Dangerous Liaison (Lords of Whitehall Book 2)

point out the irony of the situation. He might have found the evidence he needed to expose Whitney as a traitor, but in doing so he’d tied himself to the man, his wife and most importantly, his niece until the day he died.

Chapter 4
Not quite a day later, Gillian stood at the back of St. George’s holding on to her Uncle Whitney’s arm. How had she come to this end? She honestly had no idea. What had happened to the note she found in her uncle’s book? Again, she had no idea. She had not seen Moreham since his departure the night before. She did know his man of business had called and spent two hours with her uncle or so her maid Maisy reported.
The worst of it all was Aunt Isadora’s reaction. The lady who loved her devotedly had not stopped crying since being told of Gillian’s wedding. Lady Sylvia, Moreham’s mother arrived after nuncheon and spent the afternoon trying to soothe the duchess’ distress. Even now, the church rang with her aunt’s inconsolable sobbing.
Gillian, for a single moment, felt compassion for Moreham. With her aunt’s histrionics coupled with her uncle’s thunderous glower, Moreham must be wishing for a bolt of lightning to strike him down before he could say his vows. Cross stood at his side. He was the only person in the church smiling.
“My dear, shall we join the others?” Uncle Whitney asked. His eyes filled with tears. “It is not too late. Say one word and I’ll turn around and escort you home without one qualm.” He patted her cheek. “This is not the way I wanted you to marry, but I have inquired about Moreham and I am convinced he is a good man. As for the duchess’ disregard for the man, I wouldn’t give it much credence.”
He waited for her to speak. Her throat ached. Tears welled in her eyes. The more empathetic Uncle Whitney was, the worse she felt. All she could manage was a shake of her head.
Uncle Whitney kissed her cheek and stepped forward to walk her down the aisle. Guilt ate at her. What would her uncle say if he knew the truth? She’d importuned his trust and helped Moreham in the most dishonorable manner. Moreham had been right about the horrid guilt she bore for helping him. How she wished she’d for once not been stubborn and done as he suggested. Returned home and left the spying to him and Lady Philly.
Gillian told herself if her uncle was absolved of guilt, the price she paid would be worth it. This was the proverbial bed she’d made for herself. She deserved to be leg shackled to Moreham. Perhaps Uncle Whitney was right, Moreham was a good man. All could have been much worse. She could have married Percy Arnold.
Dressed in a pale pink day gown with lacy rosettes around the hem, Gillian hoped she looked like a lady in love. She couldn’t countenance the thought of anyone learning the truth. Playing his part of bridegroom, Moreham had sent over a prettily wrapped gift. Her wedding gift, a string of flawless pearls that she now wore.
Her uncle escorted her down the aisle to stand beside Moreham. She did not look his way but kept her eyes on the vicar. Moreham took her hand and held it while the familiar words of the marriage ceremony echoed through the church punctuated by Aunt Isadora’s sobbing in the background.
Each time Moreham spoke, the desire to flee overwhelmed her. She squeezed his hand to keep from breaking away and running down the aisle.
The vicar’s pronouncement “until death, do they part” shot through her like an arrow. The vicar declared them married. Moreham tugged her hand and she turned to look up at him. For an instant, she felt nothing but pity for him. To be married had to be as nightmarish for him as much as it was for her, maybe more so. Moreham was the one marrying into a family suspected of treasonous activities.
Before she could say a word, his mother made her way to her side and smothered her in her arms. “Oh, my dear, you have made me the happiest lady in the kingdom. I never dreamed Moreham would marry such a lovely lady. In truth, I’d begun to accept he would never marry,” Lady Sylvia gushed.
Moreham stepped away to speak with Cross while her uncle led her aunt to her side. Lady Sylvia stepped back to allow Aunt Isadora to embrace her.
“My dearest girl, didn’t I tell you something like this would happen? You must come home to us if you are ever unhappy. I care not a fig for what anyone thinks when your happiness is at stake. Send word day or night and we will come to your side without question.”
“Now, Isadora, that is no way to talk at Gillian’s wedding. I have told you I have every faith in Moreham to take care of our girl,” Uncle Whitney chided. He took the lady by the hand and led her away from Gillian so Moreham could take his place at her side once again.
Her new husband leaned closer than she thought necessary and whispered in her ear. “My lady, before we can take our leave, we must sign the registry. Once that chore is completed, we will leave for Whitney Place.”
Why was everyone whispering today?
Moreham urged his wife forward. How strange to think of Gillian as his wife? The ceremony had taken only minutes but seemed to last hours. He’d witnessed other weddings. He had never thought about how pledging his troth would cause each breath to hurt and his heart to race.
He’d answered when required to do so and shut down his mind for the rest of the ritual. He refused to think of this as a true marriage. Though he was loath to do so, he found Gillian’s warm hand on his arm comforting, yet stirring at the same time. The closer they moved