Chapter 35

Imogen Honoria Maxwell stood in the aisle of a very pretty church in Edinburgh, Scotland, in a white dress, with a bouquet in her hand, and wondered just how in the hell she’d wound up where she was.

She was getting married. She wasn’t quite sure how it had happened or how it had happened so quickly, but there she was. The place was surprisingly packed, but Maximillian Davis was a powerful guy and apparently the relief of pawning his tone-deaf son off on someone was valuable enough to him to inspire him to rent a few Learjets to get guests across the Pond in record time.

Her father, not to be outdone by a mere movie funder, had imported his own collection of jetsetters. If she didn’t know a damn person in the audience, what did that matter? She knew the groomsmen—her brothers—and her bridesmaids—her sisters. She supposed if she managed to get through the ceremony without Prissy suddenly getting a case of uncontrollable flu and barfing all over the very long train of her bridal gown, she would be fortunate.

Though at the moment, that sounded like a pretty good excuse to have to put things off a bit longer.

The truth was, she didn’t want to get married. She especially didn’t want to marry Marcus Davis. Unfortunately, the problem was, she wasn’t going to be rescued by any knights in shining armor. Marrying that egotistical caterwauler might be her best chance at happiness.

Only the closer to the altar she got, the worse she felt until she realized she just couldn’t go a single step farther.

She paused, ignoring her father’s sound of impatience. Turning around and leaving would spell the end of her career in film, that much was certain. She would be working fast food for the rest of her life.

Somehow, that sounded blissful compared to what she was sure would be a miserable marriage to a man who was eyeing her sister. Pristine was blushing, a truly horrifying sight. She half suspected no one would notice if she pulled Prissy into the aisle, gave her a push in the right direction, and took herself back down the aisle and out the doors to freedom.

She ran through the rest of her family, quickly deciding what their reactions would be. Her mother wouldn’t understand, her father would be busy destroying things and selling off the pieces, and her siblings would talk about her at Thanksgiving and shake their heads.

Well, all her siblings except perhaps her brother, Howard. He was only watching her with a faint smile, as if he almost approved of what she was thinking. How he could have known, she couldn’t have said.

She thought about what she wanted to do for all of another thirty seconds before she made a decision. She looked at her father, then leaned up and kissed him on the cheek.

“Thanks, Dad, for coming, but I’m making a course correction.”

Her father’s jaw slipped downward. “You’re doing what?”

“I’m allowing Prissy to marry the love of her life. Oh, look over there. She and Marcus are having a conversation and I think I’m hearing a few legal terms being bandied about. You might want to go supervise the prenup.”

Those were fighting words, to be sure. Her father dropped her like a hot potato and trotted up the aisle without delay. She smiled at her brother, tossed her squawking mother her bouquet, then turned around and started back down the aisle the wrong way.

She came to an abrupt halt.

She had never teetered in her life, but she teetered then.

Phillip de Piaget was standing at the entrance to the chapel, leaning against the doorframe, watching her with a look she couldn’t quite identify. If she hadn’t known better, she might have suspected he was proud of her. What she did know, however, was that he was waiting for her.

She continued on her way down the aisle, then stopped in front of him.

“Hi.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “A Futurism, obviously.”

“It means hello, my lord, what in the world are you doing here?”

He smiled. “I imagine it can mean a great many things. And I’m here for you.”

“Are you?” she asked breathlessly.

“I am.”

She considered. “Do you need me to help you find your sword?”

“I believe you already did.”

“Well, that’s true, but I don’t like to assume. Need me for something else, then?”

He smiled. “I believe I do.”

She didn’t want to presume anything, but it was hard to deny that just seeing him there was enough to lead her to thinking several impossible things. “What would you have done if I’d continued down that aisle?”

“I would have trotted after you and rendered that obnoxious slayer of tuneful melodies senseless with whatever I could have laid my hands on before you reached the priest.” He considered. “A psalter would have served quite well, perhaps.”

“I think you could have whispered boo in his ear and that would have done the trick.”

“I considered that as well.”

She considered him. “Were you waiting for me to make a decision before you acted?”

“It seemed prudent.”

“And now?”

He reached for her hand. “I was thinking a mocha, then perhaps a journey.”

“Do you have a destination in mind?” she asked.

“Home.” He paused. “We might want to go there by way of a priest, or we can marry at Artane.” He looked at her quickly. “If you’re interested in that sort of thing.”

“Is that a proposal?”

He smiled. “I’m terrible at chivalry.”

“You said you were very good at it.”

“I said it was desirable,” he said. “I never said I was adept at it. But I will try, for you.”

“I don’t think you can marry a commoner.”

“You’re Robert the elder of Haemesburgh’s foster daughter for anyone who cares. You’re the light of my heart for the rest of the rabble.” He nodded toward the door. “Let’s be off, if that suits.”

She found that suddenly she couldn’t quite move. She looked at him seriously. “I appreciate the rescue, really I do, but I just don’t see how this is really going to work. Regardless of how rich my father might be, I’m just a regular gal and you’re medieval nobility. Our genealogy would be weird. I’ll come out of nowhere.”

“A fortuitous event I’m blessed by, to be sure.”

She shook her head. “Your parents might not like me.”

“My parents will adore you.”

“Kendrick didn’t know me,” she said. “I think that might be checkmate there.”

“I had breakfast with my brother earlier this morning,” he said, “and he gave me a note he said would clear things up for me. He made me swear on my sword I wouldn’t read the missive until we were in the past.”

“And?”

“I read it on the way here, of course,” Phillip said without the slightest hint of remorse. “It says, I thought all this time she was Robert of Haemesburgh’s foster daughter, a noblewoman from the wilds of Scotland. Who knew?”

She let out a shaky breath. “I see.”

He smiled. “Heather says we can take her car for one more journey. Let’s go to Artane. There’s a gate there, you know.”

She didn’t know, but she was somehow not surprised. She suspected she would be even less surprised if Phillip planted something over that gate eventually, like nettles.

She took his hand and walked with him out of the chapel and into their future.