Viscount of Vanity Tammy Andresen (different ereaders .TXT) 📖

fascination as he drew a pouch from his waistcoat and placed several coins in first her father’s and then the priest’s hands.

The flash of gold disappeared into her father’s pocket before she could gasp and then he was tottering toward her, throwing open the curtain as his hand wrapped about her upper arm. He gave her a good hard yank out of the chapel.

She bit back a scream as she stumbled, being half dragged out in front of the pulpit.

“Forgive me, gentlemen,” Father Michael called. “But there will be no auction today.”

“What?” she asked, confusion making her already jumpy thoughts scatter to the floor. “No auction?”

But her words were drowned out by the yells and angry calls of the men who’d been waiting. They did not like being denied the opportunity to bid.

“That’s enough,” her father yelled. A landed gentleman, she’d heard many of his tirades about the working class. She held her breath, hoping he wouldn’t launch into one now. She could smell the whisky on his breath and knew he’d been drinking. He was always more volatile when under the influence. “There’s none of you lot that can beat his price and we’d waste all our time letting you try. Go home. Find a bride somewhere else.”

Father Michael cleared his throat. “There is breakfast in the rectory. Eat before you leave.” Then he turned back to the man who’d just…purchased her? “It’s eleven thirty. We’ve only a half hour to perform the ceremony.”

“Now?” His spine straightened further.

“When if not now?” the priest scrunched his brow.

Gabriella stopped, her eyes surely growing wide. This man was marrying her? Why? He looked positively wretched at the idea. Her own heart turned over in her chest. The last thing she needed was a husband who disdained her as much as her father did.

“I don’t know.” He clenched his fists. “Don’t you need to post the banns?”

Father Michaels chuckled. “I’m a priest. I obtained the common license from the bishop. We’ll see the deed done now.”

The deed done. That was to be her fate.

Somehow, she wasn’t certain this was actually a rescue. It felt more like a continuation or even…could her situation be worse than it had been with her father?

Her father tugged her forward and she managed to keep her feet as he roughly planted her at the man’s side.

“Mr. Melrose, do you have rings?” Father Michaels asked as he turned back toward the altar.

“I’m afraid I do not,” Mr. Melrose answered.

She nibbled at her lip as his frown became more severe.

But Father Michaels didn’t seem to notice. “No matter. I can sell you some for a price, of course.”

“Of course,” the man repeated. “For a price.” His voice dripped with barely veiled disgust.

Gabriella swallowed again. Had it sounded as loud as she’d imagined? When he’d agreed to help her this morning, she’d never imagined marrying him. This was ludicrous.

Though, regardless, she’d have ended up at this pulpit today. She’d just never imagined that it would be him. Mr. Melrose.

The name didn’t suit. It was a sweet name, implying softness. But this man appeared strong, even hard as his jaw clenched, matching his stony visage.

Father Michaels stepped away and then returned with two slim bands of gold. She watched as her soon-to-be husband paid for them.

Then, in the quickest ceremony she’d ever seen or heard, she was wed.

Had she even been asked to speak the vows? She couldn’t say. They certainly didn’t kiss.

But as Mr. Melrose presented his arm to her, his brown eyes finally met hers. They were unreadable as he offered his elbow. “My lady.”

“Mr. Melrose,” she softly replied, slipping her hand into his arm.

“My lady?” Her father snorted.

Mr. Melrose ignored him. “Do you have a coat or muff?”

She shook her head. “Neither.”

His only answer was for a muscle in his jaw to tic as he started walking her down the aisle.

While several of the men had dispersed to the rectory, a few stayed, and they gave Mr. Melrose and her hard glares as they passed. One man with a jagged scar running down his cheek raked his gaze up and down her frame as his lips thinned over his teeth. Gabriella dropped her head.

Mr. Melrose stopped at the last pew, picking up a coat that had been carefully laid across the wooden bench; but rather than placing it on his own shoulders, he draped it over hers.

Without a word, they stepped out into the cool spring air, a wind making it feel even colder, and then alighted into a carriage.

Where they were going, she hadn’t the faintest clue, but she aimed to find out.

* * *

Austin sat on the bench opposite his new wife and surveyed the woman he’d just married.

His eyes drifted closed.

He’d bloody married her.

Had Abigail known that would be the only way to save her? He’d considered just stealing Gabriella away, but then what? It was illegal, and even his title might not save him from prosecution for kidnapping.

And somehow, when he’d looked at her, he made up his mind. She was too delicate a creature to leave with those men.

Still. What in bloody blue blazes was he going to do with a wife?

But then images began to filter through his mind. Thoughts of what exactly he could do with the stunning Gabriella in his bed.

He shut those thoughts down. He’d never allow him to lose control like that again.

He knew what the doctors said. That he was cured. That he’d never suffer another attack. What if they were wrong?

Fear still lived in the back of his mind. He’d spent so much energy avoiding them, and so much work into strengthening his lungs. Even now, he began every day with exercise meant to push the muscles in his body as far as they would go until his chest heaved with the effort.

One might argue that with sex, he’d test the very limits, but when he exercised, ran, or boxed, or skipped a rope, he was highly in tune with his own body.