Chapter 4

4

Patience walked down the aisle, unable to feel her own body.

The nave stretched out before her with its gorgeous, clean mosaic floor, and to her left and right were the pews filled with people, every one of them staring at her. Because of the blinding light, she couldn't see the most important person…the man who stood waiting for her at the end of the aisle.

The man who would own her, command her, do with her as he pleased. A shiver ran through her. She was going to marry a complete stranger who had enough power and wealth to arrange this marriage without ever seeing her.

Why did he want her so?

To her left, her family wore their best clothes, her mama and sisters in oft-repaired bonnets decorated with snowdrops, their cloaks with visible patches and seams closing the holes. Her papa, in his usual beige coat and breeches, had washed his mane of curly white hair, and his balding forehead and red cheeks shone. His bright blue eyes held an air of adoration and love because she was going to marry the duke and save them.

Somehow she was moving her feet, though every step felt like she was crawling through a swamp. She felt so small and insignificant under those high vaulted ceilings, walking this grand, endless nave.

The people on the other side of the aisle were the duke's guests, no doubt. Beautiful, proud men and women so breathtaking every one of them could be a painting or a piece of art. Their clothing had no holes, no patches, no stains. They wore jewelry, artfully created silk and satin flowers, high cravats, and coats of arms. Their backs were straight, their hands free of dirt and callouses, their skin smelling like expensive perfume.

They were grand and tall and important.

And this was what she was going to marry into? She, who had to sit at the back of the church every Sunday because not a single respected family in their parish wanted to come near them. She, who shared a bed with two of her sisters. She, whose fingernails had never been clean in her entire life.

A duchess…

What a jest!

A jest…and a loss. She'd never finish her paper now, never see the fruition of years of work on her hybrid rose. She didn't know much about being a duchess, but she was pretty sure she wasn't supposed to crawl in the dirt all day.

Well, she'd make the best of it. The main thing was that her family would be safe. John was supposed to have improved their situation after he graduated from Oxford and became a solicitor. But he never would, of course.

She would.

Papa wouldn't land in debtor's prison, and her sisters and mama wouldn't go to a workhouse or land on the streets.Sacrificing her rose project and her scientific ambitions was worth it.

All she had to do was to turn away from this sadness and swallow her tears and put a smile on her face like she'd done her entire life since John's death. She needed to look at the good side of things and forget what she was losing.

Look straight ahead, at her husband-to-be.

Then the blinding sunlight was blocked by the wall, and she could finally see the man next to the vicar.

And the very little composure she had managed to gather vaporized.

He was tall. Standing on the platform by the altar, he seemed to tower above her, high into the vaulted, Gothic ceilings. How old was he? Much older than her, but not as old as she'd feared. Closer to his forties, she thought. Like the carved statues in the church, he seemed eternal. A lock of white against dark, almost inky hair made his striking sky-blue eyes even more breathtaking.

She was almost at the platform now, and she couldn't pull her eyes away from him.

Good God, he was built like a Greek statue, with thick, muscular thighs bulging under black pantaloons. He had narrow hips and a trim waist; a broad chest and shoulders were clearly visible even under the layers of an immaculate tailored black coat. Beneath it, he wore a red waistcoat and an elegantly tied, crisp white cravat.

His hair was in a fashionable windswept style arranged around an angular, perfectly shaven face. He had high cheekbones, and the otherwise straight bridge of his regal nose had a little bump… Perhaps from a break? In fact, he had a few imperfections. There was a tiny patch of skin a third of the way along one of his thick black eyebrows and a white mark to the left of his full lower lip. Were these scars? From what?

He looked at her with such piercing intensity, a shiver ran down her spine. It was as though he was peering right through the mask of her smile and straight into her fear, into her sadness, into her loss. How completely out of place she felt, hung in the air, uprooted, drifting.

Her legs felt soft and wobbly, and her stomach seemed filled with buzzing bees. She couldn't feel her hands holding the bouquet of snow drops, though with the edge of her vision she saw the white petals shaking. She felt clammy and flushed, burning all over. The closer she drew to him, the smaller she felt under the cold and penetrating gaze of this great man.

Her husband. The most important person for the rest of her life. She'd belong to him, be his…

Oh God, what did this gorgeous man think of her? He must be looking at the yellowed fabricof her dress with disdain, seeing every patch and every seam.

But no. What did she learn was the best thing to do when one was afraid or uncertain?

Smile. Look at the positive. And never, ever show them or yourself those dark, unhealthy feelings.

So that was what she did.

She spread her lips wide, smiled as she kept looking at him.

And then she flew.

Her foot caught at the edge of the platform, of course, and the wooden floor rose towards her face.

The impact against her face would be devastating. She could already anticipate the hard slap, the pain exploding through her cheek and eye and her nose, through her skull. How utterly embarrassing, the first thing she'd do before her husband the duke, his aristocratic guests, and the vicar would be fall right onto her face!

A collective gasp echoed through the cathedral.

But the floor never touched her.

The sensation of falling stopped, and she was simply suspended in the air as two strong hands grasped her by her shoulders. It was like a guardian angel had come to save her, the force so much stronger than anything she was capable of.

She felt warm, safe, and protected. A little out of breath, too. His touch sent wonderfully prickly sensations, like tiny bubbles, rushing through her.

The next moment, she was yanked upright. He let go of her, and once again she stood empty and alone, with her heart slamming her ribs, staring into the icy eyes of the duke.

The vicar cleared his throat, and the rush of voices around the church silenced, as well as the organ.

"May I begin, Your Grace?" asked the vicar.

"You may," said the Duke of Rath.

Oh, that voice… Deep and velvety, buttery and smooth.

The rest of the ceremony passed quickly, as if in a haze. The vicar droned blessings and prayers, and then the duke said I do, and so, blasted, did she.

When it was time for him to put the ring on her finger, her cold, clammy hand shook as she stretched it out for him. When he took it in his hand, she realized something odd…his right hand was encased in a glove. A thick leather glove, black like the rest of his clothes, and his hair. The leather was smooth, except for a few patches where it was rubbed raw from use.

Why was he wearing a glove? Was his hand injured? That must be it, perhaps a cut or a riding accident; it must be healing.

With his ungloved left hand, he placed the golden band on her fourth finger, the one that connected to the heart, they said. The touch of his warm, dry fingers sent a shudder through her body. His fingers were long, his hand large and utterly masculine, slightly bronzed by the sun, with scabs on his knuckles… Had he hit something recently? What must the other hand look like if this one was ungloved ?

Then they signed the parish marriage register, and it was done.

Under cheers and murmurs, they walked back down the aisle without touching each other and climbed into the carriage waiting outside. Someone showered them with petals.

But there was no joy in her heart at all. It was the hardest day of her life to keep her positive thoughts afloat. Her papa would be safe. Her sisters and her mama would be safe.

But would she?