Alexandra

Chapter Thirty-Six

Tristan could scarcely believe he was married.

The wedding had been a simple affair, held in the old family chapel, witnessed not only by Alexandra's siblings and three female cousins, but the effigies of her ancestors dating back to the fourteenth century. When the minister asked if anyone present could show just cause why he and Alexandra should not be lawfully joined together, Tristan had half expected a five-hundred-year-old marble statue to pop up, sword in hand, and take exception.

After all, it took a lot of nerve for a disgraced man to wed a lovely, proper Chase daughter.

He'd practically held his breath until the ceremony was over, until they'd shared a kiss that was decorous and chaste but sweet nonetheless. And then he still didn't quite believe she was his wife.

He couldn't have a wife!

The wedding breakfast—which was actually a luncheon—had been a haze of delicious food mixed with feminine chatter and laughter. Alexandra, he'd been unable to help noticing, had spent a lot of time looking at him and very little time eating her meal. The latter wasn't all that surprising. His own stomach felt a bit out of sorts from shock paired with exhaustion.

And anticipation.

That truth didn't quite hit him until they were in the barouche he'd borrowed from Griffin, making their way toward Hawkridge and hoping to arrive before dark.

It was a warm day with no threat of rain, so they'd left the top down to enjoy the setting sun. It was fortunate there were only two of them traveling, since Alexandra's luggage took up all the remaining room. In fact, Tristan couldn't even stretch his legs out. But with her seated beside him, snuggled against him, that seemed but a minor inconvenience.

She yawned, daintily covering her mouth with a gloved hand.

He took it to draw off the glove. "You're sleepy," he said, keeping his voice low so Griffin's coachman couldn't hear.

She swallowed nervously as he slipped the silk from her fingers. "I was up most of the night." With her free hand, she motioned toward a covered basket perched carefully on top of her other belongings. "I made coriander biscuits for your staff."

Removing her second glove, he stifled a smile. Such a gesture was all but unheard of, but so very Alexandra. "They're certain to be surprised."

"Pleasantly surprised, I hope."

"I have no doubt." He pressed a kiss to her bare palm. Carefully, because his bottom lip was still tender where Griffin had bashed him in the teeth. But he'd have endured any pain to hear the little gasp that escaped her.

Smiling into her palm, he kissed it again. "I wish I'd known you were baking. I would have kept you company."

"Griffin did, instead," she told him, obviously struggling to appear unaffected. "He was rather cheerful despite the blood and bruises."

Tristan shrugged. "In an odd way, it felt good to fight."

She shook her head. "Heaven help me, I've married a lunatic."

Chuckling, he kissed her palm once more and felt her shiver.

After composing herself, she slanted him a curious glance. "He said he hit you first."

His smile spread into a grin. "But I got the better of him, didn't I?"

"You look rather the worse for wear yourself." She ran gentle fingers over his bruised jaw and across his sore lip, then blinked and snatched her hand away, apparently surprised to find herself touching him so boldly in public. "But the black eye Griffin woke up with this morning was more colorful."