quill. “Where do I sign?”
“Here.” The blacksmith indicated where he should sign, and then Carlisle handed the quill to Katie. She swallowed and stared at the blacksmith’s finger. He had a black line of dirt or grease under his nail, and her vision blurred a bit as she stared at the blank space on the license. This was it. After this, she would no longer be Lady Katherine Malfort but the Duchess of Carlisle. Once she signed, her father would disown her. She’d have nothing but what she’d packed in her valise. She’d never go home again. She might never see her brothers again.
Then she looked at Carlisle. His brows had drawn together, and she could feel his anxiety. Was he apprehensive he mightlose her or simply worried her father would kill him? She rather believed it was a bit of both.
“You don’t have to do this,” he whispered, his gaze dropping to her hand. She followed the direction of his eyes and saw her hand was shaking badly. “You can change your mind.”
Katie looked up from her hand and the license and into Carlisle’s blue eyes. His eyes showed concern and kindness and fear. But this was not the fear she’d seen when he spoke of her father shooting him. This was a different look. Was it possible the Duke of Carlisle was afraid of losing her? Was it possible he cared for her more than even he knew or wanted to admit to himself?
Katie felt all the turmoil inside her go quiet. Her hand stopped shaking, and she lowered the point of the quill to the paper. With several smooth strokes, she signed her name. She handed the quill back to the blacksmith, who passed it to his wife and then to Burns. Burns took the quill but stared at Katie.
