A Fighting Chance: A Regency Historical Romance (The Chances Book 1) by Emily E K Murdoch

Author:Emily E K Murdoch [Murdoch, Emily E K]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Dragonblade Publishing, Inc.
Published: 2024-07-02T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twelve

June 5, 1812

William stared with dull eyes at his reflection in the looking glass. “No.”

“You are certain?”

“Absolutely,” said William, wrenching off the light orange silk waistcoat as though it were contaminated. “Next.”

The orange silk waistcoat was removed from his fingers, to be replaced immediately by one of a shimmering gold.

“Next.”

“But you have not even tried it—”

“I said next, Pierre,” William snapped, every nerve taut. “And I meant it. Next!”

It was ridiculous. He had never been the sort of Brummell to care about clothes to such an extent. Clothes were . . . an armor. Protective for the body and for the soul. They stood between you and Society, ensuring that as long as you dressed adequately, in the correct fashions with the right fabric made by a respected tailor, you could pass through the world unnoticed.

Until today.

“This is a delicate linen blend,” his valet was muttering as he slipped William’s arms through the holes. “Very stylish, of course, a pleasant natural color . . .”

The man’s voice faded away as William turned to the looking glass to glare at his reflection.

This was his fault.

His own, that was. Not Pierre’s. The poor man had been given less than a week’s notice, it was hardly his fault no wedding suit had been ordered. But that left him attempting to find the perfect outfit to become Alice’s husband using only the clothes already at his disposal.

William glanced over his shoulder and saw the pile of waistcoats on the floor, discarded due to his dismissal. If he wasn’t careful, he was going to run out of waistcoats.

His valet cleared his throat delicately. “Any of these would be most suitable, Your Grace. They have all been made with care from the finest—”

“Suitable isn’t enough,” said William quietly, turning back to his reflection and trying to compare the waistcoat he was currently wearing to the third one he had tried on, a cotton blue. “Suitable is most unsuitable.”

“I see, Your Grace.”

No, he didn’t. How could anyone see who didn’t know Alice like he did?

For the first time since his impetuous suggestion to the woman William was rather afraid he was now in love with, he started to wonder if he had been a little too rash with his suggestion.

“We need to get married. As—damn. As soon as possible.”

“Well. I am free next Thursday.”

It had seemed to be the perfect solution. William was struggling to keep his hands off the woman, and Alice seemed, most surprisingly, just as eager to receive his kisses as he was to offer them.

It had been difficult, always, for William to hide that particular part of his nature. That part of him that wanted to feel a woman beneath him, sink himself into her, know the connection two people could find in such a meeting. In such a mating.

It had been too long.

And then there was Alice. Just when he had been certain she would recoil from his ardor, she had matched it.

Dear God, she’d even reached for his—

“There are but two other waistcoats you have not yet tried on, Your Grace,” came the reproving tone of his valet.

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