At the stroke of midnight, Lady Regan Alice Bishop married Lord Hugh Mordare in the Marchioness of Netherley’s drawing room. At Dare’s insistence, Regan had worn the same amber dress she had donned for her first night in London. Bearing witness to their union, the marchioness stood beside Regan, quietly weeping into her handkerchief. Next to Dare, Vane stood like a silent sentinel.
It was not until Regan had entered Lady Netherley’s drawing room that she realized Frost and the rest of their friends would not be joining them.
Her new husband had neglected to inform her that they were essentially eloping. Always a practical man, Dare had managed to marry her without bundling her into a traveling coach and heading for Gretna Green. Before she could work up any ire over Dare’s high-handedness, Lady Netherley rushed up to them and proclaimed their nuptials the most romantic she had ever witnessed.
With a watery glance at Vane, who was studiously ignoring her, the marchioness told the couple that their love match had given her renewed hope that she would find the perfect lady for her wayward son.
Vane snarled at his sweet mother and sent Dare a glare that promised retribution before he excused himself. Satisfied that their paperwork was in order, and his duty fulfilled, the vicar was the next to depart. Dare had not told her how much he had offered the vicar to marry them at such a late hour; however, both men seemed content with their private arrangement.
Soon, Dare was announcing their departure to Lady Netherley. As he once again expressed his gratitude to the marchioness, Regan took a moment to admire the ring Dare had placed on her finger. The five-carat pale honey–colored topaz gleamed like captured firelight within its silver-cream circle of natural pearls. It should not have surprised her, but the rose-gold ring fit her finger perfectly. Regan cast a sly glance at her husband. A gentleman who carried a ring and a special license in his coat pocket had not been exaggerating when he expressed his earnest desire to be leg-shackled to her.
“Are you ready to depart, my lovely bride?” Dare asked, his eyes silently pleading for assistance. Sentimental and slightly tipsy from the wine she had imbibed to toast the bride and groom, Lady Netherley appeared reluctant to release Dare from her clutches.
Regan hid her smile as she casually walked over to Dare and the marchioness. “Yes, my lord. I confess, I have not yet grown accustomed to these late evenings.” She placed her gloved hand on Dare’s arm and smiled at their hostess. “Lady Netherley, we cannot thank you enough for everything that you have done for us. Bless you and your romantic heart.”
Lady Netherley released Dare and opened her arms to give Regan a wobbly embrace. “Think nothing of it, my dear girl.” Regan winced at the marchioness’s fierce hug. “There is no shame, now that you and Dare have done the right thing. And you can trust me to keep your secret.”
“Come, love,” Dare said curtly, deftly separating the two woman. “We have kept this good woman from her bed long enough.”
Regan glanced back at Lady Netherley as Dare dragged her out the open front door. “But—” She barely had enough time to raise her hand in farewell before the woman was out of sight. “I am going to lose one of my evening slippers if you do not slow down.”
Dare immediately adjusted his pace. “My apologies. I feared if we tarried further, Lady Netherley would insist that we spend the night under her roof.”
“And would that be so awful? She is a delightful woman. Vane is very fortunate to have such a loving mother.”
Regan nodded to the coachman as she ascended the narrow steps and climbed into the coach. She listened as Dare ordered the coachman to return them to her brother’s town house. Regan looked up and caught him watching her while she adjusted her skirts to make room for her husband’s long legs.
“Lady Netherley is a resourceful and generous lady. Nevertheless, I have no desire to spend my wedding night comforting her,” he said, sliding onto the bench beside her.
A soft thud halted their conversation. The door of the coach opened, and Vane’s muscular frame filled the doorway. He was hatless, and his cheeks were flushed as if he had run to catch their coach before it had departed.
“I had not realized the hour. Forgive me for not being there when you said your farewells to my mother.”
Regan gave Vane a tender smile. “We understand. It must have been difficult. Everyone is well aware that your mother has such high hopes that you will soon make a good match.”
Vane snorted. “Well, that will be impossible since Dare has stolen the prettiest lady in London from me.”
Dare scowled at the playful reminder that Vane had flirted with Regan on several occasions. “Count your blessings, my friend. I spared your pretty face, did I not?”
Regan rolled her eyes, ignoring the sudden heat rising in her cheeks. She was dreadfully fond of Vane, but he was not the man she had longed for during her absence from London.
“I wish…” Vane lowered his gaze as he sought the proper words. “… I wish you both a happy and loving marriage.” The corners of his mouth quirked into something akin to devilish as his gaze alighted on Dare. “A little luck wouldn’t hurt, too. Especially when Frost—”
“There is still time for me to bloody your nose, you silly jackanapes.” Dare leaned forward and pounded on the small trapdoor. “Let us be off.”
Vane seemed untroubled by Dare’s casually delivered threat. “Save your fists for Frost.” He closed the door as the coach moved forward. “You’ll need them!”
Regan tilted her head and stared at Vane’s diminishing figure until he was swallowed by the darkness. “What did Vane mean when he said that you needed to save your fists for my brother?” She gasped as the answer struck her like a carriage whip. “Frost does not know about the wedding.”
“Your brother is resourceful. He will learn about it soon enough.”
Regan gaped at him. How could Dare be so nonchalant? Frost was likely to murder them both when he learned that they had married without his consent. “Wait! How is this so? You needed my brother’s permission to marry.”
Dare brought her hand to his lips, kissing the knuckle above the ring he had placed on her finger. “And I had it. An excellent forgery of the man’s handwriting, if I do not say so myself. The vicar never even questioned it.”
“Oh, my God.” Feeling a little dizzy, Regan gave him a bemused stare. “Is that even legal?”
“No one will challenge the authenticity of the letter,” he assured her. “Not even your brother. Frost adores you. He would be the last one to drag you into a messy scandal.”
No wonder Vane was certain that Dare would need his fists. While Frost may permit the marriage to stand, his pride would demand a blood price.
“Good grief, is Lady Netherley part of this deception? Is that the secret she was referring to as we were leaving the house?”
Dare hesitated, and shot her a wary sideways glance. “Well, I might have embellished our unfortunate predicament when I approached the vicar.”
Regan swallowed. “Unfortunate predicament?”
“I may have confessed to the good man that you were enciente.”
She slapped his hand away when he tried to reach for her. “Of all the outrageous things! How could you tell everyone that I was—” Regan stopped in midsentence as her gaze locked on the trapdoor. She lowered her voice to a mere whisper. “In a delicate condition.”
Flustered and embarrassed by his lie, Regan was mad enough to kick him in the shin. Forgetting about the coachman, she shouted, “You had absolutely no right!”
“How do you know it is a lie?” he quietly countered.
The question took the wind out of her high dudgeon. Indeed, how did she know? Her blue gaze narrowed on her new husband. “A woman knows such things. I am definitely not—not that!”
“Of course you’re not,” Dare said soothingly. Ignoring her feeble attempts to avoid touching him, he pulled her close so her body molded against his side. He smoothed back the strands of hair that had come undone during their brief struggle. “I only meant to sway the vicar to our side. However, since the lie has distressed you—”
“It has.”
“Then I can only think of one thing that will satisfy us both.” Dare lightly kissed her pouting lips. “I will dedicate myself to the task of making certain that I spoke the truth.”
“Wait!”
Uninterested in continuing their conversation, Dare crushed Regan against the leather-cushioned bench as his mouth plundered hers. Her arms curled around his neck, Regan sighed and pulled him closer.
For once, she was willing to let Dare have the final word.