Prelude to a Scandal. Delilah Marvelle

form of emotion. Justine swallowed against the aching dryness overtaking her throat and couldn’t help but wonder what he was thinking or feeling. She only hoped it wasn’t regret.

      Together they knelt before the bishop, Bradford’s large hand still holding hers. More words echoed around them but all she could think about was his hand. And how her hand was now his hand. Forever.

      Their hands fell away. They stood and the ceremony ended, formally announcing it was time to sign the parish registrar in the side room off the altar. She didn’t even remember leaving the altar or walking into the room as she blankly watched Bradford sign the registrar with a few sweeping strokes.

      He turned and held out the quill toward her.

      Justine gently took the feather and approached the small oak table. Dipping the tip into the inkwell beside the registrar, she carefully and neatly scribed her full birth name beside his, fighting the trembling in her hand.

      Sliding the quill back into the inkwell, she released a shaky breath as the old bishop gathered up the large book and congratulated them with a blessing. It was over. And no matter what Bradford’s true intentions were in marrying her, it was done.

      A firm gloved hand touched the side of her arm. She jumped and whirled toward Bradford, who lingered behind her.

      He leaned in, bringing with him the alluring scent of sweet cigars and heated sandalwood. “You look very pretty.” His gaze swept toward her lips before trailing back up and meeting her eyes again. “Give me your lips.”

      She sucked in a breath. He wanted to kiss her? Now? Before the bishop? That simply wasn’t done. Even she knew that. “I prefer you ravage me later.” She paused. Then cringed. For she hardly wanted to say the word ravage in church, let alone before the bishop.

      Bradford straightened and stared down at her with penetrating dark eyes, as if he weren’t in any way pleased she had opposed his request.