She barely felt her father pull her from the carriage. Her feet moved instinctively. There were no bridesmaids; her parents did not trust Catherine’s friends not to interfere in the wedding, and they were not willing to risk it.
“Good, we are perfectly on time,” her mother muttered as the church bells rang out and the door opened. “I shall make my way to the front and have the organist start the music.”
Catherine felt her mother slip away from her, heading toward the pew reserved for the bride’s family. Her father’s grip on her arm was tight. The music started, and Catherine’s stomach dropped.
“I suppose there is no getting out of it now,” she muttered to herself as she began to walk down the aisle.
She swallowed, feeling the weight of every eye in the chapel on her. Or rather,almostevery eye. Her husband stood by the altar, hands clasped behind his back, and he did not turn to face her.
Even on our wedding day, he refuses to look at me.
“Just look at that dress!” a voice murmured, though Catherine could not tell if it was a compliment or an insult.
“I still cannot believesheis marryinghim,” a woman muttered to her companion.
That makes two of us.Catherine bit the words back, focusing on the man in front of her as the whispers intensified. The numbness spread through her, making it surprisingly easy to smile. It was as though another person were walking down the aisle. Another woman, marrying a man who would not even turn to look at her.
I suppose years of being the perfect lady are good for something at least.
The Duke towered over the priest, his commanding figure silhouetted against the light streaming through the stained-glass windows. Catherine suspected that few men were as tall as he, let alone taller.
Has he always been so tall?She pursed her lips, squinting as she tried to remember. Her eyes took in his perfectly tailored clothes, not a speck of disorder in sight. His short brown hair barely brushed the top of his shirt and coat collars.
“Hold your head high, Catherine,” her father murmured as he slipped from her side to join her mother.
Is that supposed to be a reminder or a word of comfort?
Catherine stepped toward the Duke, but as she did, she misplaced her foot. She stumbled, her arms flailing wildly as she yelped. She was going to hit the stone steps.
Strong arms caught her, pulling her to her feet. The scent of amber and cedar enveloped her as she looked up into the Duke’s face.
“Be careful.” His voice was deeper than she remembered as it sank into her chest.
Catherine’s mouth was bone dry as she stared into the Duke’s piercing green eyes. They reminded her of a forest, deep and mysterious. Her eyes dropped to the sharp line of his jaw, the firm set of his mouth. His hair framed his face perfectly, making her think of an artistic masterpiece.
Her heart pounded so loudly in her chest, she was sure he could hear it. The scent of amber and cedar fogged her thoughts as she gazed at the handsome man before her.
His eyes darkened as he surveyed her, making Catherine feel like a nearly finished piece of embroidery being checked for the most infinitesimal mistake. “Are you hurt?”
The heat of his hands holding her burned into her skin. He was waiting for her to say something. She licked her lips, wishing her mind did not feel as though it were full of molasses.
“I... I am fine.” She cleared her throat, remembering her manners at the last moment. “Thank you.”
He had caught her. He wanted to make sure she was all right.Perhaps I misjudged him?Was the Duke as cold as everyone claimed he was?
“You should be more careful.” He released her and stepped back, his face impassive, voice so low only she could hear him. “That is twice now I have come to your rescue. There will not be a third time.”
Anger flared within her, and any goodwill he might have gained was snuffed out like a candle flame. “I have no wish for any such thing,” she hissed, barely moving her lips.
“And yet here we are.” He turned from her, adjusting the lapels of his coat. “Let us begin the ceremony, Father Evans; after all, we do not have all day.”
He spoke with the quiet authority of a man accustomed to being obeyed. Catherine saw the priest jump, and she imagined herself leaping to obey her husband’s demands. It fueled the anger that had burst through the numbness.
Catherine fumed, forcing herself not to glare as she felt the full weight of the congregation staring at her. She plastered a smile on her face, suppressing the anger that blazed in her heart.
I will not be controlled.
“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here in the sight of God,” Father Evans’s voice washed over her, weedy and thin compared to the rich baritone of Duke Coldmere’s.
