Andrea Kane (10 page)

“Charles, what the hell is keeping that damned clergyman?” he demanded, pacing inside the chapel’s closed doors.

“He is not due here until ten o’clock, Braden.” Charles kept his voice low so as not to be overheard by the guests. “It is still early.”

With an exaggerated sigh Braden nodded, readjusting his perfectly tied white silk cravat.

Charles observed his friend’s uncharacteristic nervousness with quiet concern. “I thought this wedding was what you wanted,” he said at last.

Braden met his gaze. “It is. I want what is best for Kassie.”
And that means keeping my own wants, my damned lust, in check,
he reminded himself.
Even if it kills me.

“I see. Well, you are offering her the very best. Yourself.” Charles paused. “That is, of course, if you do intend to offer that to her.”

Braden’s eyes darkened. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“I think you know the answer to that question better than anyone.” Charles felt Braden’s growing anger and plunged on despite it. “That lovely young woman is in love with you.”

Braden’s jaw tightened. This was one topic he was determined to avoid. “What Kassie feels for me is gratitude and affection. Not love.”

“You are so certain?” Charles prodded.

“It doesn’t matter,” Braden snapped, “what you choose to call it. It is infatuation at best. Kassie trusts me, and I have no intention of breaching that trust.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning that I shall never be the one to cause her pain, nor shall I take advantage of her innocence.”

Charles’s eyes widened in stunned disbelief at the implication of Braden’s words. “Are you telling me that—”

“This marriage will be in name only,” Braden said in a voice of quiet finality. Charles had no time to respond before the doors of the chapel opened, admitting a grim-faced Cyril Sheffield. “Ah, good morning, Cyril,” Braden greeted his uncle. “Have you arrived for one final attempt to make me see the error of my ways?”

“Braden, it is nearly ten o’clock,” Cyril began.

“Yes, I can see that the appointed hour is approaching.”

Cyril ignored Braden’s sarcastic tone. “There is still enough time to reconsider this decision.”

“There is nothing to reconsider.” Braden’s jaw was set, his mouth drawn in a firm, stubborn line. “You have always wanted me to choose a wife, Cyril. Well, I have done just that.”

Cyril scowled. “One who is far beneath your station and therefore unworthy of your name.”

A furious light blazed in Braden’s eyes. “I don’t want to hear you refer to Kassie that way again. She is the worthiest human being I have ever known … far superior to one of the lying hypocrites you or my parents would have chosen for my wife.”

“I am not questioning her character,” Cyril replied in a milder tone. “However, caring for a mistreated young woman is one thing. Marrying her is something else. For heaven’s sake, Braden, she has no title—”

“I will rectify that problem in”—Braden glanced down at his timepiece—“five minutes. Soon she will be a duchess and will therefore become instantly acceptable to the
beau monde
.”

“Braden—”

“Enough!” Braden spoke through clenched teeth, his voice vibrating with barely suppressed anger. “This is my decision to make, Cyril, not yours. And it has been made.” At these words the doors opened, admitting the sober-faced vicar. Braden greeted him cordially, then rechecked his timepiece and frowned. “What could be keeping Kassandra?”

Cyril gave him a cold look. “I shall see what is keeping Miss Grey.”

“Cyril.” Braden’s terse reminder stopped his uncle short. “I warn you. Say nothing to upset her.”

Cyril turned back. “I have no intention of upsetting her, Braden. I have spoken my mind, told you that I feel this marriage is a mistake. It has nothing to do with Miss Grey personally; she is a sweet, charming young woman. I merely feel that—”

“Fine,” Braden interrupted. “Then you may go ahead and see what is keeping my bride-to-be.”

Cyril left, angry but resigned.

“Anxious, aren’t you? Considering the fact that your feelings do not enter into this marriage?” Charles’s inquiry was filled with poignant humor.

“Don’t you start, Charles! I am warning you!” Braden growled. “I have had just about enough of today’s inquisition!”

Charles watched thoughtfully as Braden stalked off. Braden’s announcement that his marriage to Kassie would remain unconsummated had left Charles reeling. Instinct told him that Braden’s feelings for Kassie went a lot deeper than he was willing to admit, even to himself. Perhaps there was hope of erasing the past after all.

Cyril recovered his composure just outside the huge Sherburgh chapel and began his search for Kassie. He didn’t have far to go.

Coming toward him, a heart-stopping vision in white, was Kassandra, her face flushed with excitement, Margaret beside her. Cyril stopped, frankly staring as Kassie reached his side.

“Good morning, my lord,” she murmured, looking up at him shyly. “Do you think that I will do?”

“I think that Braden is a most fortunate man to have such a lovely bride,” he answered after a slight hesitation.

“I am quite nervous,” she admitted with her usual honesty.

“You are wavering in your decision to marry my nephew?”

Kassie started at Cyril’s sharp—or was it hopeful?—tone. No, it couldn’t be; it was just her nerves playing tricks on her. “I am not wavering at all,” she hastily assured him. “I just feel so unprepared for what will be expected of me.” Her thoughts were on her duties as a hostess, not her duties in the marriage bed.

Cyril studied her face carefully, misinterpreting her meaning. “Braden’s decision to marry was rather sudden. Nevertheless, he deserves a wife who is totally committed to him … on every level. If you feel unable to fulfill your role—”

“Oh, no!” Kassie burst in, eager to convince Cyril that he was wrong in his doubts. “I assure you that I am entirely devoted to Braden. I shall do everything in my power to be a good wife to him.”

Cyril gave her a curt nod. “If you are certain …”

“I am.”

“Then come.” He offered her his arm. “They are awaiting your presence to begin the ceremony.”

Her first glimpse of the spectacular chapel took Kassie’s breath away. Exquisite stained glass windows and tall vaulted ceilings gave the room an aura of both solemn reverence and limitless power. It was fitting that it be so, for this room would forever mark Kassie’s passage from her old life into her new one. Her life as Braden’s wife.

She paused on the threshold, and the chapel grew still as all attention turned to the bride. Kassie was only minimally conscious of the guests’ openly curious stares. On Cyril’s stiff arm she began the ceremonial walk down the aisle, allowing her gaze to move to the front of the chapel, where Braden awaited her approach. He looked magnificent in his formal black dress coat and elegant white waistcoat, emanating the very magnetism and utter masculine strength that always made Kassie heady with awareness. Their gazes locked, and she gave him a brilliant smile, telling him how much this moment meant to her.

Braden saw nothing but Kassandra.

She seemed to fill the room with her presence, her incomparable beauty. Never had a woman looked more enchanting to him than she did at that moment, her face glowing with happiness, her brilliant eyes alive with the light of a thousand jewels. Everything she was, all her strength and her purity of soul, was reflected from within. Braden felt overwhelmed by humbleness and pride … and another, stronger, emotion, one that unfurled slowly, making his chest tighten and expand all at once. It was something he neither understood nor wanted to explore more closely, but it was there nonetheless.

Kassie reached his side, and he met her smile with his own. The moment belonged only to them—a moment during which a rare and special communication passed between them, one that required no words nor explanation.

Cyril stepped away, relinquishing Kassie to her future.

It was with a sense of peace that she and Braden turned to pledge themselves to each other. For they both knew that whatever the reasons, this was how it was destined to be.

Kassie watched with awe as Braden slid the symbolic ring onto her finger. The heavy gold band felt cool against her skin, and prisms of light sparkled from the sapphires and emeralds that circled the meticulously crafted ring.

“As rare as the blues and greens of your eyes,” he murmured softly, lowering his head to kiss her.

Kassie’s heart expanded with joy. With the exchange of a few words and the brush of Braden’s lips against hers, she belonged to him. Now and forever. The reality was intoxicating.

And then there were congratulations to receive, followed by a traditional wedding breakfast, served in one of Sherburgh’s cozier ballrooms, in order that the guests might mingle. Braden’s chef outdid himself with mouth-watering salmon soufflé, succulent roast beef, glazed ham, and more kinds of fresh fruits and rich desserts than the tables could hold. The occasion marked Kassie’s first opportunity to acquaint herself with her new social circle, for Braden had been very careful to keep her away from the prying eyes of the
ton
prior to the wedding.

It was an experience Kassie would never forget.

Braden had purposely arranged for the guest list to be small, in an attempt to lead Kassie gently and gradually into her new role. But to Kassie, who was unaccustomed to such elaborate gatherings, the pale green gilded room seemed to brim over with worldly, exquisitely clothed women and commanding, influential men.

“So you are Braden’s new bride,” said an elderly man whose distinguished appearance was belied by the hungry gleam in his eye.

Unsure of Braden’s whereabouts, Kassie steeled herself for her first, and hopefully successful, performance as the Duchess of Sherburgh.

With a dazzling smile she replied, “Why, yes, I am. But you have me at a disadvantage, my lord, for we have not as yet been properly introduced.”

The hot, ravenous eyes raked her slender figure, and Kassie could swear that the old goat licked his chops before he answered. “Forgive me, my dear,” he said at last, lifting her hand to his jowls in a grand gesture. “I am George Marshall, the Earl of Lockersham.” He brushed his wet lips across her hand, where they lingered for a scant moment. Kassie had to work hard to refrain from openly shuddering at the contact.

“A pleasure, Lord Lockersham,” she replied, tugging her hand away from him. Her smile never faltered. “And which lovely guest is Lady Lockersham?”

He scowled. “The countess is at home … ill.”

Kassie’s huge aqua eyes filled with genuine compassion. “How dreadful! Nothing serious, I hope?”

His scowl deepened. “Just another attack of the vapors.” He looked around, then lowered his voice conspiratorially. “She is getting on in years, you know.”

Kassie fought the laughter that bubbled in her chest. “Oh, I understand.”

The earl brightened. “It does permit me a great deal of freedom, however.” He took a step closer. “Freedom to indulge in … whatever I wish.”

“Lord Lockersham, really!” Kassie never replied to the ludicrous, lecherous proposal she had just received, for just then an elderly woman with snow-white hair and a huge tiara scurried up to them. “Must you monopolize all of the young woman’s time? We would all like to get to know her better.” She smiled at Kassie, but the smile was frosty. In fact, with her sharp little teeth, her long, pointy nose, and her small beady eyes, she much resembled a lethal barracuda.

Kassie swallowed, ready to protect herself.

“I am Agatha Wurlington, the Dowager Duchess of Cromsmire,” she announced, as if the title equalled that of King George himself.

“It is a pleasure, Your Grace,” Kassie answered, wondering wildly where Braden had gone.

“Hm-m-m,” was the reply as the dowager duchess sized up the new bride’s appearance with undisguised censure. “It is easy to see what attracted Braden to you.” It sounded more a criticism than a compliment, and Kassie closed her cold fingers around the solid weight of her wedding band, taking comfort in its presence.

“Many things attracted me to my wife … her incomparable beauty was just one of them.” Magically Braden appeared and handed Kassie a glass of punch. “I am sorry, darling,” he said smoothly, “to have been gone so long. I was waylaid on a business matter.”

Kassie looked up at him gratefully. “And has it been resolved?” she asked sweetly, knowing that all eyes and ears were upon them.

Braden grinned, enjoying the performance. “No, but it will wait until later. For now”—he winked at her—“I want to be with my new bride.” With that he turned to Agatha Wurlington. “Have the two of you been introduced?”

The elderly woman nodded. “Yes, your … duchess and I were just becoming acquainted.”

Braden gave her a practiced smile. “I must ask that you continue your chat another time. There are so many people I want Kassie to meet. You understand.” He didn’t wait to see if the dowager understood or not but merely steered Kassie deeper into the room. He heard her sigh of relief and chuckled quietly. “That bad?”

“Worse,” she admitted.

“You’re doing beautifully. I’m half convinced that it was you and not I who was born to this world.”

“Don’t leave me,” she whispered.

He looked down at her, his eyes growing soft and tender. “I won’t, sweetheart. You can count on that.”

Kassie’s hand was kissed more times that morning than in all her eighteen years combined. But each moment that passed without mishap she relaxed a bit more. As did Braden. Just the same, he stayed by her side as much as possible, to ward off any unexpected comments or probing questions. And as if they sensed their host’s unspoken warning, the guests were on their best behavior, the ladies flattering and friendly, the gentlemen charming and entertaining. In fact, so absorbed were the guests in their merriment that no one noticed the ruckus occurring just outside Sherburgh’s front doors. No one but Charles Graves.

“Let me pass! That’s m’daughter getting married in there!” Robert Grey staggered forward in an attempt to push by one of the equally stubborn footmen who guarded the entranceway.