Page 4 of Marry in Secret
“Stop the wedding!”
There was an audible gasp from the congregation, followed by a hush, as everyone waited to hear what would happen next. Rose’s heart jolted—feeling as though it stopped. Heart in her mouth, she turned to stare at the man who’d just entered.
After a long, frozen moment, she breathed again. For a moment she’d imagined—but no. She’d never seen this man before.
The church door banged shut behind him, the sound echoing through the silent church.
“What the devil?” Cal muttered.
Rose fought to gather her composure, shaken by the brief flash of—whatever it was.
The stranger stood in stark contrast to the smoothly groomed and elegant congregation. He was tall and gaunt-looking, but his shoulders were broad—a laborer’s shoulders. His clothes were ill-fitting, coarse, the trousers ragged and patched in places. He wore no coat. His shirt was too flimsy for the season and his shoes were of laced canvas, dirty and with visible holes.
If he knew he was grossly out of place in this, the most fashionable church in London, interrupting the most fashionable wedding of the season, he showed no sign, no self-consciousness.
He was heavily bearded. Thick hair rioted past his shoulders, wild and sun-bleached. The face above the beard—what she could see of it—was lean and deeply tanned, the skin stretched tight over prominent cheekbones. His nose appeared to have been broken at least once. The tattered shirtsleeves revealed tanned, powerful-looking muscles.
No, she’d imagined that fleeting resemblance. But who was he? And what was he trying to do?
“Is this a joke?” the duke demanded of his best man.
“Lord, no, Hart—of course not. Nothing to do with me.”
“Rose?” Cal asked.
Her heart was still pounding. She stared at the big ruffian who stood in the center of the aisle, shabby and confident, as if commanding it. He met her gaze with an assurance that shook her.
For a moment she wondered... But no. He was too brutal-looking, too rough, too wild.
“Rose?” Cal repeated.
She shook her head. “No idea.”
The bishop surged forward. “Ho there, fellow, by what right do you seek to disrupt God’s work?”
“By the right of law,” the stranger replied coolly. “Lady Rose is already married.”
A low, excited murmur of speculation followed his announcement.
Rose’s heart almost stopped. He couldn’t possibly know.
“Throw the dirty beggar out!” Aunt Agatha shook her stick at him.
“Rose?” Cal glanced at her, and despite the racing of her heart and the knotting of her stomach, again she shook her head. She didnotknow this man. How many times had she imagined—but no. No! It was some cruel, tasteless joke.
Cal snorted and raised his voice. “Is she now? And who is my sister married to, pray tell?”
A hush fell as everyone waited for his response.
“To me.” His voice was deep, a little rough. Faintly surprised by the question.
There was a universal gasp, then a babble of amused and outraged speculation. Several people laughed. There were a couple of catcalls.
“That’sa lie!” Dry-mouthed, breathless and suddenly furious, Rose moved forward.
“Stay here, Rose.” Cal caught her arm and thrust her toward the duke. “Look after her, Everingham. I’ll get rid of this madman. Galbraith?” Rose’s brother-in-law, Ned Galbraith, nodded, and the two men approached the rough-looking stranger.
“Back off, gentlemen,” the stranger warned with chilling menace. “I’m neither madman nor beggar. Lady Rose is indeed my wife.” His bearing was in stark contrast to his ragged appearance. And he spoke with the crisp diction of a gentleman.
