Elizabeth Hoyt - [Prince 03] - The Serpent Prince (Warner) by Unknown

Author:Unknown
Format: epub
Publisher: Forever
Published: 2010-02-14T01:34:07+00:00

Chapter Eleven

“Nervous?” de Raaf asked.

“No.” Simon paced to the rail, pivoted, and strolled back again.

“Because you look nervous.”

“I’m not nervous.” Simon angled his head to search down the nave. Where the hell was she?

“You do seem nervous.” Now Pye was looking at him queerly.

Simon deliberately stilled himself and took a deep breath. It was just past ten o’clock on the morning of his wedding day. He stood in the designated sacred church, arrayed in formal wig, black brocade coat, silver-embroidered waistcoat, and red-heeled shoes. He was surrounded by friends and loving family—well, his sister-in-law and niece anyway. Pocket bounced in the front pew while Rosalind tried to shush her. Christian looked distracted in the row behind. Simon frowned. He hadn’t talked to Christian since the duel; there hadn’t been time. He’d have to do it later. The vicar was here, a young man whose name he’d already forgotten. Even de Raaf and Harry Pye had shown. De Raaf looked like a provincial squire in muddy boots, and Pye could have been mistaken for the sexton in plain brown.

The only thing missing was the bride.

Simon suppressed an urge to charge down the aisle and peer out the front doors like an anxious cook awaiting the arrival of the fishmonger with her eels. Oh, God, where was she? He hadn’t been alone with her since she’d caught him returning from the duel with James, nearly a week ago now, and while she seemed content, while she smiled at him when in the company of others, he couldn’t shake off this morbid worry. Had she changed her mind? Had he repulsed her, making love to her while his shoulder dripped gore and he wore the stain of a dead man’s blood like a badge of dishonor on his chest? He shook his head. Of course he’d repulsed her, his angel with her strict morals. She must’ve been horrified. Was it enough to make her break her promise? She’d given her word, on her mother’s memory, that she wouldn’t leave him.

Was that enough?

Simon walked to a granite pillar that towered to the barrel ceiling fifty feet overhead. A double row of the pink granite columns held aloft the ceiling, decorated with recessed painted squares. Each square was edged in gilt, as if to remind one of the golden afterlife that presumably awaited. Off to the side, he could see into a St. Mary’s chapel with a statue of a pubescent Virgin Mary gazing serenely down at her toes. It was a pretty church, lacking only a pretty bride.

“He’s pacing again,” de Raaf said in a tone he probably thought was quiet.

“He’s nervous,” Pye replied.

“I am not nervous,” Simon said through gritted teeth. He reached to stroke his ring before remembering it was gone. He turned to saunter back and caught Pye and de Raaf exchanging a significant glance. Wonderful. Now he was considered a case for Bedlam by his friends.

A screech came from the front of the church as someone opened the big oak doors.

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