My Forbidden Duchess by Minger Miriam

Author:Minger, Miriam
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: The Man Of My Dreams Series
Publisher: Walker Publishing
Published: 2017-07-19T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 10

Marguerite glanced around the lamplit shop while the bleary-eyed blacksmith took his place across from her and Walker at the anvil.

In truth she had never imagined her wedding day with no church, no altar, and no family around her, but that reality did not dim the happiness swelling in her breast.

Nor did the early hour, Walker surprising her with his request that they marry first thing and not wait for daylight.

After what had happened with the highwaymen, he’d said he wanted to get her back safe and sound to London as soon as they were wed and had rested for a couple hours. Now he stood beside her, so dark and tall and handsome, and soon to be her husband! What else could she possibly need?

As soon as they had arrived in Gretna Green before dawn, he’d secured them a room at a comfortable inn across the street and had the trunk brought up, and then left her to bathe and change. Not a proper tub bath but a sponge bath from a basin of tepid water that had nonetheless made Marguerite feel so much better after almost two days on the road.

Then she’d dressed in the pale lilac-colored gown with sprigs of delicate white flowers that Lindsay had helped her to choose, the garment so pretty and flowing that Marguerite truly felt like a bride. Last she’d brushed her hair until it shone, and left it cascading down her back rather than pinned in her usual upswept style.

Walker’s only remark upon seeing her when she’d gone downstairs to the inn’s parlor was one low-spoken word, “Beautiful,” his gaze feeling like heat upon her.

He’d gone upstairs then, reluctantly, she could tell, and had his turn to bathe and change his clothes, too, a navy blue coat and matching breeches borrowed from Jared that fit him perfectly. Lindsay had packed a waistcoat for him, but Walker had opted for wearing only a clean white shirt beneath his coat, the open collar revealing a hint of raven-black hair upon his chest.

Oh, Lord. Marguerite blushed hotly when Walker caught her looking there and he smiled at her, which made her smile at him with some embarrassment and fix her gaze once more upon the rumpled-looking blacksmith.

“Hold hands over the anvil, if ye will.”

At once Walker sobered and took her hand, his fingers so strong and steady while Marguerite knew she trembled.

As the blacksmith’s plump wife and a yawning young man still in his nightshift, clearly their son, drew closer as witnesses, Marguerite felt suddenly so flustered that everything became a blur. She heard Walker declare after the blacksmith’s query that he’d come to wed of his own free will and she murmured the same, and then familiar words followed that she’d heard when her father had performed marriages in their parish church.

Walker’s voice sounded so resonant and clear when he said, “I will,” while her “I will,” sounded so breathless—truly, she’d never felt her heart pounding so madly! Then a filigreed gold band was slipped upon the fourth finger of her left hand.

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