Page 17 of Cora
As promised, Cora wore pure white. Her inky tresses were a sharp contrast to the hood of her fur-trimmed silk cloak, what little was visible. A shiver coursed through him. Beneath the outer garment glimmered her extravagant wedding gown. She shimmered like she was made of snow and ice. A winter queen.
His nose bumped the glass and he pulled back, startled, grateful for his niece, equally entranced by Miss Wilder’s arrival. Embarrassed, he rubbed the bridge where the brothers’ fists had smashed his face in revenge. Must’ve been quite the bonding experience. Back then, they hadn’t been close, but Wilder had spoken warmly of the duke on several occasions over the past week.
Approaching the stairs, she was flanked by both brothers. One-on-one, Gideon had no doubt he could handle either man in a fistfight. The two of them together, however, would test his boxing skills.
He hoped the day wouldn’t end in fisticuffs, yet the expressions on the three siblings did nothing to reassure him.
Wilder glared menacingly, then fell back to assist another woman down from the carriage. His wife. Gideon couldn’t help examining her features, curious about the woman who had so thoroughly captivated the man. She was, indeed, a beauty, if you went for blondes. Gideon had always preferred brunettes. Tall, curvy, gorgeous brunettes, like the one glaring icy daggers at him now.
He swallowed.
He’d anticipated Cora’s anger. What he had not anticipated was the cool way she glanced dismissively away from him before they had even greeted one another, her gaze skimming over the assembled members of his family.
A roar of fierce protectiveness thundered in his blood. If she said one unkind word about Reggie’s condition he would not hesitate to berate her.
But all she said was, “I am Cora Wilder. I look forward to getting to know all of you at the wedding banquet. Shall we proceed?”
Her gaze lingered briefly on Reggie’s wheelchair, but she said nothing. A faint smile touched his brother’s lips.
“She’s very pretty,” his brother said as Gideon passed by. He nodded, tense and tight, wanting to punch Reggie for the first time since they were children and used to squabble. No one should look at Cora with admiration except him. She was his—or about to become so.
Forever.
CHAPTERNINE
CORA
Cora stared straight ahead. She might have been trussed into a formal wedding gown, but her veil was a perfunctory nod to the occasion. Her act of rebellion. A thin scrim of stiffened tulle draped from the small hat pinned to her head—if a wide band of beaded silk could properly be called such—to her chin. No cathedral-length nod to modesty for her.
Twenty minutes from now, she would be a wedded woman. Whatever sat on her head did not signify in the slightest. She worked her fingertips over the ribbon holding her bouquet of white roses.
“You’re sure about this?” Lysander asked quietly.
No.
“Yes.”
Her heart thudded in time with the dirge of an organ player. Lysander led her up the aisle of the private chapel. As small as it was, it felt cavernously empty.
Startlingly pretty, though. Bright winter sun streamed through stained-glass windows. The austere marble columns caught the light and made the space glimmer. The glossy wooden pews were old but well cared for. Lysander squeezed her arm before moving to stand beside Eryx and Annalise. Only three people from her side had come to witness this travesty of a wedding.
Standing beside him, she took a fortifying breath. The ball of hurt in her chest tightened into a knot that would never come undone.
Wentworth barely glanced at her as she took her place.
She could do it. Pick up her skirts and run away.
But she wasn’t doing that this time. Never again would she run away from this man. She would be cold and cool. Maintain her distance and her dignity at all times.
She spoke words.
His lips formed the same meaningless syllables. What did it mean to love and cherish someone you hated with all your heart and soul? She did not trust Wentworth to care for her from this day forward, in sickness or in health. She did not trust him at all. She never would.
“You may kiss the bride.”
Cora’s vision narrowed into a pinhole. She’d forgotten about this part of the ceremony. Her tongue darted out in anticipation.
It was very cruel of nature to have gifted Gideon Wentworth with a mouth like that. His lips were the only soft part of him, and for once, they were not twisted into a smirk. Mother Nature had gone out of her way to craft a diabolically handsome man, then given him the personality of a devil.
