Maybe This Time, page 23
“You are a woman. You belong to me until I’ve given you to a husband—which I have done.”
He jerked the wedding gown from its hanger and thrust it toward her. She didn’t accept it, and the gown crumpled to the floor.
He raised his hand and jabbed a pointed finger in her direction. “I’ll not tolerate disobedience from my daughter, Alyssa Kathleen. You will marry Innes, I swear it. Now dress, or I’ll drag you to the church nude.”
“Father, you—”
“It is your pride at stake,” he bellowed. “Not mine.”
Alyssa gasped. “You wouldn’t.”
He stood, his legs planted on the floor, his arms folded across his chest. “I would.”
The stubborn set of his jaw, the angry look in his eyes, boasted convincing evidence that flooded her with pain. “Knowing I am against this marriage, you would force me to wed him? Of all men—him? What has Innes done to you, Father? Has he threatened you? Me? Please, tell me.”
“He’s done nothing, save offer you a means of getting off the shelf. Twenty-two and not yet wed.” He dragged his hand through his thinning hair. “Save me, you are the sole Cameron, Alyssa. The line must continue. I must have a male heir, and it’s your duty to provide—”
“I know my duties, Father,” Alyssa began, “but—”
“You have ten minutes. In five, Burns will come to assist you in dressing.” Her father turned and stormed from the room.
Meg stepped out of the corner and closed the door. “Burns to assist you! Oh, milady, please let me dress you. No lady should suffer the indignity of having a butler dress her. Please.”
Unable to speak, Alyssa nodded. She’d been hopeful that when her father realized the depth of her resistance, he would relent. But he hadn’t withdrawn his demand. And she feared she knew the reason.
Numb, leaden, she stood up and allowed Meg to do what she would. This wedding would not occur, regardless of the cost. But she could only escape her locked chambers in Cameron House by going to the church. To the church, but never down the aisle.
By the time they arrived at the church, Alyssa was no longer numb. She was furious. Her father stepped out of the carriage and offered her his hand. She ignored it. Alone, she walked inside.
Meg hurried to her side and pointed to an antechamber. “In there, milady.”
Alyssa went into the small waiting room. She paced and prayed for intervention. Something—anything—that would spare her being leg-shackled to a man she feared.
“You’re wearing out the bishop’s carpet,” Meg said. “And you’re so flushed. Won’t you sit down and rest for a minute?”
“Oh, Meg, I have so little time left. I cannot believe that my father is doing this.” Alyssa continued pacing, growing more and more loud in her complaints until she was fairly shouting.
Grim-faced, her father entered the room. “The entire populace inhabiting this church—including Mrs. Drummond Burrell, I might add—is well aware of your discord. I demand that you hold your tongue.”
“I won’t. I will not marry him, Father, and that is the truth of it. Why are you—”
Her father grabbed her arm. “You will marry him.” He clenched his teeth. “Meg, leave us.”
He squeezed, and Alyssa’s arm throbbed. She nodded, and Meg stepped into the hallway. The hem of her gown got caught between the closing door and its frame, and knowing she was nearby gave Alyssa comfort. “Just tell me why.”
Her father’s eyes filled with pain. “I’m bankrupt, Alyssa. If you marry Lord Innes, he’ll clear my debts.”
Alyssa’s eyes rolled back in her head. “Father, this is no time for a Banbury tale—”
“Still your tongue, daughter. Don’t you realize your jeopardy? If you refuse to wed Innes, you’ll be reduced to hiring yourself out as some woman’s companion. There is no blunt.”
Alyssa gasped. “None? Not a pound, a shilling? Father, how could that be?”
Sweat dotted his forehead, but he didn’t answer. Nor did she expect him to. She knew the reason for their dire circumstance: White’s. Her father had lost his considerable fortune gaming. And, she was now sure, her mother’s diamonds, as well. “Do you realize my jeopardy in being married to him? Remember Hedwig, Father.”
The look in his eyes changed from discomfort to fury. “I warned you to never mention her name to me. You must marry Innes. I’m—I’m done up.”
Done up? Icy dread crept up her spine. She’d heard those words before. And, if only in her heart, she knew the result of them. “We’ll go away,” she said. “Disappear, like Beau Brummell did last year.”
He held her hands tightly. “If you don’t marry Innes, I will be forced to flee my creditors like Beau fled his. But I’m not the darling of the ton that he was, Alyssa. I doubt I’d be lucky enough to end my days obscure on the Continent—or even in debtor’s prison, for that matter. My fate would be more immediate. Is that your wish for your father? Can you be that selfish, that ungrateful?”
Alyssa swallowed her bitterness. He had created his own difficulties and hers. Yet she was the one given the responsibility of resolving them. His expectation that she do her duty was clear. She could resent the situation—and him. She could detest both, but it would have no effect. God help her; unless she wished her father dead, she had no choice but to marry Innes. “All—all right, Father,” she relented. “I’ll do it.”
Her father whimpered. “Thank you, my dear. I knew your pride would serve me well.”
Alyssa wanted to snap at him, wanted to slap his quizzing glass from his hand. But she didn’t. It would serve no purpose. It didn’t matter now. Nothing mattered now. Not anymore.
A knock on the door claimed their attention.
“Yes,” her father responded.
“It’s time,” Meg said.
Alyssa walked to the door and turned to her father. “I do this because I have no choice. But I will never forgive you, Father. You sold me to a man I fear enough to take my own life. If I could but find a way, I would leave the two of you to your fates without a backward glance.”
“You must not speak of suicide. It’s a sin.”
“What you have done to me is the sin.”
“Alyssa.” he gasped. “I love you.”
“Don’t you dare speak those words to me. You hate me. You have since the day my mother died.”
“That’s not—”
“How dare you deny it? It is true,” she insisted, glaring at him. Her tone chilled to ice. “Come, Father. Give me to Innes. Walk down the aisle with your only daughter. Touch her arm for the last time before you give her in marriage to a murderer.”
He looked stricken, but he did not respond. Alyssa turned and left the room. She heard his following footsteps.
At the nave, she took his arm and felt it tremble, then wondered if she were the one who trembled. Again, she besought her Maker. Please, before we reach the front of this church, please make Father come to his senses and take me out of here.
Straight ahead at the altar, she saw Innes, his hair the color of fresh-boiled carrots, his clothing impeccably cut. Her stomach revolted, lurched, and she swallowed hard, drew in three deep breaths to calm herself.
They were halfway down the aisle now. Each step, taking her closer to hell. And for the first time, she knew how a man felt on his last walk to the gallows. Hopeless. Resigned. Her father was going to go through with it. He was going to complete his sale of her to man who’d killed his first wife. God, she silently cried. Help me!
But God didn’t answer.
Innes watched her approach. His gaze devoured her. Alyssa cringed and turned to look at those assembled. She swallowed hard. Was she the only person in all of England who had not known about this wedding?
The patronesses of Almack’s were in attendance. Lady Jersey, who had recommended Meg, sat grim-faced. Lady Sefton, the kindhearted woman who had launched Alyssa’s coming out and assisted in her introduction to court, sent her a sympathetic look. And Mrs. Drummond Burrell, the most arrogant dictator of the wishes of the patronesses, the woman who most terrified young women entering the marriage mart, sat looking down her disdainful nose. Alyssa immediately lifted her chin and stiffened her spine.
Near the altar now, she saw the Duke and Duchess of York, both of whom she’d developed an affection for on her childhood visits to Oatlands. They, too, looked uncomfortable, but, like the others, they would not intercede.
She looked from face to face. Did none of them know about Innes? Did they not care? Had the members of the ton she had considered her friends, her extended family, turned out en masse only to witness the fall of her pride, her destruction?
Then she saw the truth in their eyes; their pity, and their disgrace. They did know what Innes was—and what would happen to her. Yet, none would break the bonds of regimented society to aid her.
Never before had she felt so alone, so utterly isolated. Her observations should have prepared her for the reaction of the ton. Why did she entertain a certainty that she was different than any other member falling from grace? She wasn’t different. Her reluctant behavior, her marrying a wastrel at night, would be the latest on dit, the scrap of gossip that would be wagged on every tongue.
Until tomorrow.
Then their condemnation of her would turn even more grim.
But she would no longer hear it.
How would her father, Innes, her friends in the ton feel then? Cheated? Gulled? Would her father or Innes feel so much as a pang of remorse?
She was there now, beside Innes at the altar. Sickly sweet, the scent of his cologne hung in the still, damp air, curdling her churning stomach. She broke out in a clammy cold sweat.
Her father released her and stepped away. She smothered a whimper and looked at him. He seemed relieved, and her heart shattered all over again. “Goodbye, Father,” she said, then turned her back, knowing her message had been understood.
In the church that had grown silent as a tomb, she heard his footsteps recede, the wooden pew creak under his weight. And those sounds gave her the answer she had to accept. To protect himself, John Cameron would allow his daughter to sacrifice her life, to commit the most shameful, the most unpardonable of all sins. The sin for which no man or woman could atone: suicide.
She tried to absorb the shock, to summon the bravery to do what she must. Of both their sins, surely his was the greater. He could have prevented her sin, and he chose not to.
Innes held out his hand. She refused it. He slid her a murderous look, and without the slightest hesitation, she answered it with one of her own. He would know of her disdain, both before and after this ceremony. And come morn, all of London would know of it, too.
To eliminate any family debt to her father, she would marry Innes, become leg-shackled to him for life. That much she owed to the memory of her dear mother. But her life was a matter of hours now, not years.
When Innes came to her bed, he would not find a terrified virgin waiting. He would find a corpse.
And, in her heart, she believed God would understand and forgive her.
Resigned, Alyssa looked at the bishop. Short and portly, he had a distinctive bump in the center of his nose. His eyes held sympathy and his round cheeks were stained red. Everyone had indeed heard her complaints. There would be no doubt what had precipitated her suicide. Her heart slammed against her ribs. Her suicide. Somehow, she must find the courage. She must go to her grave with her honor, her pride intact.
Lingering remnants of hope ordered her to cling to precious life, to silently beg God for just one rescuing knight. But the time for hope, for faith in intervention, had passed.
She held the bishop’s uneasy gaze, nodded, and mentally detached herself from the ceremony. Clutching the bouquet of baby roses in her hand, she looked down. A bright red drop of blood was soaking into the white silk. Again she saw her father’s blood-stained clothes. A whimper crawled up her throat and died.
The bishop droned on. With each of his words, she receded deeper and deeper inside herself. Then he stated the vows. Honor. Obey. Cherish. Calling her back.
Looking at her expectantly, he instructed her for the second time to repeat them. She prayed for forgiveness. To lie in God’s house: surely no sin, not even suicide, could be more offensive. She’d be in Hell until the end of time.
“Lady Alyssa?” the bishop prodded.
She opened her mouth to do his bidding. No sound escaped her throat. She could not speak. She swallowed, and tried again. Her lips moved—she felt them moving under her fingertips—but no sound came forth.
Panic welled. Her stomach pitched and quivered. Whispers from the guests reached her ears. Then a commotion in the back of the church had all heads turning—including hers.
A rakehell demon, masked and huge and swathed in black, moved toward her up the center aisle.
“She’ll not wed him!” his deep voice thundered. “This woman is mine.”
His words roared through the church and echoed in her ears. Innes stepped between them. The demon smiled. A cold, hard smile, the likes of which she’d never seen.
Alyssa shut her eyes to close out the image that had shivers of fear scattering along her spine. This wasn’t happening. It was a trick of her mind. God’s punishment for her intent to take her own life. He’d not deigned to provide her with a rescuing knight, and, when she’d taken her destiny into her own hands, in His anger, He’d sent her a bare-necked demon from hell!
Fists clashed with flesh. The splintering sound of crushing bone grated at her ears. She snapped her eyes open. Innes lay prone on the floor, his jaw hanging at an odd angle. Gasps, shocked outcries filled the church. Her father stood up.
“Sit down, Cameron,” the demon ordered.
Her father slid back into his seat. Ladies swooned until the pews held more women prone than upright; more escorts and husbands waving fans and attending them than those keeping cautious watch on the demon.
He raised his hand toward her, palm up to the heavens. His voice was soft now, gentle. “Come.”
One word. With one word a stranger had done more for her than her own father, more than acquaintances she’d known for years. She didn’t know the giant, yet something in his voice, in his tone, bade her to follow him.
A flash of impressions filled her mind. Coat, waistcoat, cut of the finest fabrics. Inexpressibles, a fine leg. Hessians, good quality. Bare throat.
The images stopped.
Her gaze locked onto a crystal amulet hanging from a strip of leather coiling around the demon’s neck. Crystal. Her heart throbbed a familiar feeling. Yet it was a feeling she couldn’t define or describe. Crystal. Her future with him could be no worse than with Innes. Not that she had any choice. The demon’s jaw was clamped closed. He would take her, should she refuse to go to him.
But she would not refuse. To stay meant certain death; to go, a second chance for precious life. She lifted her gaze to meet his and an unearthly sense of rightness, of well-being and contentment, suffused her. She stepped over Innes’s supine body and into the demon’s arms.
Smiling, he lifted her and turned toward the back of the church. Alyssa’s heart thumped against her ribs, against his chest. He was strong and hard, smelling of horse and leather and man.
Lady Jersey sat serene, her hands folded in her lap, a twinkle in her eye. Could nothing unnerve that woman? Alyssa wondered. Mrs. Drummond Burrell wore her habitual look of disdain. Mimicking it, Alyssa sent it back to her. And near the back of the church lay poor Meg, sprawled on the floor, holding a vinaigrette close to her nose.
The demon touched Alyssa’s hand. “Let go of the flowers,” he said softly. “They are his. I want you to have nothing of his.”
Her eyes met those of the man holding her. Warm. Gray and wise. He knew her. He knew her and he’d come for her. She released the bouquet, and watched him toss it. It thumped against Innes’s chest, then slid to the floor.
She looked up at the man holding her. They shared a poignant smile. His expression changed, and she read his intent in his eyes. She could turn away. But she didn’t. Instead she lifted her face to meet his, and accepted his kiss—his gentle, tentative kiss that so quickly deepened. And, God help her, be he demon or knight, she kissed him back.
He held her firmly, kissed her thoroughly, kissed her senseless, then raised his head and faced the guests.
“Hear my warning,” he roared. “Any man who tries to take my woman from me shall die by my hand. This I vow before God and man.”
His chest still vibrating against her side, he turned and strode from the church.
His woman. Alyssa sighed, content to relax her head against his shoulder and just hold on.
Seventeen
THE HORSE’S hooves thundered along the road north.
Perched in front of the demon, Alyssa tried to collect her scattered thoughts.
He wouldn’t tell her his name, where or why he had taken her, but he had been attentive. Before he’d positioned her in front of him on his powerful black stallion, he had wrapped her in a warm, sable-lined pelisse.
It was then that she’d seen his family ring. And then that she’d known she’d seen it before—somewhere.
Strong moonlight lit the road and the crisp air made fog of her breath. She held herself stiff, distancing her back from his chest, certain that her spine would snap from the jarring ride.
“Lean on me, Alyssa,” he told her.
“I’d rather not.”
“Do it.”
His voice was as hard as his chest. Deciding it unwise to rile him, she lifted her chin and leaned back. “I am not afraid of you, sir.”
He tightened his arm around her waist and pulled her flush between his thighs. “That is good to know.”
The blasted man sounded amused. Her stomach fluttered, but she didn’t object. His warmth felt too good. And this time, his strong hold and daunting size didn’t frighten her. Both assured she would retain her seat--even at the breakneck speed they traveled.
