Iona covertly watched as her groom handed their host’s studious son Bakari a coin. The boy grinned and raced off to do his bidding. Her heart pattered a little faster.
She was still furious with Gerard, of course. A woman deserved to know who she was going home with after her wedding.
But the bored earl had disappeared, replaced by a happy fellow who grinned and endured back slaps from his fellows despite his injury. He danced her around the room as if to show the world she was beautiful and all his. This was the earl she knew, the one brimming with curiosity, desire, and spikes of temper and delight, all concealed beneath that insouciant, gentlemanly demeanor. She feared breaching his defenses might be a little like opening Pandora’s trunk.
But Gerard endured hugs and kisses with good cheer, lifting her twin so Isobel could kiss his cheek, hugging his cousin Phoebe, laughing at Lord Dare—and he wasn’t in the least drunk like the rest of the guests. Iona didn’t think he’d even noticed he wasn’t holding a glass.
As if by magic, her groom was suddenly at her side. He held out his hand. She took it. He lifted her ring to his lips and kissed her finger just below the symbol of their totally inappropriate marriage. She shivered in anticipation.
“Lady Ives.” He gestured at the floor clearing for the last dance.
“Lady Iona,” she decided.
“Iona Ives.” He chortled, leading her out as the audience formed a ring around them. “I’m heir to a marquess, so sorry, my dear, it’s Lady Ives, a farmer’s beekeeping wife.”
“A historian and parliamentarian’s apiarist countess. We’ll be very poor.”
“I will be rich beyond my wildest dreams if I have you.”
She longed to believe that.
He swirled her into the waltz. Her husband’s strong arms held her properly. Gerard danced with more skill than she but led her so capably that she felt as if she floated.
She had no urge to run and hide. For the first time in her life she felt beautiful, like a countess, as if the world might actually be filled with miracles just waiting to happen.
She was married—and she most definitely wasn’t running from her marriage bed.
Hooting and hollering, their wedding party followed them as Gerard swept her from the great hall. Lydia waited for them near the stairs, handing Iona her wedding bouquet.
Too excited and anxious to think, Iona tossed it from the landing—directly into the hands of her twin.
Leaving their laughing guests, they fled up the main stairs. The old castle was a warren of rooms and corridors carved from larger chambers and partitioned off over the centuries. Iona wasn’t entirely certain she could find her way out again when Gerard opened the door to their bridal suite.
While he turned to bolt the door, Iona nervously studied her wedding chamber. Overcome by all the ups and downs of this day, she let tears leak at the carefully prepared sight.
Her meticulously detailed husband had probably found the only room in the castle decorated in her favorite gold and browns. They weren’t popular colors, but they reminded her of her bees, and she cherished them. She relaxed a fraction in the warm comfort of her surroundings.
Candles lit every corner—that’s what he’d paid Bakari to do. She wiped at more tears.
Hot house roses scented the air. A confection of shimmering gold silk lay across the ivory damask coverlet. On top of it lay a velvet jewelry box. It had been years since anyone had done anything special for her, and even then, it had never been such a grandiose gesture. After he’d given her the beautiful wedding ring, she was afraid to touch the box.
Her new husband circled her waist from behind and leaned down to kiss her ear. “You didn’t leave me a lot of time to plan. And just so you know—I’m hoping you’ll wear that gown in the morning. Right now, I wish to see all of you.”
He removed her veil, kissed her nape, then started on her buttons.
A hot flush heated her better than the fire in the grate.
“We really should wait until we’re at Wystan,” she said, nervously. “I should consult with my queen before doing anything drastic.”
He halted and turned her to face him. Crossing his arms, he raised one eyebrow and waited.
She didn’t like that. She squirmed. “I am not hiding.”
He waited some more. He looked so commanding, so very. . . magnificent.
Iona rubbed the ring on her finger and studied the waves of white lace covering her shoes. “It’s not hiding to need confirmation that I’m doing the right thing.”
He tilted her chin so she had to meet his forceful dark eyes and taunted. “I can sense it, y’know. Your head and your heart know what is right. Your bees only confirm what you already know. To back away and say you may consult with them is hiding.”
“I. . .” But the damned man was absolutely right. All her life, she’d fled to her hives for comfort—and to escape her unhappiness. The bees had been her confidants when Mortimer raged through the house or stole the coins she’d hidden.
She wasn’t unhappy now. Mortimer was out of her life. In his place stood an arrogant honorable lord who wanted to please her—who admitted to sensing her mood. And she was too stupid to know how to react.
At her silence, he asked worriedly, “Are you sorry we did this?”
Another woman might scold and accuse him of arrogant presumption, but Iona knew better. He’d known she’d never choose her own wants and desires over what was best for others. He understood her, just as she was learning to understand him. He was a man people relied on because he did what needed to be done, no matter how unpleasant or difficult. They were not terribly different.
But this marriage—he was actually doing for himself
