Page 124 of The English Duke
It didn’t matter. Martha couldn’t allow the wedding to continue one more minute.
Her grandmother suddenly stood, the congregation’s attention moving from Jordan to Gran.
“Jordan Hamilton,” she said, her voice carrying over the abrupt silence, “do you love my granddaughter?”
Jordan stopped, half a church away and regarded Gran.
Before he could speak, she continued. “Not Josephine, but Martha.”
His gaze veered to where Martha sat, her eyes wide. Every thought had flown from her head at her grandmother’s question.
“Yes, Mrs. York, I do.”
Martha’s gaze flew to his.
This was not going at all the way she’d planned. She had thought she would scandalize the entire congregation, perhaps even be sent from the church in disgrace. She’d no idea Gran would suddenly act like an avenging archangel or that Jordan would shock her with a declaration of love.
He loved her? He could have mentioned that earlier.
“This marriage can’t go on,” Gran said, further surprising her.
“I agree,” he said, making his way to the pew and standing in front of Martha, his expression solemn. “It’s why I came. To make an announcement that the ceremony has been canceled.”
Martha was teetering between a bone-deep joy that he’d said he loved her to a terrifying certainty that she was dreaming all of this. Any moment she’d wake up in her bed with this interminable day to be gotten through.
Perhaps she’d taken some of Jordan’s elixir.
But would she have imagined Gran and her question? No, she couldn’t have envisioned that. Nor could she have foreseen Jordan looking at her as he did now, as if he was memorizing her every feature.
Gran sat down beside her. Evidently she was retreating from the fray, leaving Martha to carry on. She straightened her shoulders, took a deep breath and stood.
She had planned to declare her love for him, tell him that if he needed an heiress, she was one. She’d gone over and over the words she would say in her mind. She’d utter them quickly, before anyone could interrupt her.
Yet now, with what felt like the whole world waiting, she couldn’t form one coherent sentence. No, not one word would escape, let alone a few of them strung together.
All she could do was stare at him.
“You can’t marry Josephine.” There, finally, words had passed the portal of her lips.
“I agree,” he said. “I can’t.”
He turned, his gaze encompassing the congregation.
“Please accept my apologies,” he said, his voice sounding formal and ducal. “There will be no wedding today.”
He looked at her once more. “Shall we go?” he asked, stretching his hand out to her, palm up. “I think we need to have a conversation.”
Bemused, she placed her hand in his and walked with him from the church.
He didn’t give her a chance to balk, just grabbed her hand and pulled her down the aisle with him. Hundreds of eyes followed their passage from the church.
Martha didn’t have to struggle to keep up. If anything, she had to slow her pace to his. Damnable leg.
He glanced at her, unsurprised to see her face flushed. The situation was rife with embarrassment, humiliation, and some degree of dishonor.
Why, then, did he feel so damn good?
Holding her hand would have been a damn sight easier if he didn’t also have to wield this idiotic walking stick. The problem was without it, he wasn’t sure he could maintain his balance.
