Page 5 of Marry in Secret
Cal frowned and glanced at Galbraith.
“What rubbish! Who the devil do you think you are, coming here to disrupt my wedding?” Furious at the sight of her brother’s hesitation, shaken by the tall beggar’s confidence and the cruelty of his lies, Rose shook off the duke’s grip and marched forward. The duke tried to draw her back, but she evaded him and half ran, half stumbled up the aisle, almost tripping over her train. She pushed in between her brother and brother-in-law, ready to confront the big, weather-beaten stranger who was trying to ruin her wedding.
“What nonsense is this?” she snapped. “I’ve never seen you before in—”
White teeth glinted through the beard. “Ahh, that temper of yours, Rosie.”
She froze. This man with the spare, rangy frame, the powerful shoulders, the crooked nose, and the wild sun-bleached hair, he wasn’t... He couldn’t be... He was nothing like...
She opened her mouth to repudiate him again—and met his gaze. Eyes of the palest silvery blue. She faltered. And in her memory the echo of her much younger self saying,Like a summer sky at twilight.
“Thomas?” she whispered, and fainted dead away.
***
Rose’s brother lunged forward, but it was Thomas who caught Rose before she fell, caught her and clasped her to his chest. She was his and he wasn’t going to give her up. He glanced down at her pale face, her skin pearlescent in the candlelight, the crescent sweep of sable lashes, the full, rosy lips parted slightly. Unconscious, but breathing evenly. His woman. His wife. Rose.
She hadn’t recognized him...
The hostile circle of faces edged closer. Thomas eyed them coldly, silently daring them to interfere.
Rose’s brother held his arms out. “I’ll take her.”
Thomas’s hold on her tightened. “She’s my wife. You heard her.”
“I heard her call you Thomas. That proves nothing,” he growled. But he made no move to wrestle her out of Thomas’s arms. He couldn’t, not in a church. And with such an audience. He faced Thomas with contained anger.
He must know who Thomas was. Rose’s recognition, belated as it was, had confirmed it. It must be obvious to everyone. So why deny him? Why pretend?
Yet another person who wanted him obliterated? When would it end? Thomas tamped down on the familiar cold anger. He was home at last, in England, and Rose was in hisarms. It was all that mattered to him. He would deal with the rest later.
The warm weight of her was almost shocking to his senses, the fragrance of her perfume, the silken texture of her skin, the fine-spun gold of her hair. She was still insensible, pale as paper, breathing gently. His grip on her tightened. It was shock that had caused her to faint, nothing more.
Four years...
A small, round, sweet-faced young woman pushed through the ring of male protectors. “What did you do to her?” she demanded fiercely. “Rose never faints!” She unstoppered a tiny crystal flask and waved it under Rose’s nose.
He remembered seeing a miniature of her once, much younger but still recognizable. “You’d be Lily, then, Rose’s little sister.”
She snorted. “Everyone knows that.”
“She used to worry about you. You were very ill.”
She stopped waving the smelling salts under Rose’s nose for a moment and glanced up at him, frowning. “Who are you—really?” It was a strange question. Who the hell did she think he was?
“Her husband.”
“Nonsense.” She shook her head vehemently. “If Rose were married I would know.”
He frowned. “You didn’t know?”
At that moment Rose jerked abruptly into consciousness. She sneezed, recoiling and shaking her head. “Ugh! Take that vile stuff—” She broke off, glanced at the concerned faces surrounding her, then up at Thomas. Her eyes widened and her mouth dropped open.
“How are you, Rose?” The words came out low, ragged and hoarse.
There was a long, fraught silence. Not a soul in the church moved. Everyone craned to hear what she would say next.
Her hand fluttered up, hesitated, brushed his cheek, amoth wing of a touch, faint and fleeting, then drew back. “Itisyou, isn’t it?” she said finally. “But you’re... I thought...” And then she said, almost accusingly, “But you’re supposed to be dead.” She sounded... Was sheangry? With him? For not being dead?
