Page 84 of The Secret Mistletoe Promise
‘You’re so laid-back,’ Imogen said. ‘I need to borrow some of it.’
‘My laid-back-ness?’
‘Exactly. And the thing is, it might actually be possible because—’
‘Dexter and Imogen!’ Fiona called.
‘Shit.’ She closed her eyes. ‘Busted.’
‘I don’t think so.’ Dexter stood and held out his hand.
Imogen stared at it, uncomprehending.
‘It’s our go,’ he said with a laugh. ‘Come on.’
‘Oh!’
She let him pull her to her feet, and they walked up the aisle together, everyone watching them. Behind the stage, the large windows looked out on trees, stark charcoal branches topped with thick snow, like a child’s drawing. It felt to Imogen as if they were another audience, crowding in to watch them from outside, a mirror of the other performers.
They climbed up the steps and positioned themselves in the middle of the stage, facing each other. Imogen thought that Catherine Morland would approve of the location, the place they were in to perform one of her most memorable scenes. Should she do it now? Tell him, right here in front of everyone, instead of reciting her lines?
‘Ready?’ Dexter whispered, his dark eyes warm and encouraging.
‘Ready?’ Fiona called, from the side of the stage.
Imogen was about to reply, when another voice took her place.
‘Imogen! I found you – at bloody last!’
Her brain couldn’t reconcile the voice with the surroundings, because it didn’t belong here. She turned, slowly, looking at the neatly laid-out chairs and the aisle, and the man who was striding up it, dressed in a long wool coat and wearing leather gloves, pink-cheeked and wild-eyed. Her ex-fiancé.
Edmund was here; he’d tracked her down, and not even the snow had come to her rescue.
Chapter Thirty
‘Edmund!’
Imogen stuttered his name. Beside her, Dexter went completely still.
‘You didn’t make yourself easy to track down, and then, when we get to the east of the country, there’s a bloody snow gauntlet to get through!’ He was still striding towards her, and the crowd were murmuring, because obviously this was a lot more interesting than their scene fromNorthanger Abbey.
‘There’s no snow in London?’ Why did she saythat, of all things?
‘Not a flake.’ Edmund stopped in front of the stage and held his arms out. His fair hair was fluffy, and his smile was beaming, as if the last few weeks and their few conversations – the one where she’d told him, quite forcefully, that it was definitively over between them – had passed him by. ‘Can I borrow you for a sec?’
‘What are you doing here?’
‘I came to bring you home. To rescue you.’
‘I don’t …’ She couldn’t understand it. Was she stuck in a parallel universe?
Dexter stood next to her, brushing the back of his hand against hers. ‘We’re in the middle of a rehearsal.’
Edmund looked around the room, as if only now registering his surroundings. ‘What I have to say is important. I’ve come all the way from London, battled through the snow, had to search through this godforsaken village, and now I’m going to speak to my fiancée.’
There were several gasps, and Imogen swallowed.
‘Edmund, we spoke about this.’ She kept her voice calm and clear, even though she was trembling. ‘I told you that I-I don’t …’ She couldn’t say it in front of everyone; she couldn’t be that cruel. She suspected, now she’d had weeks to think about their relationship, all his past behaviour, that he knew that, which was why he’d interrupted the rehearsal rather than waiting quietly until the end.
