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safe resting place.”
    He made me ashamed of my pragmatism. “I pray you are correct,” I said primly.
    My stiffness seemed to amuse him. He touched my sleeve, his fingertips glancing down it before skating across my palm. Such a thrill that light touch caused! This time I could not contain my shiver of arousal.
    His grin flashed openly.
    “I will see you in the chapel,” he said, smiling now like a wolf. “We can pray for happiness together.”
    ~
    The estate’s ancient fieldstone chapel wasn’t the pocket-sized sanctuary I expected. Twenty nicked old pews stretched from vestibule to apse, enlivened by a smattering of servants and strangers in their Sunday best. Too late I’d remembered I had no male patron. Goddard the chauffeur had to be dragooned to escort me down the aisle.
    Some kind soul, I know not who, provided him a beribboned bouquet of lilies of the valley to hand to me. The blooms were freshly misted and thus left a little wetness on my short gloves.
    As the sun sent lengthening rays through the peaked windows, I processed down the white carpet. Though no music played apart from birdsong, my mood was fittingly solemn.
    Damien waited at the altar with the vicar and another man, who stood silently to his left. This individual was dark-haired and lean and nearly as tall as my fiancé. Though he wore a suit, it was that of a workingman—a lounge suit, I believe it was called. Its fit was baggy, as if it were much worn. The shirt beneath it was clean but plain.
    An employee? I wondered. Did Damien have no close friend to serve as his best man? But perhaps there hadn’t been sufficient notice to call one here.
    “This is Mr. Reed,” Damien murmured when I reached them. “He is the master of my stable.”
    This was a bit eccentric—besides which I’d thought the person who filled that role was referred to as a head groom.
    “Miss Beck,” said the man he’d just introduced.
    He bowed, hand to heart, his hat already having been set elsewhere. When he straightened, his gaze met mine. Mr. Reed was dark where my bridegroom was fair, but he too was a strikingly handsome man. His eyes were a deep, unbelievable blue. Their border of thick black lashes made them every bit as piercing as Damien’s. My pulse jumped in my throat as his look narrowed. His demeanor was watchful, as if he were wary of me for some reason.
    “Pleased to meet you,” I said faintly.
    Damien offered me his left arm.
    As was custom, we knelt briefly before the clergyman. I remembered Damien’s little joke that we should pray for happiness together.
    At least let us not be un happy , I petitioned, considering that more reasonable.
    The marriage service followed the usual formula. I promised to honor and obey, and Damien undertook that he would cherish. With every word, I kept thinking: This feels so real . It was real, or course, but the haste with which the ceremony had come together prevented the truth from registering.
    Damien removed my gloves, each gentle tug sending shocks through my wrought up system. My eyes welled as he slid the plain gold band—which Mr. Reed had supplied from his jacket pocket—onto my left finger.
    My emotions were in such turmoil I couldn’t put names to them.
    “Mia,” Damien said softly. My small trembling hand was clasped between his larger, steadier pair. To my surprise, he smiled at me. His expression was so warm and fond my heart ached to believe what it implied. He barely knew me, and he looked at me more kindly than anyone ever had.
    “I mean my promises,” he said. “I shall always cherish you.”
    His voice was husky, his eyes assuming a shine as well. I’m afraid I gaped to see this evidence of sentiment. He cleared his throat and released my hand.
    The vicar ignored our irregular exchange. “What God hath joined together,” he declared, “let no man put asunder.”
    At his instruction, Damien threw back my veil. Apprehension tightened my ribcage. Was he going to kiss me as he had