He looked at her. She stared straight ahead, unmoving, her gaze fixed on the stained glass window above the altar.

The bishop hesitated, frowned and gave Hart a hard questioning look. From his expression he wasn’t sure he’d heard her correctly. He wasn’t a young bishop; likely he was a bit deaf.

“Continue,” Hart said.

And so the ceremony rolled on until “Those whom God hath joined together let no man put asunder.” They signed the registry and Hart quietly released a long sigh of relief. The bishop had a lot more to say, and there were more prayers, but Hart took very little notice. It was done. She was his.

As they came out of the church, the duke dug in his pockets and produced several handfuls of coins, which he flung over the heads of the crowd of onlookers. While they scrambled for the money, he helped George into the waiting carriage and they drove away.

He leaned back against the leather seat and eyed her quizzically. “So, rub, cherish, and olé, eh?”

George braced herself for the argument. At least he hadn’t reacted in the church, though she had half expected it. “I only said that because—”

“I know. Because you weren’t prepared to make a promise you weren’t sure you could honor.”

She blinked. “Yes. That’s right.” He’d understood. Without any need for explanation or justification on her part. She could happily promise to cherish him, but love? When she wasn’t sure whether she loved him or not? You couldn’t order love.

As for promising to obey him, that was never in question.

He nodded. “Thought so. Just one question. What does olé mean?”

“Olé? I believe Spanish bullfighters say it to bulls.”

“So . . I’m a bull, am I?” There was a glint in his eyes that she didn’t trust.

“No, it’s just a word expressing excitement.” It was the only word she could think of that rhymed with obey. And rub rhymed with love. Sort of.

“You’re excited?”

She said in a dampening tone, “Not particularly.”

“Then I’ll have to work a little harder, won’t I?” He glanced at her and added, “Not here, of course. Later.”

“Olé is more of a celebratory thing,” she said firmly. She wasn’t going to think about later. That would come soon enough. She didn’t know whether she was looking forward to discovering what it was all about—or dreading it.

“I see. So you’ve promised to rub, cherish and celebrate me. Sounds delightful.”

She eyed him cautiously. He couldn’t possibly be accepting her alteration of the sacred wedding vows so calmly, could he?

She’d braced herself for a quarrel. But if he wasn’t going to argue, she had no complaint. Quite the contrary. But she did feel a little deflated.