I Cant Do This

ST. GEORGE'S CHURCH, LONDON

" D o you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband…"

The minister of St. George's droned on, but Daisy Hawkins barely heard the rest of his preamble. Conscious of increasingly loud fidgeting among the large congregation seated in the pews behind her, she risked a glance at her fiancé. Reginald Fernsby was a very handsome earl, a gentleman who treated her well, but he wasn't Rowan Halstead.

How was her former fiancé coping on this first anniversary of Waterloo? The memories of his horrific ordeal must have come rushing back—if they'd ever left him, which she doubted. If only he'd realize she still loved him, would love him if he had no legs at all. He was the only man who'd seen and brought out her good qualities. With him she'd been a whole woman. But he'd thought to spare her marriage to a cripple. Foolish man.

The minister cleared his throat when Daisy didn't respond. Deafened by the thudding in her ears and suddenly unable to breathe, she met Reginald's puzzled gaze. There was nothing for it but to embarrass him in front of the who's who of the London elite. "I'm sorry," she murmured. "I can't do this."

She thrust her bouquet at her maid of honor, surprised to see sympathy in Cat's eyes and not censure. As she stumbled blindly towards the endless aisle, she was grateful for her brother's arm. Kenneth appeared out of nowhere and escorted her slowly past the gaping crowd. Once outside, he bundled her and the mile long train of the costly wedding gown into his ducal carriage.

Trembling, she expected a reprimand. He'd footed the bill for the entire wedding. Instead, he climbed in, sat beside her and said, "I hoped you wouldn't go through with it."