Nancy Warren: British Bad Boys

“God, no. None of my business, really,” George said, walking behind his father’s desk and pouring out two stiff whiskeys. He handed one to Jack and sipped his own. Then he said, “At least, well, I suppose it is my business in a way. Not that the lady would thank me for interfering.”

He glanced at Jack, obviously enjoying his position of power, however bogus. “Just out of interest, what are your intentions?”

“Oh, I’m going to marry her.”

Jack had the satisfaction of seeing his old friend snort thirty-year-old single malt up his nose and cough until his eyes watered.

“Really? But you never marry them. They always marry someone else.”

Jack settled into one of the leather wing chairs and regarded George. “You know the way you feel about Maxine?”

“Yes, of course.” He nodded, as it all came clear. “You, too?”

“I thought it would never happen.”

“Stunning when it does.”

They sipped for a quiet moment. “And what do you reckon for Manchester ’s chances in this week’s match against Cheltenham?”

And so the two were comfortable again, having done as much emotional sharing as they were ever likely to.

The year had ticked over and spring was unfurling all over the estate. Rachel hadn’t gone home. He never asked how she managed to stay in the country, or for how long. He’d rushed his fences once; he wouldn’t do it again. Instead, he tried to show her how their life could be. He introduced her to his friends, he flew her to Paris for a very decadent weekend, and they’d all spent Christmas at Hart House, including various brothers and sisters and George’s odd relatives.

He was waiting, he knew. And wooing the hell out of the woman he loved.

Maxine and George’s wedding day dawned as blue and glorious as the wedding of a titled gentleman marrying his true love on an ancient English estate ought to dawn.

Rachel was probably as happy about the fact as the bride was. They’d worked out contingency plans in case of rain, there was a big tent on the grounds, and loads of room in the house, but it wouldn’t have been the same. Max wanted to get married in the village church and celebrate the event on the grounds of Hart House. The society photographers would be there, and blooming roses and sparkling water photographed so much better than sodden branches and dripping umbrellas.

And, of course, Rachel’s food would present so much better without a drenching.

Her dress-thank God for Maxine’s excellent taste-was a soft, sage green. Designer simple, it fit her perfectly and brought out the green in her eyes.

The bride wore antique satin and carried the softest pink roses.

The ancient church was hushed as they walked in. Rachel followed two flower girls, and while George looked down the aisle behind her to where Max would appear, Jack looked at her, so she felt as every step brought her closer that she was making a tiny vow. Their gazes held and she saw his lips curve, ever so slightly.

It was a strange moment to have an epiphany about her own heart while celebrating her sister’s union, but perhaps it was appropriate. For she saw Jack standing there at the front of a church, ready to celebrate a marriage, and she knew without a doubt that he was waiting for her. As she’d been waiting for him.

The next wedding Union Jack took part in was going to be his own. It might not happen for a while, but she knew in her heart it was right.

I love you, she told him with her eyes.

I know, his said back.

They stood together while Maxine took George to be her lawfully wedded earl and George took Max to be his lawfully wedded countess.

The tiny village church contained royalty, TV people from L.A., Meg and Arthur, who’d flown home for the event, and family and friends. Rachel’s eyes widened slightly as she recognized Chloe, who’d flown back for the wedding. Like the latest Prada bag, she sported the latest darkly handsome boyfriend.

There’d been enough media to guarantee a lot of publicity on both sides of the Atlantic. Rachel strongly suspected that Maxine, ever the overachiever, had accomplished her goal. The Hart House Wedding Package was booked through the summer at rates that had made George’s eyes bug out when he’d first heard them.

Of course, Rachel didn’t believe in a perfect love, but she had to admit while watching her sister and her brand-new brother-in-law walk down the aisle, with quiet joy pretty much radiating off them, that they had found something very special.

Then she felt Jack take her arm and walk her down the aisle behind them, and she knew she’d found something special, too.

Will you take this man? The words of the wedding service echoed in her head as they emerged into sunshine and a shower of rose petals.

Did she have the courage to risk her heart again? To let go of a painful past and take a chance on an unpredictable future?

Will you take this man?

“Yes,” she said aloud.

“What’s that, darling?” Jack asked, turning to look at her with that special look he kept just for her.

“Yes,” she repeated, while bells rang and rose petals floated and laughter danced on the air. “Yes, I believe I will.”

Nancy Warren is a USA Today bestselling Harlequin and Kensington author who got her big break when she won Harlequin's 2000 Blaze Contest. Her sensuous, humorous romances have won numerous awards and appeared on the Waldenbooks bestseller list.