Chapters (46)
- Front Cover
- Title Page
- Copyright
- Contents
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-one
- Twenty-two
- Twenty-three
- Twenty-four
- Twenty-five
- Twenty-six
- Twenty-seven
- Twenty-eight
- Twenty-nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-one
- Thirty-two
- Thirty-three
- Thirty-four
- Thirty-five
- Thirty-six
- Thirty-seven
- Thirty-eight
- Epilogue
- Author’s Note
- Acknowledgments
- Back Cover
And she believed him.
The bishop started with a prayer, but Joan heard none of the words, only whispered a prayer of thanks herself for the man holding her hand and promising to hold her for his entire life.
The bishop recited their vows, and as Joan repeated hers, the power of her vows hit her anew: In sickness and in health, to love, cherish, and obey till death us do part.
In a word, forever. Her whole life, she’d offer everything for the man before her.
And by some miracle, he swore to her the very same.
“With this ring I thee wed, with my body I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow. In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.”
His life, his breath, his love, forsaking all others.
For the reading of Psalm 128, she focused on Rowles, whispering the vows of her heart into the sanctuary of her mind as she met his expression, praying he could read her heart with her gaze.
Then came the announcement.
“May I present the Duke and Duchess of Westmore,” the bishop said, and with the gentle applause of the few in attendance, Joan went with her new husband from the sanctuary into the antechamber of the clerk, where she’d register her new name into the annals of the church.
After it was made official, Rowles squeezed her hand and led her to their carriage.
After so much loss.
So much heartbreak.
So much mourning.
It was time to celebrate.
Finally.
Epilogue
Cambridge, England
Would there ever come a time when the touch of her lips wouldn’t set him on fire? He doubted it, and as he leaned into his wife’s kiss, he had a rather deep regret.
Regret they’d dared to leave home, even for a few hours.
At the time, it had been a lovely idea, to get out and show her the beloved Christ’s College where he’d taught for several years, but as Joan’s hand pressed against his chest, her fingers wrapping around his jacket and pulling him in tighter, he decided it was a foolish idea to be anywhere but his bedroom.
Her velvet tongue danced along his lower lip, and he all but shuddered with the need for more. Yet as the carriage hit a rut in the road, he was reminded that all those needs would have to wait.
“You’ll be the death of me,” he murmured against her lips a moment before he recaptured them in a searing kiss, branding her once against as his and his alone. Good Lord, she was so sweet; he’d never recover from loving her.
“And you’re the only one burning, are you?” she asked, withdrawing slightly, enough to tease him into leaning forward, searching for her lips. “It was your idea to get some fresh air. I was perfectly content at home.”