Free To Tempt a Saint by Kate Moore Page B

sensitive now to his scratchings.
    “Is that a problem?”
    “And is Mr. Tucker a legitimate minister of the Church of England?”
    “He’s been the curate in Woford for many years. I know of no reason to suppose him to be otherwise.”
    “Very good.”
    “Mr. Norwood, excuse me, may I know the reason for these questions?”
    “Of course.” He put down his pen and leaned back. “How shall I put it? Your uncle strongly objects to the circumstances of your marriage. He suspects that there may be fraud involved, a deliberate conspiracy to deceive the bank. He’s going to lob some shots across our bows, legally, so to speak, and we want to be ready for him.”
    “Mr. Norwood, as I am of age, and the money in question is my money, by marrying I have done all that’s required to gain access to it, have I not?”
    “To be sure, Lady Jones. However, if the London Consistory Court determines that the marriage is a mere stratagem, a ruse for obtaining money, you could be liable to serious criminal charges, even prison or transportation.”
    Cleo found she could not breathe. She could not go to jail. What would happen to Charlie? Xander Jones had hinted at such consequences. He had realized, even if she had not, how serious a risk a mere imposture would be. But they had made their vows in a church. Their marriage was legal. What happened between them was private, was it not? She turned to Xander, trying to penetrate his cool mask. Whatever his true motives were, he wanted that money, wanted his gasworks. She could count on him to push forward with their bargain.
    “Lady Jones?” Norwood called her back to attention. “May we proceed?”
    Cleo nodded. She needed to keep her wits about her.
    “Has there been consummation, penetration, and ejaculation?”
    “You can ask that?”
    “The court will,” Norwood assured her. “Consistory Court is a panel of lay and clerical judges who can determine the validity of a marriage.”
    Cleo glanced at her husband again. His slate-colored eyes were at their stoniest. He had known the question was coming. “You may take my word for it, Norwood,” he said.
    Norwood did not look up. “I will need the lady’s word as well.”
    “You have it, then,” said Cleo. She hoped the lie sounded convincing.
    “Good, good.” Norwood stopped writing and put aside his pen.
    “Now what?” Cleo needed to know.
    “Now we make sure the world sees you as Xander’s wife while we wait for the hearing.” Norwood sanded his notes, shook the paper dry, and tucked his glasses into his waistcoat pocket.
    “When is the hearing to be?”
    “We’ll delay as much as we can, but likely within the month if March has his way. He has retained Dr. Lushington, and the man’s no fool. He’s trying the church court first to see whether he can block Xander from exercising his conjugal rights. And he’ll try the King’s Bench if he suspects perjury. I must warn you that he’s likely to go after your curate.” Norwood looked to Xander. “How susceptible is this Tucker to the lure of money?”
    “His coats are threadbare.”
    “Well, it might be wise to warn him that he could be suspended and fined for solemnizing a clandestine wedding.”
    “Surely, clandestine is not the proper term,” Cleo pointed out. “We didn’t have a large celebration, but it was hardly a secret in Woford.”
    “Nevertheless, with few witnesses and one of them a minor, March can contest the validity.”
    “But other people knew of the event,” Cleo insisted.
    Norwood paused in putting away his notes. “Other witnesses would be good. Did you have someone bake the cake? Can you name the fellows who rang the bells?”
    “No cake. No bells.” Xander shoved away from the mantel and came to stand beside Cleo.
    “I purchased a gown. A wedding breakfast was ordered.” Cleo realized she was showing every bit of the dismay she felt. The thought of Mr. Tucker facing Uncle March was not encouraging.
    “There’s one last