Lucien Tregellas by Margaret McPhee

have brought this child here to be baptised…Oops, wrong one,’ mumbled Reverend Dutton. ‘Getting ahead of myself there somewhat. You won’t need that one for a little while yet.’
    Madeline’s face flamed.
    Lord Tregellas stiffened behind her.
    â€˜Dearly beloved, we are gathered together here in the sight of God, and in the face of these witnesses, to join together this man and this woman in holy matrimony.’ He stopped and beamed at Madeline. ‘Now we’re getting somewhere.’ Lord Tregellas moved round to stand at her right-hand side and the rest of the old clergyman’s words passed as a blur. This was a binding ceremony in the eyes of both God and the law. By the end of it she would be Lord Tregellas’s wife; his wife, no less. Not half an hour ago she had been sitting in Almack’s, existing minute by minute, doomed by a promise to marry Lord Farquharson, empty save for despair. Now the threat of Cyril Farquharson was gone, removed in one fell swoop by the man standing by her side.
    â€˜Madeline.’
    His voice invaded her thoughts, pulling her back to the present, to the reality of her situation.
    â€˜Madeline,’ he said again.
    She looked up into those stark eyes. Saw a tiny spark of anxiety in them. Knew he was waiting for her answer. He was a stranger, she had only spoken to him on three evenings, and this was one of them. And he was Earl Tregellas. Tregellas, for goodness’ sake. The Wicked Earl! How did she even know that what he had told her about Lord Farquharson was true? What she was doing was madness. Absolute insanity. She should have been afraid, but she wasn’t. Well, only a little, if truth be told. He had spoken of instincts and trusting them. Every instinct in Madeline’s body told her that Lord Tregellas would not hurt her. He had saved her twice from Farquharson. Now he was prepared to give her his name to save her yet again. If she refused him, she knew full well what awaited her—Cyril Farquharson. Just the thought of that man conjured real fear.
    His fingers touched to hers as if willing her to speak the words.
    And she did.
    More voices, more words, warmth of his hand on hers, touch of cold metal upon the third finger of her left hand. Then, with a brush of Lord Tregellas’s lips against her cheek, it was done. There would be no going back. She had just become Earl Tregellas’s wife, while all the while her mama sat unknowing, waiting for her in Almack’s.
    Â 
    â€˜Hell, I thought for a minute that she meant to refuse me in front of Reverend Dutton.’ Only Tregellas and his brother remained. Colonel Barclay had volunteered to see the clergyman safely home, and the critical letter had been dispatched to Mrs Langley via Lucien’s most trusted footman. Lucien filled two glasses, loosened his neckcloth, and sat down in the buttoned wing chair opposite his brother. Heavy burgundy-coloured curtains hung at the library window, blotting out the night beyond. The room was dark save for a single branch of candles upon the desk by the window and the flames that danced within the fireplace.
    Guy helped himself to one of the glasses. ‘What would you have done if she had? The best-laid plan would have crumbled beneath a simple refusal.’
    Lucien’s dark eyebrows angled dangerously. That would have necessitated the introduction of plan B.’
    â€˜Plan B?’ echoed Guy intrigued.
    The firelight exaggerated the clean angles and planes of Lucien’s face and darkened his eyes. ‘The one in which Miss Langley spends the night unchaperoned in the bachelor residence of Earl Tregellas. Come morning, without so much as touching her, I would have ensured that Miss Langley had no other choice but to marry me.’
    â€˜My God, that’s wicked. Wicked but effective.’
    Lucien shrugged and took a swig of brandy. ‘Desperate times call for desperate measures. It would have been in