Louise Allen - Silk And Seduction Bundle 2

Lying on the ground was a small brown-paper packet.

She swooped on it like a hawk to the prey.

‘Imogen! Put that down this instant!’ her uncle bellowed.

She rounded on him, cheeks flushed, the gift clasped between both her hands as though she would fight anyone who attempted to take it from her. Then, without taking her eyes off her uncle, she began to sidle towards Viscount Mildenhall as though seeking sanctuary.

Viscount Mildenhall’s heart missed a beat. There was a damp patch on her gown where she had knelt on the flags to pick up the packet she was convinced came from her brother. Her glove had a green smear of moss on it, and petals from her bouquet were scattered all over the flagstones. Her bonnet had been knocked askew in the tussle with her uncle and her curls were falling into her eyes.

Now she looked like Midge! The girl who was more at home climbing trees after birds nests than flitting about drawing rooms. Midge, who had written such amazingly warm and witty letters to Rick, though he was not even her real brother. Who had cast her mantle of goodwill over him, too, congratulating him on his promotions, commiserating with him on his injuries and convincing him that somewhere out there, away from the hellish brutality of the battlefields that comprised his life, warmth and decency still existed.

He did not think he had ever seen a woman look more appealing. He felt a strong rush of affection for the impulsive, honest, direct woman he was about to take to wife.

Swiftly followed by a vision of spending a lifetime pulling her out of the scrapes her impulsive nature was bound to catapult her into.

‘I’d better take that,’ he said firmly, stepping in between her and her uncle. He placed his hands over hers, and lowered his voice, so that only she could hear him. ‘I will keep it safe for you. No need to provoke your uncle any further.’

She looked deep into his eyes, and though he could see a brief struggle taking place there, eventually she relented, relaxing her hold on the package and letting him take it from her.

‘We must have a long talk about all of this, later,’ he continued, slipping the package into an inside pocket, ‘and decide what is to be done. But for now…’ He held out his arm, and jerked his head in the direction of the church.

‘I…’ She straightened up, pushed her hair off her face and gripped her battered bouquet with renewed resolve. ‘I…’ She looked over her shoulder one more time, in the direction the Gypsy and then Rick had gone, and he saw a brief look of anguish flash across her face.

But then she took his arm. She did not merely lay her hand upon it, but linked her own arm through it, as though she needed something solid to cling to as he steered her away from her uncle, who had begun to harangue the crowd. He could feel tremors running through her whole body, but she kept her head held high even when the buzz of conversation within the church hushed into an expectant silence the moment they stepped over the threshold.

He bit back an oath. Everyone was looking at them as though he owed them an account of what had just taken place in the portico. Well, he was certainly not going to dither about in the doorway, answering a lot of questions about a business that was nobody’s concern but Midge’s! The best thing to do would be to get on with the ceremony as though nothing untoward had occurred.

Squaring his shoulders, he marched briskly down the aisle. So briskly in fact, that Midge had almost to trot to keep up with him.

Then he barked, ‘You may commence!’ to the rather startled clergyman.

Shocked gasps rippled through the congregation, which doubled when Lord Callandar came striding down the aisle on his own and took up his position behind the bridal couple, audibly muttering imprecations.

‘Are you sure you wish to proceed?’ the minister asked Midge, pointedly ignoring Viscount Mildenhall.

Her cheeks went pink, but her voice was firm as she declared, ‘I am!’ The minister looked at the way she was clinging to Viscount Mildenhall’s arm, appeared satisfied, and after clearing his throat loudly, opened his prayer book and intoned the opening words.

All went well until he asked who was giving the woman away. Lord Callandar prized Midge’s fingers from Monty’s arm and practically flung her hand into Monty’s extended palm. Then strode away, still muttering under his breath to take his place beside his own wife, who had such a frozen expression on her face she might have been modelling to be a waxwork dummy.

And from somewhere behind him Viscount Mildenhall heard a sound a bit like muffled coughing. A grin began to tug at his lips. It sounded suspiciously like that ne’er-do-well Hal Carlow trying desperately not to fall about laughing.

His stance eased. He would not mind letting just Hal know what had sparked off the whole episode. He didn’t think Midge would object, since Hal was a close friend of her brother, too. Actually, he reflected, she had not seemed to care if the world knew her brother was a Gypsy. She would have had him in the church, and probably introduced him to all and sundry, had he not slunk off into whatever back alley he had crawled from.

Lord, he grinned, that would have set the cat among the pigeons!

As he turned to leave the church—vows made—with Midge still clinging to his side like a limpet, he made a point of looking Hal straight in the eye. The scoundrel was still holding a large handkerchief to his face, and his eyes were watering. The only thing the irrepressible joker would have found more entertaining would have been for the argument in the porch to erupt into a full-blown brawl which spilled into the church. For a moment, his mind filled with a vision of Midge setting about all and sundry with her bouquet, raining petals and broken foliage all over the nave. With a completely straight face, Viscount Mildenhall lowered one eyelid in a surreptitious wink.

There was a decided spring to his step as he led Midge out into the sunshine, towards the carriage that waited to take them back to Mount Street. He felt more like himself than he had since setting foot back in England.

London Society was foreign territory to him; that was the trouble.

Until his older brother had died, he had existed almost exclusively in what was very much a man’s world. First school, then army barracks and the officer’s mess, where he had earned the respect of his subordinates and made friends where he felt some connection.

He had not wanted to leave the Army any more than his father had wanted to see him step into his brother’s shoes. He had left Shevington as much to escape the feeling he would never measure up to the earl’s favoured firstborn, as to appear to be obeying his edict to find a wife.

But the husband hunters had come out in droves the moment he had arrived in town, anyway. He had been appalled by all the posturing and simpering, the sly yet cutthroat competition between girls who pretended to be friends with each other.

Nothing he did ever managed to shake them off. The more obnoxious he made himself, the more obsequious everyone became.

Except Midge. She had detested that fop, the version of Viscount Mildenhall he had created, almost as much as he did.

Well, everyone would call her Viscountess Mildenhall from now on, but he could not see the acquisition of a title changing her one little bit. Just as, he suddenly saw, nothing had ever managed to dent Hal Carlow’s sense of the ridiculous, not even his recent promotion to major.

Just because he had suddenly acquired a title, it did not mean he had to strive to be something he was not. Today she had called him Monty. No, she called Monty back to life. He had barked out orders, Rick had snapped to attention, and he and Hal had experienced a moment of perfect camaraderie.