The Wilder Wedding. Lyn Stone

by her aplomb and surprised by his own willingness to abet her rather thorough background enquiry.

      “Once you finished at Oxford, you enlisted in the army, spent two years in Africa, then resigned and took a position with Scotland Yard.”

      He smirked, narrowed his eyes and leaned back in his chair. “And soon took my leave of that. Tedious livelihood.”

      “Since you have entered into your private enquiry business, you accept dangerous assignments for exorbitant fees. Therefore, I conclude that you have constant need of large sums. I can make those risks unnecessary, sir. All you have to do is marry me.”

      “So you want me to squire you about and take you to bed?” he added with blunt sarcasm. “In exchange for your money.”

      “Exactly.” Her nod was succinct.

      He held on to his fury with both hands. It was that or wring her presumptuous little neck. “As I divine it, you aren’t looking for a permanent attachment. So what, may I ask, do you intend to do after you have experienced these ‘months—perhaps only weeks’ of nomadic, marital bliss and unloaded your considerable fortune?”

      She lowered those gorgeous eyes again for a mere second and then refastened that determined gaze on his. “I am going to die.”

      Sean felt his lungs collapse and his stomach lurch. For a long moment he couldn’t speak. Then, as dispassionately as he could manage, he looked directly into her eyes. “There are far worse things than death, Miss Middlebrook.”

      She didn’t even blink at his insensitivity. “Yes, I expect so,” she said in a small voice, “however, I haven’t needed to face any of those as yet.”

      Intently Sean searched her face, took in the slight movements of her hands, her body, for signs of a lie. “Illness?”

      “Yes,” she affirmed, and hurried on, saying things that barely registered through his hidden shock, “but my malady will be nothing dangerous to you. It is noncommunicable and hardly even noticeable. Just a jot of dizziness here and there, leading to a quick and painless end, so I understand.” She smiled. She actually smiled. “I’ve already seen to the…final arrangements. So you needn’t have that bother.”

      Appalled by her words, Sean struggled to utter some denial, anything to refute them. But the certainty in the depth of her eyes, augmented by her courage, convinced him she spoke the truth as she knew it. He reached out and grasped her hands in his before he thought what he was doing. Her steady grip affected him more than a copious flood of tears would have done.

      “You should see another doctor. Get another opinion,” he suggested evenly, burying his pity. She would not want that. “I will find a good one for you. Go with you, if you won’t go alone.”

      She squeezed his hands again as though to comfort him. “Dr. Cadwallader has served as the county’s only medical resource for man and beast since long before I was born, Mr. Wilder. I have implicit faith in the man. However, I will confess this last diagnosis of his did shake it a bit. I saw one of his younger colleagues the day before yesterday. I explained Dr. Cadwallader’s findings and my symptoms. He concurred immediately.”

      “Perhaps there is some treatment—”

      She rolled her eyes and smirked. “Oh, Dr. Smithers had some idea of confining me to bed, dosing me daily with a concoction he admittedly brewed up on his own. But he flatly refused to state just what that medication would alleviate. Certainly not my demise. And thus far, anticipation of that is all that really troubles me. His vague answers and nervous disposition told me all I needed to know. Other than making himself rich at my expense, there is nothing he could do. And I don’t plan to waste my last days lolling about in a sickbed, ingesting heaven knows what, when I feel just fine as I am. For now, anyway.”

      Sean sighed, feeling a regret such as he had never known. His own problems seemed trifling in view of Laura Middlebrook’s dilemma. Then it occurred to him. “You had only just found out about this that day I came to your home, hadn’t you?”

      “Yes, and you were very kind to me then. As I said before, that is one reason I chose you to help me.”

      “I cannot do this, Miss Middlebrook, even if I wanted to. There are obligations, you see. I’m preparing to travel to Paris before the end of the week. Tomorrow, in fact. I am already committed to a case.”

      “How marvelous!” she said, grinning. “I’ve always wanted to go there!”

      Sean quickly shook his head. “This jaunt will be no pleasure trip,” he lied. “It could very well prove dangerous. So you see—”

      “I promise not to distract you from your work. And, as for the danger, I have very little to fear, now have I? Perhaps I could even assist you.”

      “Don’t be absurd! That’s impossible.”

      “Come now, you won’t be discommoded by this. I promise. All you need do is tolerate my presence for a bit. You needn’t nurse me if I sicken, or feel you have to mourn when…well, when everything’s over and done. Please marry me, won’t you? Just for a little while?”

      Her desperate look of entreaty made him blink against a burning in his eyes. He never wept. Never let himself care enough to weep. Tears never solved a damned thing, he knew that. But his inability to reassure her, this damned helplessness to alter what she faced, wreaked havoc with his senses. He swallowed hard and shook his head, struggling one last time to deny her. But the wall Sean had hastily constructed eighteen years before to encase his innermost self simply collapsed. He felt it crumble to dust.

      “I intend to go with no regrets, Mr. Wilder. And I promise to leave you with none,” she declared softly. “Please, sir, do we have a deal?”

      “Yes,” he whispered hoarsely. He heard the word come out of his mouth and scrambled to form another that would retract it. Hell, he hadn’t meant to agree. “Look, I don’t…oh hell, I wish…”

      She released his hands and stood abruptly. “Wishing is for fools and dreamers, Mr. Wilder. Now, step lively! We can make the magistrate’s office before closing if we hurry.”

      What was he doing? Sean wondered frantically as he pulled his office door shut and rushed to catch up to her. What in the holy name of God was he doing?

      “’Under the power vested in me by the Commonwealth of Great Britain, I pronounce that you are husband and wife,” ’ Sir Buford Mallory intoned as though he did it every day. Sean couldn’t imagine weddings all that commonplace around here, Mallory being a senior justice and all. She had said the old curmudgeon was a friend of her grandmother’s solicitor. Sean had met him officially while employed by the Yard. The blighter had more than a few screws loose. That condition must be highly contagious. At the moment, everyone in the room seemed afflicted, himself most especially. The Book of Offices snapped shut.

      Sean blinked sharply at the sound and looked down at the girl whose fingernails were cutting into his palm. She immediately rose on tiptoe and planted a quick, noisy kiss on his open lips. Good God, he was married. Again. An involuntary shudder of foreboding racked his spine.

      “There now!” she said brightly, turning to the magistrate. “Where do we sign, sir?”

      She had handled everything, Sean thought with disbelief—the special license, the official to do the deed, the rings, even the kiss. He was amazed there was no choir and banks of flowers crowding the chamber.

      The old judge shoved two papers across his desk and pointed to a blank spot on the first. Sean watched her write her name on both in bold, flowing script. She did it without a tremble, without a speck of hesitation. Laura Malinda Ames Middlebrook. His own fingers felt numb as he took the pen she offered and scratched his own signature.

      “Cavendish?” she asked with a grin. Her shoulders shook with what he supposed to be a quiver of mirth. “How terribly awesome!”

      “My mother’s maiden