Cates, Kimberly (30 page)

She
felt Aidan stiffen beside her, saw that handsome face jerk toward her, that
intense gaze seeming to penetrate her very skin, but she kept her eyes
resolutely trained on a stone-carved seraph that decorated one of the pillars
supporting the roof beyond the altar.

"Oh,"
the Reverend Rhoades blustered, searching again for his place in the prayer
book. "Do you, Eleanorah Linton, take this man to be your lawfully wedded
husband? To have and to hold from this day forward?"

Norah's
knees trembled, and in that instant she wanted nothing more than to bolt toward
the door that led out into the warm morning sunshine. But where would she be
bolting
to?
There was nothing waiting for her in the world beyond,
nothing save this haven Sir Aidan Kane had offered.

"Miss
Linton," the reverend began, but Aidan cut in.

"She
heard you. Norah, will you have me?" he asked, looking down at her so
fiercely she could barely breathe.

"I—I
do. I mean, I will, I..." she stammered, but the minister seemed
satisfied, so he rushed on.

"Do
you promise to love, honor, comfort, and obey him, in sickness and in health,
until death do you part?"

Love
him? Norah's heart ached. She already did. But what would it be like, living
forever in this empty charade of a marriage, knowing she had given him all
she'd promised here this day, while he did not love her?

"I
do," she said, so softly the minister had to lean forward to catch the
words.

"Do
you have a ring?"

Aidan
snatched it from his coat pocket and slipped it onto Norah's finger. "With
this ring, I thee wed."

Sacrificing
yourself for your daughter,
Norah thought, her eyes burning.
To
protect her, keep her safe.

"With
my body I thee worship."

You'll
come to my bed, show me—what was it you claimed? That passion is far sweeter
than love and far less painful. But what if I've already surrendered love to
you, Aidan? What if I cannot help myself?

"With
all my worldly goods I thee endow."

You
will give me a home, gowns, all the things I could ever want. But will you ever
be able to give me the only thing I truly want? Your heart, in return for my
own?

What
would Aidan even think if he could hear her secret thoughts? Norah wondered, a
tightness in her chest. Would he be horrified? Faintly disgusted? Would his
eyes fill with hated sympathy? Surely it was only in her wildest dreams that
they would fill with that awed expression that had illuminated them when he'd
touched the tears running down her cheeks.

"I
now pronounce you man and wife," Rhoades said, slapping shut his prayer
book and making haste to where the license lay, quill and ink at the ready.
"Sign, and all is official." He scrawled his own name while glancing
at his watch, then cast the pen down and started to bustle from the room.

At
the door he stopped, flinging over his shoulder the words, "You may kiss
the bride."

Aidan
had signed his name with a flourish, then handed the pen to Norah. The instant
she was done, he caught her in his arms, brushing a quick kiss across her lips.

The
haste of that gesture made Norah's eyes sting.

"Norah,
forgive me, but I need to—to go, to try to talk some sense into Cass—" As
if suddenly aware he had betrayed something, Aidan's cheeks reddened. Norah
felt a little sick.

"What
do you mean? Talk sense into her? You said she had a headache."

"Ahem,
well, she does—one caused by being the most infernally stubborn little wretch
in Christendom."

"You
led me to believe that she had agreed to the marriage," Norah said, raw
with a rare flash of temper. "Do you mean to tell me that she is
unhappy?"

Aidan
glowered. "She'll get over this mad fit of bullheadedness. I'm certain
she—"

"How
could you?" Norah blazed. "How could you lie to me? Make me think
that all was well, when she—"

"If
I had told you the blasted chit had locked herself in her room, what would you
have done?"

"I
would never have married you. Not until she had reconciled herself to the
wedding!"

"Exactly.
Reverend Rhoades is a busy man. God knew how long it might be before I was able
to collar the infernal fool again. And I won't be staying at Rathcannon
forever. I told you I wanted us wed as soon as possible. I did what was
necessary to make certain we were."

"You
lied to me, before we were even wed. Of all the insensitive, selfish—"

Something
flared in Aidan's eyes—hurt, and the same stubbornness Norah was certain now
seethed in his daughter's eyes. "I told you the first night you arrived
that I change rules to suit me. I cheat when I have to. Now I have a girl
barricaded in a tower room, an irate bride railing at me when she'd been warned
of my nature, and a splitting headache from racing around to get this damned
marriage taken care of. It's finished. Let's get back to Rathcannon
before—"

Norah's
chin bumped up a notch as what few webbings of romantic dreams she'd managed to
cling to crumbled away into dust. "I would rather walk all the way to
Rathcannon than to share a carriage with you."

"Fine.
I suggest you return to Rathcannon in the carriage with Mrs. Cadagon. She'd be much
more likely to lend a sympathetic ear." Aidan's lips twisted in a grim
sneer. "You and Cassandra plot and conspire to get me leg-shackled, then
the minute the noose is around my neck you both change your mind. Then,
somehow, this whole mess is
my
goddamned fault."

Every
word bit Norah like a lash, searing deep into places hidden and raw.
"No," she said, each word a sliver of ice. "This mess is
doubtless my fault. After all, I'm the bride you are saddled with."

Her
words penetrated past the haze of frustration that seemed to hold Aidan in his
grip. She could see him battle to rein in his anger. "Norah, listen to me.
I didn't mean to begin this way."

"How
does one begin a charade of a marriage? I'm certain I don't know."

"Norah—"

"Go
to your daughter, Aidan. See if you can soothe the hurt we have both caused
her."

"Tonight
I'll make it up to you. I promise."

"No."
The sting of humiliation made the denial sharp. "I would as soon spend
tonight alone."

Was
it hurt that flashed in his eyes at her rejection? In a heartbeat he shuttered
it away. He sketched her a curt bow. "As you wish."

"Until
you choose to change the rules, at least," she said. She fought the tears
as he turned and stalked from the church. Norah chafed under the woeful gaze of
the Cadagons, who hovered at the rear of the sanctuary.

Mrs.
Cadagon came bustling up, catching Norah's cold hands in warm, comforting ones.
"Never you mind Miss Cass's temper tantrums, dearie. The girl will be over
it soon enough, and then you can forget all this unpleasantness."

Norah
looked down at her hand, the wedding band Aidan had slipped onto her finger
glinting in the light streaming through the window. The only way she could
forget this unpleasantness would be to forget her wedding. Her wedding that was
not a wedding, she thought, emotionally exhausted. A broken little laugh
escaped her as she glanced down at the ring.

A
simple band with the mellow sheen of gold long worn next to someone's skin.
Norah's throat constricted. Had this belonged to another woman, the way Aidan's
heart had? The way his daughter had? Was it possible that it had belonged to...
her? To Delia Kane? The woman who had tried to murder Aidan, steal his child.

I
change the rules to suit me,
his words echoed through her.
I
cheat.

Was
it possible that he had lied about Delia's death as well? Norah brought herself
up sharply. No, he couldn't have been lying to her. He looked so solemn, his
pain still all too evident in his eyes. Why would he have fabricated such a
hideous tale when she'd asked him for nothing save the truth?

What
would you have done if you'd known the truth?
His hard demand
seemed to haunt her from the shadows pooling on the stone walls.

I
would never have married you.

Exactly.

She
could still see the resolute jut of that hard, masculine jaw, the fierce
determination in his eyes.

She
was still shivering long after the Cadagons had brought her out into the sweet
Irish sunshine.

* * * * *

Rathcannon's
gardens were a wonderland, every blossom and vine, every statue and path woven
to delight a little princess. Norah wandered through the flower-spangled beauty,
running her fingertips over child-sized benches and sculptures fashioned to
intrigue the imagination.

A
stunning Pegasus spread stone wings in flight, his magnificent equine head
tossing, his eyes fixed upon the heavens. Three unobtrusive stone steps led up
to where a celestial saddle spanned the mythical creature's broad back. Fading
scuff marks, not worn away by rain or time, made Norah wonder how many times a
far younger Cassandra had clambered up upon the delightful beast to go off
adventuring.

A
dragon with deliciously sharp teeth peeked about a flowering hedge, its fierce
stone claws extended as if to devour any child who dared challenge its wrath.

At
the far end of the garden, an orangery filled the air with citrus smells, and
Norah knew instinctively that it had been put there because a girl with golden
curls had a penchant for the sour sweetness of the fruit.

Her
throat tightened with the knowledge that Aidan had crafted this garden in a
desperate effort to make his daughter want to remain a child forever. To build
a world for just the two of them—father and daughter, walled off from hurt and
pain and betrayal. Safe from the madness Delia Kane had spun about them both.

There
was no real room for anyone else in this ancient castle, no room for anyone
else in their hearts. She had been a fool to believe otherwise, even for such a
brief moment in time.

Norah
rounded a shrub and discovered an elegant stone chair very like a queen's
throne situated beneath the quiet shade of an arch of roses. She sank down into
it, exhausted, drained, more confused than ever before.

She
had barely finished her vows when Aidan had made it clear that she was still an
outsider. He had offered her protection when she desperately wanted acceptance.
He had offered her passion when her soul had craved love. His wedding gift to
her had not been some cherished family heirloom or even words of love, far more
precious than any gems could be. Rather, his gift had been heartache, more
savage than any Norah had ever felt before. Now he was somewhere in the castle,
attempting to reason with his daughter, a quest he had made certain Norah knew
she was not welcome to participate in.

She
plucked the white rose from her hair, her fingers tearing the delicate petals,
her throat aching. Tears splashed her fingers, tears she would never let Aidan
or Cassandra see. Tears for something that never really was, would never really
be.

"Miss
Linton?" the respectful query echoed along the path. Calvy, the footman
she had come to like so much, was heading toward her.

She
scrubbed at her cheeks with the backs of her hands and climbed to her feet,
hurrying over to a patch of shade she hoped would hide the reddened state of
her eyes. Who had sent him to find her? she wondered. Aidan, perhaps? Or
Cassandra?

"Calvy,
I'm over here. By the roses."

He
stepped into her line of sight, and one look at his features let Norah know
that he had heard about the fiasco that had been her wedding. She cringed inwardly,
infusing her voice with a regalness she prayed would hide the fact that she
felt as if her heart were breaking into little pieces.

"Does
someone require my presence?"

"Yes,
miss... I mean, my lady. There is a—an English gentleman here to see you."

Norah's
heart plunged to her toes. "But—but who on earth could it be?"

Calvy
extended a gilt-edged card, a name scrolled across it in elegant print. "I
told him 'twas your wedding day, but he insisted. He seemed most
distressed."

"Norah?"

The
card dropped from her numb fingers. She didn't need it to recognize the
identity of her visitor. She needed only to hear the impeccable and elegant
tones of Lord Philip Montgomery's voice.

She
stumbled back a step, feeling like an awkward girl again, wishing she could spin
around and run headlong into the tangle of trees behind her. But it was too
late, for Philip had followed the footman and was striding into sight, his
brown-gold hair glinting in the sun, his tall-crown beaver hat in his
exquisitely gloved hands.

Norah's
stomach gave a sick lurch as she desperately attempted to paste a smile on her
face.