Fallen Angel by Sophia James

Author:Sophia James
Language: ron
Format: mobi
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven

The lilting notes of the wedding march seared across the silence and, when Nicholas lifted his gaze to face Brenna, he held his breath, for, dressed in his mother Johanna’s own wedding gown of ivory silk, the girl he had left in the garden one week prior was transformed. Wild dark ringlets escaped from the laciness of a diamond tiara, the errant curls framing wide eyes and high cheeks, and he smiled as he noticed the wildflowers of Pencarris in her bouquet. With unmistakable hesitancy she came forward to stand beside him, tipping her head to his as she reached him, fear as clearly visible as resignation. His heart twisted and for a moment his own resentment at the whole situation waned.

They were caught together in this charade and she liked it as little as he did. Less, perhaps, for despite all her conditions she must also know the Church ordered obedience in the role of a wife.

Her fingers clutched his own unexpectedly. Looking down, he saw her nails were short and the bare skin on the back of her hand was so white and clear he could see the thin veins of blue beneath. A surge of protectiveness rushed through him and he squeezed her hand tightly. Not love, then, but something damn near close. Something tenable and workable. The action caused her to look up.

‘Have faith, Brenna, to know that I would never hurt you,’ he whispered, readjusting her fingers so that they were interlaced with his own.

The words were just what she wanted, a quiet reassurance of his promise to remain the gentleman and, despite herself, she tightened her grip on his hand and nodded at the waiting clergyman.

‘I am ready!’

The service began with a lilting reminder of all it was that the couple would be entering into, not lightly, not irreverently, not with infidelity or untruth but with a wholehearted commitment, and Brenna was amazed to find

Nicholas smiling when she steeled herself up to glance his way, her own mind certain that if the man’s soliloquy continued in such a fashion the very roof of Pencarris might well cave in upon them.

The exchange of the vows was short and to the point, said firmly on his behalf and whispered on hers, the twenty or so people in the room having to strain to hear from Brenna the affirmations they knew by the nod of the priest’s head to have just taken place, a slight buzzing emanating from those who followed the opinion of the society rumours and who felt that this marriage was not by a long shot a wise one for the Pencarrow name.

And then Nicholas confounded them all, for he raised his bride’s hand in his and turned towards her. His words began softly, though well articulated, vibrating with an honesty none could question and far from the logical and calculating Duke of Westbourne that they were all so much more used to.

‘I promise to you, Brenna, and in front of these our

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