The church was all but empty. Brook’s mother and her
husband sat with his sister and Dorrington on one side,
while the Duke of Lennox and the Earl of Granbury sat on
the other. Behind them, one of the King’s attendants took
a seat. Brook supposed he was there to ensure the King’s
wishes were followed precisely.

There hadn’t been time for Dane and his wife to come in
from the country. If his older brother had been present,
Brook would have asked him to stand beside him. As it
was, Lila had no attendants, so perhaps it was for the
best Brook stood before the bishop alone as well.

The bishop, a jowly man with white hair and a ruddy face,
cleared his throat and began. For the first time since
her father had brought her in, Lila looked up at him. Her
warm brown eyes looked too big against her pale skin,
which was as white as the silk gown she wore. The gown
had a leaf design in silver netting, and she had a small
silver leaf ornamenting her hair. Pearls circled her
throat and danced at her ears, and with her hair piled
high in a coil of ebony, she looked every inch the duke’s
daughter.

The bishop had droned on—something about God’s will and
not entering into marriage unadvisedly; clearly the
bishop did not know about the King’s will and advice—but
now the officiate paused and cleared his throat again.

“Into this holy union Sir Brook Erasmus Derring and Lady
Lillian-Anne Pevensy now come to be joined. If any of you
can show just cause why they may not lawfully be married,
speak now.”

The bishop paused at this, looking first at Lila then
Brook.

“Or else forever hold your peace.”

Brook ground his teeth together and glared at Lila. She
lowered her gaze again.

“I require and charge you both—” the bishop began.

“May I have one moment with my—er, betrothed?” Lila said.

She had spoken to the bishop, but her gaze was on Brook.
He raised a brow.

“You can speak to him after the ceremony,” the duke said
from the pew.

“Just for one moment, Father,” she said.

“My Lord,” the duke said to the bishop. “Please
continue.”

“I am sorry, Your Grace, but I cannot. Lady Lillian-Anne
must come to this union of her own free will.” He glanced
at Lila. “If you need a moment, my lady, you may use the
sacristy.”

She nodded and gave Brook an imploring look. With a shrug
directed at his mother, whose face was the picture of
disapproval, he followed Lila to the side chamber. The
room was full of books and vestments, all in order, and
in the middle were a small altar and a sacrarium, where
the bishop washed his hands.

Lila stood before the altar, like a sacrificial lamb.
Brook stood just inside the door, keeping it open for
propriety.

“Delaying the inevitable?” he asked.

“I had to make certain you knew this was not my doing,”
she said, her voice breathless. “I never told my father
to go to the King. I did not want to force you into
marriage.”

Brook leaned a shoulder against the doorjamb. “I must
admit, your previous refusal was quite definitive and
robust. This sudden change of heart surprised me.”

“Oh, stop speaking so formally! I am trying to tell you I
have no more choice in this than you.”

“The bishop will ask for your consent in a few moments.
All you need say is I won’t.”

“And then my father will disown me, and Vile Valencia
will make certain I am shipped off to Cheapside to live
with my mother’s great-aunt, who is so poor she can ill
afford to feed herself much less me.”

“Beezle will find you inside a week there.”

She closed her eyes, seeming to summon patience. He
couldn’t blame her. He was being an arse.

“You must be the one to say you won’t have me.”

“Oh, no.” He pushed away from the jamb. “And have the
King throw me in the Tower? Not bloody likely.”

“He won’t throw you in the Tower.” She folded her arms
under the square neck of the gown, pushing her breasts up
until they swelled at the bodice.

“I’m not taking that chance.”

“Then we have no choice but to marry.”

“I assumed that was the reason we were both in the church
at half eight in the morning—you in your bridal silk and
me in this stiff-necked cravat Hunt tied far too
tightly.”

“But you don’t want to marry me!”

“I want to be thrown into the Tower even less.”

“Nice to know I rank above imprisonment.”

“Barely,” he said, pointing a finger at her. “Besides,
the King mentioned annulment. I’m to keep you safe and
capture the man who killed Fitzsimmons and abducted you,
and the King will see the union annulled.”

“On what grounds?”

“How the devil do I know? On whatever grounds His Majesty
fabricates.”

“But what if you don’t capture this Beezle, or whoever it
was?”

“I will.”

“And what’s to happen to me after the marriage is
annulled?”

“I don’t know, and I don’t care.” He glanced behind him
and into the sanctuary. Lennox had risen and was looking
pointedly in his direction. The King’s attendant was
scribbling something on a sheet of vellum. “Let’s finish
this.”

He turned to exit the sacristy, but her hand on his upper
arm made him pause. He looked down at the gloved fingers,
so white against his dark blue coat, and then at her pale
face.

“Brook, I don’t—I just don’t want you to hate me for
this.”

“It’s far too late for that.”