Pealing bells announced the wedding ceremony’s conclusion. Outside the pristine white church, the sky was a clear watercolor-blue blemished only by a few inky clouds on the horizon. Elise purposely ignored them. Since the day she and Drake had spent trapped in Sadie’s cabin, the threat of a storm no longer cast her into the throes of panic.
The bells stopped chiming. The wedding guests’ laughter and conversation filled the churchyard. Elise regretfully left Drake’s side and made it a point to speak with each of her friends and neighbors in attendance.
An hour later, she found Tabby chatting with Christian near a redbud tree. After hugging Tabby, she reached up to give Christian a peck on the cheek, but he wrapped his arm around her and turned his head just in time to plant his lips on hers.
She yanked free, a touch embarrassed by his gall. With a tight laugh, she thumped him in the ribs. “What are you about, you silly man?”
“I wanted to see Amberly’s reaction.” A mocking smile turned his lips. “I believe I see smoke shooting from those ducal ears of his.”
Elise heard the cold, sarcastic undertone that belied her friend’s teasing manner. She turned her head sharply to scan the yard for Drake and found his gaze fixed on her. A scowl marred his brow. She offered him a smile, hoping to ease his displeasure.
When Drake smiled in return, she glared back at Christian. Until now, she hadn’t realized her friend disliked Drake to such an extent, though she should have guessed.
Christian despised the English in a way that she had never completely understood. She loved liberty, embraced the hope America would one day govern herself, but she had never fully abhorred their mother country. Christian refused to tell her why he harbored such hostility, but she believed it had something to do with the untimely death of his mother. That Drake was both English and of noble birth made him a double target for Christian’s antipathy.
She reached out and squeezed his hand in warning. “Be kind enough to remember that he’s now my husband, Christian. I’ll expect you to be civil, if not downright cordial.”
Christian grunted. “You expect too much. The thought of you with that English popinjay makes me want to puke.”
“Now there’s a pretty sentiment on my wedding day,” Elise said flatly. “Drake is not a popinjay. He’s a wonderful, caring, loving man, who—”
Tabby hooted with laughter and clapped Christian on the back. “Listen to how protective she’s become. You might as well keep your rancor to yourself. It’s clear she’s defected to the enemy.”
“What are you implying, Tabby? I assure you I’m as a loyal as ever,” Elise whispered, bristling with indignation.
“I didn’t question your loyalty, my dear. I know you married for Prin’s sake, not because you’ve turned Tory all of a sudden.”
“The irony is rich, is it not?” Christian said mildly. He brushed a fly from his coat’s honey-colored satin sleeve. “The rebel and the duke. I’m sure Amberly would love to know his wife is the mysterious—”
“Oh, do hush,” Elise snapped. Her gaze darted to where her new husband spoke with Zechariah across the trimmed green lawn. Her eyes locked on Drake’s handsome face. Her heart did a queer little flip of excitement and her breath faltered in her chest.
Tabby waved her palm in front of Elise’s eyes. “I do believe she’s been transported to another world.”
Elise laughed self-consciously and turned back to her friends. “You’re a terrible lot. Your baiting is most unfair.”
“Hardly,” Christian mocked, his tone as dry as a stone. “I can think of a great many things that are more unfair.”
Tabby stepped in before Elise could rebut with a waspish reply. “What is wrong with you today, Christian? One would think you’re a jilted suitor. Look at her face. You’ve wounded her, and for no reason. Elise has done nothing wrong. She’s been true to her convictions, but she’s a woman with limited choices. Like all of us, she wants to pursue a life of happiness and see her loved ones safe. In similar straights, I’m certain you’d act no differently.”
Shamefaced, Christian nodded. Tabby entwined her arm with Elise’s and led her away.
“Thank you, Tabby. At times, Christian can be such a mule.”
“There’s nothing to thank me for. Men usually forget they have more choices in this world. Sometimes they need a reminder, is all.”
In deference to Tabby’s delicate condition, they walked slowly, allowing Elise the chance to take in the scene surrounding her. Laughing children chased each other around the stately white church. One of them had brought a kite, and a handful of boisterous boys were busy tugging it free from an ill-placed pine.
“I wish Prin could have been here,” Elise said quietly.
Tabby patted her hand. “It’s to your credit that you care for the girl so well, for I know no other who would admit to such a relation. But your neighbors might have found it unseemly to have a slave present as a guest.”
“I don’t give a fig for their opinion on that score,” Elise snorted.
“But you should,” Tabby said sagely. “Consider how Prin would feel if she put in an appearance only to be shunned by others in attendance. As it is, she’s safe and sound, tucked away at my house for the next few days. You need a day or two alone with your husband.”
Elise bowed her head for a moment. “You’re right, of course. People can be cruel. It’s just...it’s just that I’m nervous about...about tonight.”
“Tonight?” Tabby exclaimed much too loudly for comfort.
“Lower your voice,” Elise hurried to say. “Do you want me to die from mortification?”
Tabby flashed a wicked grin. “With a man such as your new husband, I doubt you’ll die from mortification. More like you’ll die from happiness. In fact, if I weren’t as big as a Holstein and so in love with my darling Josiah, I just might be jealous.”
Elise didn’t have a chance to comment. A group of matrons stopped to chat and congratulate her on catching such a fine figure of a man. While the ladies shared sewing tips and recipes, Elise nodded and responded at the appropriate times, but Drake owned her attention. Each time she stole a glance in his direction, she caught him with his shimmering eyes alight and watching her. The magnitude of his love engulfed her from clear across the churchyard and her own tender feelings echoed in reply.
The church bells tolled five. Drake broke away from his conversation with Zechariah and headed her way.
She watched him stride across the lawn, a little stunned by the depth of her emotion for him. How he’d managed to consume her life so quickly confused her, but there she was, thankful to God, indeed grateful, that such a splendid man had been sent her way.
When Drake reached her, he kissed the back of her hand, sending a stream of warmth up her arm that didn’t stop until it infused her heart.
“It’s time to leave, my love.” He didn’t give her an opportunity to protest. Instead, he guided her to the church’s wrought-iron front gates. Cheers and a shower of white rose petals and rice followed them into an awaiting coach.
The coach rocked as Drake stepped up and took his place on the padded bench across from her. His lean, muscular frame dominated the rich interior. The scent of spice that clung to his skin mixed with the smell of the coach’s new red leather seats.
Drake smiled, slow and smooth. His golden eyes roamed over her, reflecting the pride and pleasure he took in looking at her. “You’re finally mine.”
His voice reminded her of warm honey. Her mouth ran dry. With nerves stretched tighter than a sail in a blustery gale, she glanced out the window. She was Drake’s wife now. By law, his possession to do with as he willed. She chewed her bottom lip and lowered her gaze to her clenched hands in her lap.
As eager as she was to be his wife, the situation filled her with fright, for she despised the idea of being owned—even by Drake. Ironically, her marriage had assured Prin’s freedom while relieving her of her own.
Drake rapped on the coach’s hardwood ceiling. Through the window she heard the driver cluck his tongue, spurring the team of matched grays into immediate motion. She leaned out the window, waving a last farewell to their guests.
The coach turned the corner. Her friends were out of sight. With nervous hands, she smoothed the front of her pale green gown. The well-sprung coach cruised along Meeting Street. She ran her hand over the smooth leather seat. Lifting her lashes, she flushed when she saw Drake studying her with an intense, unreadable expression.
“What’s troubling you, Elise? You seem agitated. Are you having second thoughts about marrying me?”
“No, not really.” The assurance stuck in her throat. “Are you?”
He seemed to relax, as though he’d been fighting a battle within himself and finally won. Why he should be uneasy, she couldn’t fathom. It was she who faced the unknown. He’d been married before.
“On the contrary, our marriage pleases me to no end. The only thing that would make me happier is if you take off your wig.”
“What?” She blinked in confusion. “Why?”
“I want to see your hair. I believe I’ve developed a most intoxicating fascination for it and I haven’t seen it for a whole week.”
His heated gaze singed her, released a flurry of nervous butterflies in her stomach. Instead of protesting, she reached for the pins that held her wig in place. One by one, she slipped them from the hairpiece and placed them in the pale silk purse dangling from her wrist.
The atmosphere hummed between them. Her hands trembled as they removed the wig and set it on the seat beside her. She removed the skullcap holding her wig in place and shook out her heavy tresses until they curled about her shoulders and flowed down her back. “Does that please you?”
“Everything about you pleases me,” he murmured.
A deep rut in the road sent her lurching forward. His strong hands encircled her waist before she could slam back down on the padded seat. Before she knew what he was about, he tugged her onto the seat beside him. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders, anchoring her to him as equal currents of love and devotion swirled through her.
The coach slowed to a stop. With a low growl of irritation, Drake lifted his head, a dark frown marring his brow at the interruption. They couldn’t have reached the house he’d rented already. He was about to query the driver when the sound of muted but insistent voices alerted him to something amiss.
“Where are we?” Elise asked.
“I don’t know as yet. If we’re not underway in a moment more, I shall have to inquire.” He brushed the window curtain aside and leaned out to take in the scene. A duo of British regulars and their sergeant waited on horseback along the city street, while another regular held the horses’ reins.
“I don’t care if it’s the king ’imself,” the sergeant barked from his saddle. “A fancy coach doesn’t mean you can pass this way without the proper identification. We don’t allow you colonial dogs in this section of town if we can ’elp it.”
“But, sir,” the driver protested. “I—”
“Allow me, Artie,” Drake reached into his jacket pocket and withdrew a packet of neatly folded papers before handing them in the direction of the offending officer.
The redcoat released the horses and snatched the papers from Drake’s extended hand. He passed them to his superior, who untied the documents and started to read. After a few tense moments, the officer lifted his eyes, his face devoid of his former insolence and as pale as the parchment he held in his shaking grasp. “I... I do sincerely apologize, Your Grace!” He jumped down from his saddle and bowed, nearly losing his black helmet in the process.
The other three soldiers lost their bored expressions the moment they heard Drake’s title announced. The two on horseback bounded to the ground. In unison, all three bowed so low they almost toppled over, then snapped to attention in a way that Drake would have found comical under different circumstances.
Keenly aware Elise was in hearing distance, Drake fixed the sergeant with a cutting stare and extended his palm. “My documents, if you please. I trust I’m English enough for your tastes to carry on into this part of the city?”
“Yes, yes, of course, Your Grace.” The soldier thrust the documents back to Drake as if they’d suddenly caught fire. “I do apologize for interrupting your journey, sir.”
Within moments the coach leapt forward. Drake scowled as he slid his identification back into his breast pocket. “I’m sorry you were subjected to that sort of odious behavior, sweet.”
“I’m used to those types of remarks, Drake. Some of His Majesty’s soldiers are quite courteous, but the greater number of them are overbearing as that little snipe.” She pulled back the lace curtain and looked out to see they were turning toward the heart of British Charles Towne.
Sliding the cloth back into place, she cocked her head and studied her new husband. It had bothered her sorely that he’d kept the news of his title from her.
“Why did the sergeant call you ‘Your Grace’?” The coach lurched over a particularly large rut in the road and Elise reached for a leather strap near the window to maintain her seat. “Drake? Is there something important you haven’t shared with me?”