Prelude to a Scandal. Delilah Marvelle

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      He nodded. “Before he got himself into whatever stupid mess he did, he actually tried calling on you several times here at the house. I repeatedly turned him away knowing his intentions weren’t in the least bit civil.”

      “He … called on me?” she asked softly. “Why did you never tell me about this?”

      He grunted. “Smitten as you already were with the man? I think not. He wasn’t prepared to offer matrimony at the time, but I am pleased to know that has all changed and here we are, well past any worry. I have known the man long enough to say he will treat you very well. He may be misguided at times, and randy, but that heart of his beats true. Be patient with him and guide him and I promise all will be well.”

      Justine smiled and squeezed his warm hand. “You are right. I suppose I’m a bit nervous, is all. I’ve always been quite the outcast in London, and now that I am about to become a duchess, and observed closely by all, I worry I’ll only end up disappointing you and everyone else.”

      “You could never disappoint me, Justine. It is I who have disappointed you.” He withdrew his hand from hers and looked away, drawing his gray brows together. “There are many things I cannot change. Aside from the mess I created foolishly thinking I lived in a free society, you should have been allowed a proper upbringing here in London. Like the rest of the girls. I failed you in that way, and can only apologize.”

      Justine’s throat clenched. “I’ll not have you regretting the wonderful and amazing life you have given me. Africa will always be home to me. Always. ‘Tis a glorious place of endless beauty London could never rival. I know without any doubt I’ll be toting Bradford and my own children there from time to time to escape the London fog, smog and coal smoke.”

      She nodded at the very thought, then paused and teasingly emphasized with a lopsided grin, “Actually, I’ll have no choice in the matter but to take my children to Africa. By then, I know their grandparents will be permanently living in Cape Town.”

      He looked away. “My days in Africa are over.”

      Her stomach squeezed at the thought. “Why would you say something like that? You and I both know where you belong. And it isn’t here amongst all these snobs who don’t appreciate the countless years of dedication you’ve given to your observations.”

      He sighed and eyed her. “Even if I had the means to return, it wouldn’t be the same without you. You, my girl, have chronicled some of my best works and kept me company whenever your mother suffered from a headache. Which was quite often.”

      Justine bit back a smile, knowing her mother always feigned headaches whenever she was trying to avoid something. She reached out and gently nudged his forearm. “Perhaps I can convince Bradford to take us all to Cape Town for holiday? Wouldn’t that be lovely?”

      “Now, now. We mustn’t financially burden the duke any more than we already have. Even the deepest of wells can run dry.”

      Justine fingered both books beside her. “It appears I have some studying to do before I go to bed.”

      Lord Marwood grinned. “That you do. Good night.” He patted his book, then hastily leaned in and kissed her cheek. “You have always brought pride to my name, and as duchess, I know you will continue to do so.” He straightened, nodded, then strode across the room, quietly closing the door behind him.

      Justine sighed and prayed her father was right. For the Marwood name had already endured more than enough scandal.

       Twelve hours later

      THE SOFT FLOATING FRAGRANCE of fresh flowers mingled with the heady scent of melted beeswax. It tinged the sultry air of the quiet church and every breath Justine took as she walked the length of the aisle toward Bradford.

      Every wooden pew and marble pillar she passed had been meticulously decorated with boughs of white blossoms, pink roses, and forget-me-nots. The bright morning sun sparkled through the rows of stained-glass windows high above, highlighting portions of the marble altar with a rainbow of muted colors. And there, at the altar, past all the vacant pews, stood Bradford.

      Her Bradford. A wonderful, even if flawed, man who had nobly rescued her father and was about to become her husband.

      Her heart fluttered as she paused beside him and glanced toward the bishop and the only witnesses who stood at the altar dressed in their finest—her mother and father.

      She smiled at them.

      Their aging faces beamed with genuine warmth and pride. There was no greater joy than seeing the happy faces of those she loved whilst knowing she was marrying a man she genuinely adored. A man she hoped she would quickly come to love.

      Justine spun back toward Bradford, bumping into him in clumsy haste. His large hands steadied her as the expanse of his gray satin waistcoat and its row of silver-and-diamond-encrusted buttons overtook her entire view. She stepped back, a nervous laugh bubbling from her lips, and shyly glanced up at him.

      Bradford’s dark hair had been smoothly brushed back from his forehead, displaying his entire rugged profile, including the jagged scar dominating the one side of his face.

      A sense of pride filled her. For despite that scar, he was still unbelievably dashing. He looked like a seasoned pirate who had decided to become an aristocrat for a day. A smile overtook her lips at the very thought. She met his gaze.

      Bradford’s dark eyes observed her, his expression suggesting he was too troubled to smile. He looked away and focused on the bishop before them.

      Justine’s smile faded and her chest tightened. What if he’d never genuinely wanted to marry her? She’d not truly considered that until now. She’d been so focused on overseeing her father’s freedom, she had not considered how Bradford even felt about their wedding.

      She swallowed as the bishop’s calm voice floated around her. An unexpected sense of dread overwhelmed her. The weight of her pearl-encrusted, lilac gown seemed to pull her down toward the marble slab at her feet. She wanted to give in to its weight and crumple to the floor but somehow managed to remain standing.

      The bishop glanced at each of them, his gray brows rising toward his gold-threaded dome cap. “I require and charge you both, as you will answer at the dreadful day of judgment when the secrets of all hearts shall be disclosed, that if either of you know any impediment why you may not be lawfully joined together in matrimony, you do now confess it. For be you well assured, that so many as are coupled together otherwise than God’s word doth allow are not joined together by God; neither is their matrimony lawful. If any man do allege and declare any impediment, why they may not be coupled together in matrimony, by God’s law, or the laws of this realm; may he prove his allegation now.”

      Justine glanced over at Bradford, half expecting him to say something. Yet no opposition fell from his lips. His jaw merely tightened.

      The bishop went on, tonelessly reciting more words. Words she could no longer make sense of. Her thoughts blurred into a panic. After all, this was supposed to be the happiest day of her life. Why didn’t it feel like it?

      Bradford suddenly leaned toward her and reached out. His warm fingers gently grasped her wrist. She stiffened, realizing his hand was visibly trembling as he lifted her own hand and held it up high between them.

      Could it be possible he was as nervous as she was?

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