be exciting with him, a wild journey, spiced with the unexpected. He didn’t love her, of course, and he wouldn’t be faithful.
But that didn’t matter, she told herself. Not if she didn’t expect it.
“Kate,” began Cluyne, his rough whisper finally stirring the air.
“It’s quite all right,” she said quickly. “It’s actually an excellent plan. It makes perfect sense.”
“My dear…” said Charlotte, echoing Cluyne’s concern.
“Really, a marriage of convenience suits me very well,” she said forcefully. “It is, after all, how most of the English aristocracy arrange the matter. The conte and I can lead separate lives. I can return to London and my friends, and Lord Ghiradelli can… go wherever he chooses.” She shrugged, feeling a tiny tingle snake down her spine. “So, I’ll do it. For King and for country—though God knows why. I’m half American.”
Marco’s lips quirked. “Va bene.” He looked to Lynsley. “A special license?”
The marquess answered with a searching stare, but after a long moment, he seemed satisfied with what he saw. “I’ll have it from the bishop within the hour. You two can be wed at Cluyne Close by teatime and on a boat for Ostend…” He quickly pulled out a battered pocketwatch and flipped open the case. “By midnight.”
All eyes turned at Kate.
“That doesn’t leave us much time to pack,” she said evenly. “What are we waiting for?”
Lynsley placed his mud-stained hat back on his head. “Send one of your servants to wait for me here, Cluyne.”
The duke hesitated, then gave a wordless nod.
The marquess’s gaze shifted to her and then to Marco. “Allow me to wish you happy in advance. It would, of course, not be prudent for me to appear at Cluyne Close for the ceremony.”
“Thank you, amico.” In the smoky light, Marco’s expression was naught but a blur of soot and shadows.
Lynsley looked for a moment as if he was going to say something else. Then he seemed to reconsider and he silently slid on his gloves. Tipping his battered brim low over his eyes, he backed off into the gloom, disappearing just as quickly as he had appeared.
No one moved until a gust rattled the windowpanes, finally breaking the strange spell.
Kate tightened her shawl around her shoulders.
Cluyne picked up the candle.
“Andiamo, bella.” Marco offered her his hand.
“Yes, let’s go, ” she replied.
Chapter Twenty-three
Kate awoke with a jolt, the touch of the carriage windowpane cold as ice against her cheek. Pulling the fur-trimmed lap robe up a little higher, she angled her shoulders back to the leather squabs and closed her eyes, wondering if her body would ever recover from the bone-rattling descent from the snowy mountains. She massaged gingerly at the back of her neck. There wasn’t an inch of her that didn’t ache. Save for her feet, which were now numb with cold. The felt-wrapped bricks had long since lost their heat.
Oh, for the comforts of Cluyne Close. Her maid was right—there was something to be said for luxury.
The journey so far had been a hellish ordeal, a grueling ten days of near nonstop travel. The first leg, a rough Channel crossing over stormy waters, had been made even more unpleasant by the dank cabin reeking of urine and vomit. Marco had been seasick the entire time—hardly an auspicious start to their marriage. From there, they had rattled over rutted roads and treacherous mountain passes. Kate rubbed her bleary eyes. It had all passed in a blur of rackety coaches and dismal inns, though now she would almost welcome a musty, flea-ridden bed to stretch out on.
She slanted a look at the slumped form beside her. Only a tangle of Marco’s dark hair was visible above the lumpy blanket, but the soft rasp of his snore indicated that he had fallen into a doze. Reaching across the seat, she smoothed the heavy wool around his knees. His long legs were bent at an awkward angle in the cramped coach. No wonder he had been in no mood for conversation during the brief stop for food and a change of horses sometime after midnight.
Sighing, Kate settled back against the worn leather, trying to get comfortable. She had made her own bed, she reminded herself. And now she must sleep in it…
“Wake up.”
“Mmmm?” Her lids lifted a touch as she tried to squirm away from the shaking sensation.
“Come, open your eyes, Kate. You should not miss seeing your arrival in Vienna.”
“Vienna?” she murmured. As the word sank in, she sat up straight and scrubbed at the misted glass. “Oh, look,” she