Page 6 of His Wedding Day Revenge

As she distanced herself from the protest, the sounds faded into an indistinct hum. The familiar terrain of the untouched woodland welcomed her, the solace and peace it normally provided eluding her. It was a shock. She was fine. She just needed a moment—or maybe a year—to gather her thoughts, to reconcile that past with this present without gibbering.

Hands pressed against a moss-covered tree absorbing the texture, Jane closed her eyes. The gentle rustle of leaves and the distant murmur of the crowd might have created a soothing symphony, only it didn’t.

Her thoughts were total and utter chaos. All she could think of was Draco’s face—the golden toned skin drawn tight across sculpted razor-sharp cheekbones, a broad forehead and a strong firm jaw. The devil, it was said, was in the detail, but Draco had always made her think of a fallen angel, dark and devastating. The details of his symmetrical features were fascinating, mesmerising.

Her stomach muscles lurched as she dwelt on his deep-set midnight-dark eyes set beneath the thick bands of his brows and framed by dark, lush lashes. His carved cheekbones with their knife-sharp angles, dominant blade of a nose, contrasted in a dramatic, stomach-melting way with his mouth, sensual and full.

Authority clashing with sensuality and all utterly, totally male.

She clenched her soft jaw, refusing to be swept away by nostalgia, lust or longing, a weird combination of all three, and she was in no condition to analyse.

She just had to keep telling herself, for sanity’s sake, that her life was different now, it centred around little Matthew and the responsibilities that came with guardianship. A gentler life with friendship and kindness, book clubs and village-hall yoga, which had its issues because she was the only person under sixty there—she couldn’t include Maud, who had the flexibility of a ten-year-old.

With a determined breath, Jane steeled herself. Draco Andreas might be a part of her past, but she wouldn’t let him disrupt the life she had built for herself and the child who depended on her. As she slipped further into the sanctuary of the trees, her thoughts circled around a decision—how to navigate the inevitable confrontation with the man who had once been the centre of her universe. He had surely either forgotten her existence or hated her.

Was it even inevitable?

Would she prefer he hated her than had forgotten her?

How would she play it?

Well, fancy seeing you here.

Oh, gosh, long time no see...

CHAPTER TWO

THEREWASANalmost audible static hum of anticipation as the tall, dynamic Draco Andreas appeared, impeccably clad in a grey tailored suit and open-necked white shirt.

Jane was sitting in the back row behind a tall man with an even taller hat. She couldn’t see the loose-limbed figure but she knew that he’d look perfect. She also knew that the eyes that would be scanning the crowd were more navy-black than brown-black, and his stare managed to give the person that came under their laser beam the impression that nothing was hidden from the owner.

The man in front whipped off his hat and she slunk down in her seat a little more. There were a couple of angry shouts and mutters that faded in the face of the effortless authority projected by the tall, lithe figure who, after walking up the short flight of wooden stairs to the small, raised stage, paused to shake the hand of the vicar before turning to his hostile but now silent audience.

He paused, seemingly perfectly at ease, his dark eyes scanning the faces turned to him, and despite being hidden Jane found herself instinctively shrinking back some more and lowering her lashes.

Not hiding? said the exasperated voice in her head. What else would you call it?

Pride had brought her here, the determination, after a lot of soul-searching, that she could not allow her blast from the past to derail her life.

Draco would leave her life as he had entered it, casually, and she must react in the same way. She wouldn’t allow herself to run away or hide—both, to her shame, her initial instincts—but that didn’t mean she had to advertise her presence.

For a board-wielding protestor, she really did have a genuine dislike of confrontation.

Would he even remember her?

She’d changed a lot in four years. When she looked in the mirror these days... When did she look in the mirror?

Juggling her job as a receptionist in the doctor’s surgery and childcare didn’t leave a lot of time for worrying about frown lines, and running around after a baby meant she had lost ten pounds she could probably not afford to. She knew that her face had lost some of its youthful roundness, and her last hair trim had been a nail-scissor bathroom-sink job...

Also her wardrobe was a long way from the designer clothes that Draco had bought for her. Bought and chosen... She was ashamed now of how malleable she’d been, how desperate she’d been to please him, how she’d allowed him to dress her up like a mannequin doll. She ran a hand over her hair, which he’d been fascinated by. He had gone so far as to extract a promise from her never to cut it; he always wanted to be able to wrap himself in it.

And she had agreed without a second thought.

There was nothing symbolic, she told herself, about the fact that she had lopped eight inches off her waist-length locks two weeks after the non-event wedding. It was just more convenient this way.

Unable to resist the temptation any longer, she bent her head to look around the man in front and saw Draco was still standing there, seemingly relaxed as he used his charismatic smile to obvious effect. She was not in the fainting zone of that smile, but she still felt the aftershocks of it.

Not recognise her? she mocked herself, retreating once more behind the grey hair, her heart thumping as she recalled that moment earlier when their glances had connected.

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