His Favorite Mistake by Aydra Richards

Author:Aydra Richards [Richards, Aydra]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-11-18T18:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty One

Somehow it was almost disappointing that the aspiring actor he’d found in the village could be bought for a pound note and a pint of ale. He’d expected such a terrible charade to carry a much higher price.

It had for James, at least. As he looked down at Jilly, looking so young and hopeful and optimistic, he knew with complete certainty that this despicable act would cost him his soul.

She had placed her hand in his with absolute trust. She repeated her vows in such a clear, sweet voice, as if she meant every word of them. And when he saw the faint shimmer in her eyes, he knew—knew—that it wasn’t avarice, that she wasn’t imagining lording her new title over the Ton, but was instead dreaming of the family she hoped someday to have.

He would put an end to those dreams forever. When he was through with her, no one would have her. She would never again be received in London. If she had an offer at all, it would be a dishonorable one. The thought unsettled him. It had been easy to imagine taking his revenge upon some unknown lady, some empty-headed, vapid, shallow lady in her brother’s image. But he’d come to know Jilly, come to respect her. Even to like her.

Nick had been certain he loved her.

The man he had hired to play a reverend ushered them to a table, whereupon he laid out the license and offered James a pen.

It was a good forgery. Excellent, even. It had been incredibly costly to have produced, and it would have fooled anyone but the Archbishop himself.

The pen hovered over the page, just over the line where he was to sign his name. James had the sudden mad urge to destroy it, to tip the inkwell over and let the spill render the license unusable.

But that would solve only half the problem—they had still escaped the house party together, and she would still be ruined. Unless he intended to marry her in truth.

“James?” Jilly prompted, her brows knitted.

There was nothing for it. He touched the nib to the paper, signed his name with a flourish, and imagined he felt the last bit of anything good and honorable in him flee in shame.

∞∞∞

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