Page 120 of Snowbound Surrender
CHRISTMASTIDE WITH HIS COUNTESS
ELLIE ST. CLAIR
PROLOGUE
August, 1813
“Wiltthou have this man to be thy wedded husband, to live together after God's ordinance in the holy estate of Matrimony? Wilt thou obey him, and serve him, love, honor, and keep him in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all other, keep thee only unto him, so long as ye both shall live?”
An eerie silence came over the church as Scarlett stood there, breathing shallowly, heart pounding hard in her chest. She longed to toss her bouquet of herbs and pansies over the altar and turn on the heel of her soft pink kid slipper and run down the aisle — alone — just as fast as she possibly could.
She heard a cough behind her, a few muttered words, some whispers.
Out of the corner of her eye, she studied the stranger who stood at her elbow, now shifting back and forth from one foot to the other.
He was tall, much taller than her own average height. He was attractive, to be sure, the structure of his face chiseled as though it had been sculpted by a master. His dark, nearly black lockscircled his head in a symphony of curls. She wasn’t sure what color his eyes were, for she had yet to actually look at them.
The first time they had met was moments ago, when her father had deposited her here, at the front of the quaint village church.
She ran all of her options through her mind once more and eventually came to the only possible conclusion, the one that had led her here this morning.
“I will.”
When she finally said the words, they rang out with strength and clarity, for Scarlett never said anything she didn’t truly mean. She would marry him. She had no choice, despite the stirrings deep inside her soul that cried out for freedom. But freedom, it seemed, was proving elusive — for the moment, at least.
After confirming it was her father giving her hand away — of course, for she was moving from being considered one man’s property to another’s — the minister continued, placing her right hand in her betrothed’s.
Her skin tingled where they touched, despite the thin material of her glove between them. As he repeated the words given to him by the minister, Scarlett finally looked up at him. She hadn’t meant to, but it was as though she had no choice. She locked eyes with him, and once she did, she wished she hadn’t.
For his eyes were of a blue-green unlike any color she had ever seen before, except perhaps in a body of water on a dark day. And it seemed they almost … twinkled? She blinked, trying to break the spell they had seemingly cast over her, but it was as though she was losing herself in their depths, drowning despite her best efforts to break through to the surface.
His voice was a silky smooth baritone, though she hardly heard a word that he said.
Suddenly there was silence again, and his lips turned up as he looked down at her. Was he nearly laughing? She stared back at him incredulously — what on earth was funny about this? Until she realized it was her turn to speak. Again.
“Can you repeat that?” she whispered to the minister, and he looked perturbed but did as she asked.
“I, Scarlett, take thee.…” Oh, blast. What was his name again? Had the minister told her? She looked from him to her betrothed once more, and now his lips really did stretch out into a grin.
“Hunter,” he supplied in a murmur, leaning into her, flustering her even more.
“Yes, I know, Hunter,” she said.Get a hold of yourself, Scarlett. You don’t even want this wedding.“I, Scarlett, take thee, Hunter, to be my wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love, cherish, and to obey, till death us do part, according to God's holy ordinance; and thereto I give thee my troth.”
The blessings and prayers went by quickly, and suddenly, nearly before she even realized it, the wedding was over, and her new husband —husband— was walking her down the aisle and out of the church.
Good Lord. What had she done?
Hunter eyedthe woman standing beside him. She was an attractive woman, that was to be sure. Her hair was a deep chestnut with a touch of color that reminded him of cinnamon flowing through it. A smattering of freckles dusted her flawlessskin, which was somewhat darker than the porcelain of other young women with whom he was familiar. It was as though she spent time outdoors. Not that he would know. He knew nothing about her. He had barely known her name until today, for goodness sake, and she had certainly forgotten his.
Their marriage had been an arrangement between their parents. His father was a powerful marquess, hers an earl. There had been a planned meeting between the two of them, of course, but her parents had told him she was ill. As he spent nearly all of his time in London and she had always been in the country, another suitable time never arose. Finally, the wedding day was planned, arrived, and here they were.
He hadn’t even been sure she would be in attendance at the ceremony, despite her father’s assurances. When she had walked down the aisle toward him, her face was set in a grimace so fierce that he had nearly hidden behind the minister. Did she really abhor him so, a man she had never met?
And yet when she stood beside him, he could sense something else. She was angry, true, but perhaps almost — afraid?
She did not say a word to him through the wedding breakfast, nor to anyone else for that matter. She simply sat, as stoic as a soldier about to be sent into battle, as though she were waiting for the entire event to be over and done with.
Not that he blamed her for that, at the very least. This entire affair was so forced, there was nothing at all natural about it, and that very tension pervaded the room.
