Victoria rolled her eyes and hugged her sister good-bye, then hastened back to the salon.

“I’m sorry,” she said abjectly to Jason, who was standing at the windows watching Dorothy’s carriage pull away.

Glancing over his shoulder at her, Jason raised his eyebrows. “Can she shoot?”

Uncertain of his mood, Victoria smothered a nervous giggle and shook her head. When he turned back to the window and said nothing else, she tried to explain. “Dorothy has a vivid imagination and she won’t believe I’m not marrying you because I’m distraught over Andrew.”

“Aren’t you?” he mocked.

“No, I’m not.”

He turned fully around then, his eyes like shards of icy green glass. “When you walk down that aisle tomorrow, Victoria, your precious Andrew isn’t going to be waiting for you, I am. Remember that. If you can’t face the truth, don’t come to the church.” He had come here to tell her he had gotten her an Indian pony; he had intended to tease her and make her smile. He left without another word.

Chapter Twenty-one

The sky was cloudy and gray as Jason’s shiny, black-lacquered coach swayed gently through the crowded London streets, drawn by four prancing chestnut horses in magnificent silver harness. Six outriders in green velvet livery led the procession, followed by four more mounted, uniformed men behind the coach. Two coachmen sat proudly erect atop the coach and two more clung to the back of the vehicle.

Victoria huddled in the deep, luxurious squabs of Jason’s coach, wrapped in a gown of incredible beauty and wildly extravagant expense, her thoughts as bleak as the day outside.

“Are you cold, my dear?” Charles asked solicitously from his place across from her.

Victoria shook her head, wondering nervously why Jason had insisted upon making such a grand spectacle of their marriage.

A few minutes later, she put her hand in Charles’s and stepped down from the coach, walking slowly up the long shallow steps of the massive Gothic church like a child being led to a frightening event by her parent.

She waited beside Charles at the back of the church, trying not to think of the enormity of what she was about to do, letting her gaze wander aimlessly over the crowds of people. Her apprehensive mind fastened haphazardly on the vast differences between the London aristocrats garbed in silks and fine brocades who had come to witness her wedding and the simple, friendly villagers she had always expected to have near her on her wedding day. She scarcely knew most of these people—some she had never even seen before. Carefully averting her gaze from the altar, where Jason, not Andrew, would soon be waiting for her, she stared at the pews. An empty place, reserved for Charles, was vacant on the first bench on the right, but the rest of them were filled with guests. Directly across the aisle on the first bench, which would normally have been reserved for the bride’s immediate family, there was an elderly lady leaning on an ebony cane, her hair concealed by a vivid purple satin turban.

The turbaned head seemed vaguely familiar, but Victoria was much too nervous to remember where she had seen it, and Charles diverted her attention by nodding toward Lord Collingwood, who was coming toward them.

“Has Jason arrived?” Charles asked when Robert Collingwood had reached them.

The earl, who was Jason’s best man, kissed Victoria’s hand, smiled reassuringly, and said, “He’s here, and he’s ready when you are.”

Victoria’s knees began to shake. She wasn’t ready. She wasn’t ready to do this at all!

Caroline straightened the train of Victoria’s diamond-studded blue satin gown and smiled at her husband. “Is Lord Fielding nervous?”

“He says he isn’t,” Robert said. “But he would like to get this proceeding under way.”

How cold, Victoria thought, her fear escalating to panic. How unemotional. How Jason.

Charles was fidgety, eager. “We’re ready,” he said enthusiastically. “Let’s begin.”

Feeling like a marionette whose strings were being pulled by everyone else, Victoria placed her hand on Charles’s arm and began the endless walk down the candlelit aisle. She moved through the candlelight in a luxurious swirl of shimmering blue satin with diamonds sparkling like tiny twinkling lights in her hair, at her throat, and scattered across her veil. In the wide loft above, the choir sang, but Victoria didn’t hear them. Behind her, moving farther away with each step, were the laughter and carefree days of her girlhood. Ahead of her . .. ahead of her was Jason, dressed in a splendid suit of rich midnight blue velvet. With his face partly shadowed, he looked very tall and dark. As dark as the unknown ... as dark as her future.

Why are you doing this?! Victoria’s panicked mind screamed at her as Charles led her toward Jason.

I don’t know, she cried in silent answer. Jason needs me.

That’s no reason! her mind shouted. You can still escape. Turn and run.

I can’t! her heart cried.

You can. Just turn around and run. Now, before it’s too late.

I can’t! I can’t just leave him here.

Why not?

He’ll be humiliated if I do—more humiliated than he ever was by his first wife.

Remember what your father said—never let anyone convince you that you can be happy with someone who doesn’t love you. Remember how unhappy he was. Run! Quick! Get out of here before it’s too late!

Victoria’s heart lost the battle against terror as Charles put her frozen hand in Jason’s warm one and stepped away. Her body tensed for flight, her free hand grasped her skirts, her breath quickened. She started to jerk her right hand from Jason’s grasp at the same moment that his fingers clamped around hers like a steel trap and he turned his head sharply, his intense green eyes locking onto hers, warning her not to try it. Then suddenly his grip slackened; his eyes became aloof, blank. He released her hand, letting it fall to her side in front of her wide skirts, and he looked at the archbishop.

He’s going to stop it! Victoria realized wildly as the archbishop bowed and said, “Shall we begin, my lord?”

Jason curtly shook his head and opened his mouth.

“No!” Victoria whispered, trying to stop Jason.

“What did you say?” the archbishop demanded, scowling at her.

Victoria lifted her eyes to Jason’s and saw the humiliation he was hiding behind a mask of cynical indifference. “I’m only frightened, my lord. Please take my hand.”

He hesitated, searching her eyes, and relief slowly replaced the iron grimness on his features. His hand touched hers, then closed reassuringly around her fingers.