Cates, Kimberly (29 page)

She
flushed, feeling raw and frightened, more alive than she'd ever felt before.
Every nerve in her body sang with the sensations. "We can wed whenever you
wish. After all, it's not as if there needs to be any fuss. It's not as if it
were a—a real wedding, with gowns and guests and... and all that madness."

Did
he hear a slight hint of wistfulness in her voice? If so, the need to have the
marriage ceremony accomplished must have outweighed it. "I'll send word to
Reverend Rhoades. As soon as he can steal away from his other duties, we'll
meet him in Rathcannon Church. He can execute the deed swiftly and
quietly."

Norah
tried not to let it hurt her that Aidan made the "deed" sound more
like an assassination than a wedding. Her heart raced, and she was suddenly
more anxious than she cared to admit to postpone such a momentous step for just
a little while.

"Surely
you'll want to wait until you—" she stammered. "I mean, you're hardly
well enough to—"

To
what? she thought a little wildly. Well enough to hold a madly passionate
wedding night? To withstand the rush of emotion, the dizzying ardor of
introducing her to lovemaking? The mere idea made fiery heat wash from the base
of her throat to the very roots of her dusky curls.

"I
want this settled, Norah. You, my wife, in the eyes of God, my solicitors, and
everyone who dwells about Rathcannon. And to introduce you, we'll give a
ball."

"A
ball? Oh, Aidan, I don't think—I mean, I'm not certain—"

"Don't
worry. It's nothing as grandiose as it sounds— simply a gathering of a few
trusted neighbors, families of Cassandra's friends. A little music, a touch of
dancing, and a light supper. The girl has been plaguing me for months to have
this kind of an entertainment, and Mrs. Brindle assures me it will be safe
enough—a good way to let the girl dip her toes into the social stream to test
the waters a bit before the overwhelming crush of London. This way the whole
county can know you as Lady Kane, and that unruly little chit of mine can plan
and plot and rig things up to her heart's content."

"I
doubt Cassandra will be in a festive mood," Norah interjected quietly.

"I'll
handle Cassandra. I'll explain—" He stopped, his own cheeks tinging
scarlet. Norah was certain he'd realized it would be impossible to explain to
his daughter that the reason she had been barred from his room was that he had
been delirious, crying out secrets she must never, ever, learn.

"I'll
handle Cassandra," he repeated stubbornly. "She can be a most
reasonable little soul."

Norah
nodded, then turned away so that he couldn't see her eyes haunted by the memory
of a teary-faced girl, blue eyes spitting hatred, broken sobs of helplessness
and fury echoing from her throat. Why was it that she found it impossible to
believe that this same girl would suddenly be brought to see
"reason," with all of Norah's supposed injustices still stinging her
pride, with all her fears still rippling through her, and with the chafing
burden of guilt raking at her nerves?

No,
Norah assured herself, now
she
was the one being overly dramatic. Surely
with time and effort, she and Cassandra could regain the closeness that had
begun to develop between them during that disastrous supper which seemed an
eternity ago.

Surely
Cassandra would find it in her heart to forgive Norah for barring her from her
father during his illness.

If
she did not, Norah knew with sudden insight that the pain of the past few days
might be only a taste of a more formidable anguish than she had ever known.

Norah
sat, rigid, upon the carved pew, her back as stiff as if a rod of iron had
replaced her spine, her eyes hot and searingly dry, as the Reverend Mr.
Chubbiston Rhoades ranged the sanctuary, his gold pocket watch never far from
his hand. With each tick of the timepiece, the cleric grew more uncomfortable,
marking each quarter hour that slipped past the time the ceremony had been
slated to begin with a throaty
harumph
of displeasure.

But
then, Norah thought with crushing pressure in her breast, it was incredibly
difficult to hold a wedding when the bridegroom was nowhere in sight.

Had
he changed his mind sometime after Norah had left the house in the carriage
with Mrs. Cadagon, the Irishwoman assuring her that the master and young Miss
Cass would soon follow? Had he been so tormented with ghosts of his last
marriage that he'd been unable to lay himself open to such vulnerability again?

Or
had Cassandra snatched the horse's reins and sent the team racing off in the
opposite direction from the woman she had decided to hate with the same
determined absolutism she had once given to adoring Norah?

Norah's
nervous fingers crumpled the gown she had chosen with such care early that
morning—a simple ice-blue muslin, with lilies of the valley embroidered about
the hem.

Her
stomach lurched at the memory of how long she had lingered in rose-scented bath
water, how many strokes she had brushed her hair, until it shone with
unaccustomed luster. Most foolhardy of all were the tender white rosebuds she
had plucked from Rathcannon's garden to tuck into the dark curls of her hair.

She
had wanted to believe she was almost beautiful—for just a moment. But a glance
in the mirror had ended any such delusions. She would have gladly plucked the
silly blossoms from her hair and donned her serviceable gray gown if there had
only been time. But Aidan had made it clear that the Reverend Mr. Rhoades
barely had time to pop into the church and fling out the wedding vows before
the holy man had to bolt off on another errand. So she had rushed downstairs,
to find, not her bridegroom, but only Mrs. Cadagon waiting there for her, the
apple-cheeked Irishwoman's face framed in a stiff green bonnet, her bright eyes
troubled.

"Sir
Aidan said that we were to go on to the church. That he'll meet us there
directly. Had a bit of a snag to untangle, he did, before he could break
away."

"Nothing
serious, I hope?" Norah had asked, worried. "He's not grown sick
again?"

"No,
no, nothin' of the kind! 'Tis nothing to worry your sweet head about, Miss
Norah. You wait an' see, he'll be at the church lookin' handsome enough to
charm the keys to heaven right out o' St. Peter's hands."

Wait
and see...
Mrs.
Cadagon's words echoed through Norah's mind. It seemed as if she had been
waiting an eternity.

"Miss
Linton?" The minister had gnawed at one fingernail until it bled.
"I'm most distressed, but as I informed Sir Aidan, I have a baptism to
officiate at two o'clock, several miles away, and from thence I've many more
miles I must travel to preside over another wedding. Much as I regret it, I
fear I shall have to leave."

Norah
closed her eyes for a heartbeat, sickened at the debacle this wedding had
become. "Of course you must go, Reverend. I'm sorry for your trouble in
racing all this way for nothing."

The
cleric's withered cheeks reddened as sympathy welled up in his ageless eyes.
Norah feared she would retch if she was the recipient of so much as another
drop of sympathy. "I suppose I could delay a bit longer, if I knew that
Sir Aidan..." He stopped to clear his throat. "Was not going to be
further delayed."

Was
going to show up at all
was more like it, Norah thought.

"There
is no way to be certain when Sir Aidan will be able to tear himself away
from—from whatever is occupying him. I shall look forward to seeing you at a
more propitious time for all concerned."

The
little clergyman bustled over to retrieve his greatcoat, dragging it onto his
ample frame. "I still feel most distressed to leave like this. I pray
nothing is amiss with Sir Aidan."

"I
am certain it is—is just some trifle that can easily be managed. At least I
have worked my way through the worst of my wedding jitters."

The
clergyman caught both her hands in his, and she battled to fashion her lips
into some semblance of a smile. "Your bridegroom is most fortunate in his
choice of a life-mate. Most brides I know would be wailing fit to bring down
the rafters."

Norah
grimaced. "I've found that such assaults upon the carpentry don't solve
difficulties but only leave one with a raw throat and reddened eyes. Safe
journey."

The
little man started to walk past her, toward the rear door, but he squawked when
a bellowing voice snapped out, "Where the devil do you think you're going,
Chubbiston?"

Both
wheeled, to see Sir Aidan storming in, his hair windblown, his eyes stormy, his
jaw rock-hard with stubbornness and irritation.

"Sir
Aidan! I was just—I mean, you knew from the beginning that—that I fear I have
to leave!"

"You
can leave the instant this wedding is complete."

"But—but—"

"Aidan,"
Norah began, her heart beating in a stricken rhythm. She had no idea what she
had expected of this man on their wedding day. She had pictured him a hundred
different ways, a score of shifting expressions on those handsome features. But
never had she pictured him thus: harried and irate, confused and perhaps a
little hurt, uncertain and yet wreathed with a stubborn resolve that would have
made a far more formidable foe back down.

"Is
everything all right?" she asked, swallowing hard. "Cassandra—"

"Cassandra
has a bit of a headache," he snapped in steely accents. "She sends
her regrets."

Norah's
heart sank. "I know how much it means to you to have her present,"
Norah offered, stunned to find herself groping for any reprieve. "Perhaps
we should postpone the ceremony until she is well."

"Cassandra
wouldn't hear of it," Aidan said, his voice tinged with bitterness.
"And I wouldn't hear of inconveniencing the Reverend Mr. Rhoades any more
than we have already done so. The man's damned hard to corner."

"But
Aidan, he—"

"We
won't detain him long." Aidan turned to the cleric, steely determination
in his face. "Don't waste time with fancy words, Chubbiston. Cut to the
chase, and you can be on your way in ten minutes, I'll wager."

"You
can't whip out a marriage ceremony the way you— you cast out cards before a
table is to be closed! These are solemn vows, Sir Aidan."

"Fine.
Make them solemn,
short
vows, and we can get this the devil over
with."

Norah
started to object, but he was already clasping her hand, pulling her toward the
altar, the Cadagons stumbling up in their wake. It didn't matter that she'd
placed roses in her hair, because Aidan barely looked at her, his green eyes
distant and distracted, his hand clutching hers a little too tightly, as if he were
afraid she would turn away and bolt.

Norah
was half tempted to do so.

Many
times had she listened to marriage vows being exchanged between others,
husbands intoning solemn promises to cherish and to protect, while brides,
their eyes shining, promised to love, to honor and obey the men who would share
their lives, their beds, father the babes that would beat their way into life
beneath their mother's hearts.

It
was a ritual as old as time, the mating of one soul with another, a time when
life renewed itself in the promise of a future. But as Chubbiston Rhoades
hastily stumbled over the lines of the ceremony, it seemed as if all the magic
of this ceremony, all its majesty and mysticism, only jeered at her, mocked her
from this sanctuary where so many other lives had been thus joined.

Every
time her gaze strayed to her impatient bridegroom —his black coat rumpled, the
knot of his cravat mangled beyond recognition beneath the strong jut of his
chin—she couldn't help but imagine how different he must have appeared the day
he wed Delia March.

A
youth, fire-hot with passion, his gaze devouring the beauty he would soon take
to his bed. No suspicion would have darkened his face; that hard shell of
cynicism, that faint curve of mockery that clung to his features now would have
been absent. And he would have sought out his lover's eyes time and again,
clutched her hands with fingers that were hungry to touch other more secret
places he could soon claim as his own.

It
was as if the phantom of that other wedding ceremony painted cold shadows
between Norah and the man standing so rigidly at her side. And as if another
shadow, that of a fairy-tressed hurting girl, whispered subtle warnings to
Norah from the emptiness she felt inside.

"Do
you, Sir Aidan Kane, take this woman to—"

"I
do." He snapped it out so hastily that the reverend's jaw fell open.
"I've done this once before," Aidan said. "I'm somewhat familiar
with the rigmarole. I take her for my wife, to have from this day forward. To
love and honor and cherish until death do us part."

Norah's
eyes stung as the reverend turned to her. "Do you, Eleanorah Linton, take
this man to..." He paused, almost expectantly, and Norah felt her cheeks
burn.

"I
haven't
done this before," she said, trying to keep the quiver of
rebelliousness from her voice. "I am not familiar with the... what did Sir
Aidan call it? Rigmarole?"