Eight weeks later.
Emmy paused as she was about to sign the marriage document. Her heart was full almost to bursting. She and Alex had become man and wife just minutes ago, as part of a double wedding with Sally and Luc. Harland had obtained two special licenses from Doctors’ Commons and the ceremony had taken place in the elegantly appointed drawing room of the Tricorn Club. All that remained was the signing of the register.
“What’s the matter?” Alex leaned down and peered over her shoulder. “What are you waiting for?”
Emmy sent him a teasing smile. “Father always told me never to put anything in writing. Too incriminating.”
Alex mock frowned. “It’s too late, Lady Melton. We’re married now. Signing that is a mere formality.” He handed her the pen and lowered his voice so the vicar couldn’t hear. “Sign the damn book, Emmy. I want no doubt at all that you’re my wife.”
She signed her name with a flourish, and his smile grew decidedly Machiavellian.
“What?” she asked.
“I’ve finally stolen something from you, Emmy Danvers.”
“Oh really? What?”
“Your name. I’ve taken the Danvers and given you Harland in return. And, generous soul that I am, I’ve given you an extra name for good luck. The Countess of Melton. Are you happy now?”
Emmy smiled up at him. “Happier than I ever thought I could be.”
“I can’t wait for tonight,” he murmured.
“Why?”
He raised his eyebrows with a suggestive leer. “Because I have my very own black feather, just like the one the Nightjar used to tease me with.”
His eyes flared with desire and Emmy felt her cheeks heat in response. Really, the man was a devil, speaking to her like this in front of at least thirty witnesses, all of whom were dear friends and relations. She sent a weak smile toward Lord Mowbray’s great-aunt Dorothea, the one he called the “Dread Dowager Duchess of Winwick,” and tried to pretend that her husband wasn’t seducing her in full view of everyone. The news that Alexander Harland was married would be all over town by teatime. No doubt the scandal would keep everyone gossiping for weeks to come.
“If you only knew how many dreams I’ve had about you and that feather,” he whispered. “I’ve been carrying it around with me for weeks.”
“We have the wedding breakfast to get through first,” Emmy said primly, then sent him a look full of promise from under her lashes. “But after that, Lord Melton, I’m all yours.”
His smile grew decidedly wicked. “Oh, yes, indeed you are.”