His eyes raked over her, sharp and greedy. Like she was a prized object he’d secured from a trading deal. “My dear Josephine, you look exquisite.”
Her father smiled. “Ah, yes. That dress was her mother’s. I knew it would suit her.”
Father Bouchard stepped from behind the altar, beaming at her. “Our dear Josephine, finally all grown up and starting a new life. We’re so proud of you.”
He waved her forward and she approached with leaden feet. The scent of melted wax mingled with the cold, damp stone that surrounded her, pressing in from every side, suffocating. Her fingers itched to pull at the tight bodice of the gown, as if loosening the fabric might free the breath locked in her chest. The silk clung to her skin, every thread a reminder of the captivity she was about to be locked into.
Wentworth joined her, standing only inches away, his paunch pressing against the straining buttons of his coat. His fingers, heavy with rings, twitched as if itching to claim her already. Her skin prickled, not from the chill of the stone chapel, but from the sheernearness of him. She kept her gaze fixed straight ahead, jaw clenched, but her body betrayed her. Her shoulders curled, angling herself away from him as her hands trembled at her sides, knuckles bloodless with tension.
Father Bouchard cleared his throat as he gave a worried look between them, the warm smile on his face faltering ever so slightly. His voice, too loud and too high, rang out across the silence, trying to fill the space with a sense of normalcy. “Dearly beloved…”
A vise tightened around her ribs with each word, until breathing became a struggle. She dared not glance at the open window, where the sea shimmered like a promise out of reach. A drop of sweat slid coldly down her spine. Her fingers twitched, grasping for something—anything—to hold herself together. Father Bouchard’s voice had become distant, distorted, as if from underwater. The Latin echoes of his prayer rolled over her like surf on stone, grinding her down with every syllable. The room swam, flickering candlelight blurring into halos, carved saints along the nave bending into hollow-eyed spectators. Her knees weakened and she swayed, just enough for the priest to falter mid-phrase and glance up.
“Miss Montclair, are you quite alright?” His whisper barely penetrated the muffled roar rising in her ears.
“She’ll be fine.” Mr. Wentworth frowned. “I’m sure it’s only nerves.”
Her father gave a sharp nod from his seat in the front row. A silent command. Father Bouchard straightened and continued, his voice ringing through the chapel like a hammer striking cold iron. “If any among you know just cause why these two should not be lawfully joined together, let him speak now, or else forever hold his peace.”
Mr. Wentworth kept his gaze fixed on Father Bouchard, but his hand, warm and heavy, slowly drifted toward hers. Josephine’s breath caught in her throat as he closed the distance between them, his fingers curling around hers with eager possessiveness. She didn’t darelook at him, her gaze fixed firmly on the floor, willing herself not to tremble under the weight of his touch.
Father Bouchard took one last glance over his spectacles at the quiet crowd and gave a satisfied grunt before turning back to them. “Now, let us proceed with the vow—”
Bang!
The door flew open, slamming against the wall. Everyone twisted and a flurry of gasps echoed through the room as a figure strode into the room. Tight breeches, a deeply cut blouse, and hair the color of fire.
Josephine blinked. “Samantha?”
Her friend met her gaze. “We’re not too late, are we?”
A shadow fell across the floor and Josephine’s heart seized. A pair of polished boots clicked across the stone as her eyes flew over his form. Could it be? No. A strangled laugh bubbled in her chest, bitter and soundless. Now her eyes were playing cruel tricks on her.
And yet, the mirage kept walking. Steady. Unshaken. He didn’t vanish with the flicker of candlelight or the blink of her eye. He kept coming. Kept his blue gaze locked on her. Stopped in front of the altar. Josephine’s heart pounded in her chest, each beat louder than the last as a wave of disbelief crashed through her.
“Lieutenant Caldwell of the US Navy. I would like to speak.” The baritone of Isaac’s voice cut through the heavy silence. It vibrated through her, each word a rough caress, and for a fleeting second, hope flickered within her.
Her father leapt to his feet. “It’s too late. We’ve already passed that point. Continue, Father.”
The ring of steel echoed through the room as Samantha drew her rapier. Father Bouchard’s face went pale.
Isaac lifted his hand, signaling her to lower her blade. “It’s alright,” he said, voice steady but edged with something darker. “It’s never too late to speak before God, is it, Father?”
An undercurrent of barely veiled warning ran through his words as the weight of his gaze turned to the priest. The poor man stuttered as he looked between Isaac and her father. “I—I—”
Isaac turned to face the crowd. “I have come to give just cause. In fact, I am the just cause. Josephine will not be marrying this man, because she will be marrying me.”
Excited murmurs ran through the crowd, their whispers barely contained. Josephine’s heart skipped, the impossible words ringing in her ears.What was he doing?
Her father stormed forward. “I told you to stay out of this, Lieutenant. My daughter’s affairs are none of your concern.”
Isaac stood unmoving, the flicker of something dangerous behind his calm exterior. His jaw tightened, but his voice remained even as stormy eyes met hers. “She’s very much my concern at the moment.”
Her pulse quickened, the world around her going momentarily still.
With a growl, her father spun to two guards. “Remove this man at once. He is not welcome on Tortuga.”
The men strode forward, their steps heavy and menacing. Samantha whipped her blade up again, its sharp edge gleaming in the candlelight. The church seemed to hold its breath as the danger heightened. Josephine’s heart beat wildly, her chest tight with panic. A full-on brawl was about to erupt right here, in the heart of the church.
