“Best of luck with that one,” Lucy called after him.

The vicar cleared his throat and nodded toward Garrett. “Well, then, now that that unpleasant business is settled. Do you wish to proceed?”

“Just one more moment, Reverend.” Garrett turned back to Jane.

“Jane,” Garrett whispered, this time swallowing the even larger lump in his throat. She’d done all this for him, and she loved him. “Are you sure? Are you certain this is what you want?”

She leaned up on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. “You were right about me, Garrett. I’ve been hiding behind books all my life. It’s high time I became brave enough to take a chance in the real world, in a real story, my own story. I want my happy ending to be with you.”

Garrett cupped her cheeks and kissed her. The small crowd behind them cheered. “By all means, my love, let’s get married.”

Chapter 48

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

Garrett carried her over the threshold of his town house. It was a silly, sentimental thing to do, and Jane adored it. She’d worn her mother’s wedding gown, which had made her mother’s eyes moist with tears, but Jane was in a hurry to get the uncomfortable thing off … for more than one reason.

They’d spent the remainder of the morning and all the afternoon celebrating with their friends at Derek’s town house, but now they were home. Alone.

She’d been looking forward to this all day. The butterflies had winged in her middle since she’d first seen Garrett at the church. When he set her down in the marble foyer of his home and tenderly kissed her, her traitorous legs began shaking again.

“I sent a note. The servants have all been dismissed for the evening,” he whispered in her ear.

“That’s … nice.” Her voice trembled. Apparently the servants had taken the dogs with them.

Garrett rubbed his thumb along her cheekbone and tipped up her chin. “Don’t be nervous, Jane.”

“I don’t want to be. Truly, I don’t.”

He nuzzled her ear, and Jane closed her eyes.

“Come upstairs with me,” he murmured.

“Yes,” she breathed. Oh, yes. How she wanted to make love to this man.

He led her by the hand to his bedchamber. The room was sparse and masculine and very Upton. Two candles in a silver brace flickered atop the mantelpiece, casting the room in a shadowy glow. A large bed against the back wall was covered in silken, emerald sheets. A dark cherrywood wardrobe, a matching writing desk, a portrait of a black-and-white spaniel on the wall.

“That’s not Dogberry or Verges, is it?” Jane asked.

“No, that’s Henry. I had him when I was a boy. I miss him still.”