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the counter and removed a package from beneath it that she carefully unwrapped. “And the very, very finest silk for the wedding-night negligee.” She winked and smiled. “The groom will be enchanted, non ?”
    Mari giggled. “Oh, yes.”
    Abigail stared at the shimmering, translucent material and felt her cheeks warm. “You can see right through it.”
    Madam Dubois’s smile grew and Mari giggled again. “Yes.”
    “Shane will think I have lost my mind completely wearing such flimsy material.”
    “No. He will not ,” Mari said. “You must trust me on this.”
    Abigail was beginning to wonder if Mari had lost her mind. “A night rail is supposed to be warm.”
    “Oh, stop being so practical, Abby.” Mari wiped at tears of laughter. “Shane will keep you plenty warm.”
    Her face felt like it was on fire. Mari couldn’t possibly know that Shane was not interested in a real marriage. Abigail would be mortified to dress like a hoyden in front of him. What would he think of her?
    She paused. What would Shane think if he actually saw her as an alluring female—well, maybe not alluring exactly, but at least a female instead of someone who dressed like a boy? Maybe Mari did have a point. Maybe, just maybe, Shane would find Abigail truly attractive. Was it not worth a try?
    “I will take it,” she said.
     
    The week went by at breathtaking speed. Although Abigail had been spared from attending soirees and balls due to her engagement, a good number of teas and dinners still needed to be attended. Mari, as sister to the Marchioness of Newburn and sister-by-marriage to the Earl of Cantford, was determined that none of the ton would slight Abigail for her hasty marriage. Almacks’ Matrons must have agreed since there seemed to be never-ending invitations waiting each morning.
    Shane did not attend the teas since that was a woman’s domain, but he did escort Abigail to the dinners and once to the theatre. Her father had accompanied them, not so much to act the chaperone, but to let society know that he did, indeed, approve the upcoming marriage.
    A chaperone was hardly needed. Shane acted the perfect gentleman at all times, even when they were alone for brief periods. Abigail had fully expected him to show his anger, or at least displeasure, over the coercion of their marriage, but he had remained politely distant. She’d tried to talk to him about the situation only to have him tell her what was done was done. She’d felt as guilty as Lady Macbeth when he said that.
    Still, today was their wedding day and tonight the marriage would be consummated. Abigail only hoped once they were truly joined, Shane would act differently. Mari had assured her lovemaking indeed drew her closer to Jamie and that he felt the same. Abigail desperately wanted to please Shane in that way, even if there would be pain. She would bear it. He would not find her lacking in willingness. She had, after all, studied all the nude figures in art books and read biology. Her body flashed with heat as she thought about which body parts went where and how the deed was done. Hopefully, the beautiful negligee waiting in Mari’s guest room would show Shane how interested she was in pleasing him.
    “You’ve been holding that brush and staring at yourself in the mirror for ages,” Mari interrupted her thoughts with a smile. “Here, let me do your hair or you are going to be late for your own wedding.”
    An hour later, Abigail alighted from her father’s coach in the small courtyard of Temple Church. It seemed an odd choice since St. Paul’s was nearby, but Shane had insisted on it. When he’d told her Templars had built the church in the twelfth century as a replica of the Holy Sepulchre, she’d been fascinated both with the design and age. When Shane had pointed out the pagan carving of a Green Man over the west entrance, depicting a pagan symbol on a Christian shirt, she’d been intrigued. All this time, she’d never known this treasure