Slowly Hart pulled off her scarlet satin glove and stuffed it in his pocket. Her hand was cold. Her fingers were trembling. So, she was not as certain as she appeared. His bold, contrary girl . . .

He raised her hand and kissed it formally, ostentatiously—there was a ripple of comment in the congregation. Then, his eyes locked with hers, he turned her hand over and placed a warm kiss in the center of her cold palm.

The whispers turned to a furious buzzing.

The bishop cleared his throat portentously. Hands clasped, they turned to face him. “Dearly beloved . . .” The bishop’s rich, fruity tones washed over them.

Hart barely took in the words. He waited, her cold hand still trembling in his grasp. Her tension seemed to be rising. His, now she was here and things were underway, was dropping. He just had to get past the speak-now-or-forever-hold-your-peace part. Ah, here it came. He braced himself.

“Therefore if any man can show any just cause, why they may not lawfully be joined together, let him now speak, or else hereafter for ever hold his peace,” the bishop intoned.

There was a long, endless pause. The bishop scanned the congregation. Hart was aware of people looking around the church, as if hoping for someone to leap out from the shadows and forbid the wedding. Again. He stood stiffly and waited.

But nobody spoke. The service continued. Hart felt his tension draining away. It was going to be all right.

His bride, however, seemed to be getting more tense by the minute. He slid a sideways glance at her. She was pale, rigid, staring straight ahead. Her fingers shook. He squeezed them gently in reassurance, but she didn’t shift her gaze.

The bishop listed the promises they would make to each other. “I will,” Hart said in a clear voice. His bride mumbled something unintelligible. The bishop frowned, and glanced at Hart. Hart nodded to him to continue.

Then came the vows.

In a clear, firm voice, Hart repeated, “I, Redmond Jasper Hartley, take thee Georgiana Mary Rutherford, to my wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part, according to God’s holy ordinance; and thereto I plight thee my troth.”

Then it was Georgiana’s turn. She repeated her vows in a low, almost inaudible voice. “I, Georgiana Mary Rutherford, take thee Redmond Jasper Hartley to my wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to rub, cherish, and to olé, till death us do part, according to God’s holy ordinance; and thereto I give thee my troth.”

Hart frowned. Had he heard her aright? To rub, cherish, and to olé?