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One
“If any of you can show just cause why they may not lawfully be married, speak now or else forever hold your peace.”
Belinda smiled encouragingly at Bishop Newbury.
The reverend returned her smile and opened his mouth to continue…before fixating on something in the pews over Belinda’s shoulder.
Belinda heard it then, too. The footfalls sounded ever closer.
No…it couldn’t be.
“I object.”
Belinda heard the commanding words fall like an anvil on her heart.
A sick feeling gripped her. She closed her eyes.
She recognized that voice—its tone bland but edged with mockery. She’d heard it a million times in her dreams…her most illicit fantasies—the ones that left her blushing and appalled when she woke. And when she hadn’t heard it there, she’d had the misfortune of catching it from a distance at a society event or in a television interview or two.
There was a rustling and murmuring in the congregation. Beside her, Tod had gone still. Bishop Newbury looked quizzical.
Slowly, Belinda turned. Tod took his cue from her lead.
Even though she knew what—no, who—to expect, her eyes widened as they met those of the man who should have been a sworn enemy to a Wentworth like her. Colin Granville, the Marquess of Easterbridge, heir to the family that had been locked in a feud with hers for centuries…and the person who knew her most humiliating secret.
When her eyes connected with his, she felt longing and dread at the same time. Even under cover of her veil, she could tell there was challenge and possessiveness in his gaze.
He loomed large, even though he wasn’t up at the altar with her. His face was hard and uncompromising, his jaw square. Only even features and an aquiline nose saved him from looking harsh.
His hair was the same inky dark brown that she remembered and a shade or two darker than her own chestnut. Brows winged over eyes as dark as they were fathomless.
Belinda raised her chin and met his challenge head-on.
How did one crash a wedding? Apparently, the ticket was a navy business suit and canary-yellow tie. She supposed she should be glad he’d at least settled on formal attire.
Then again, she’d hardly seen Colin the real-estate mogul in anything other than a power suit that did nothing to disguise his athletic build. Well, except for that one night…
“What is the meaning of this, Easterbridge?” her uncle Hugh demanded as he rose from his seat in the first pew.
Belinda supposed someone should be standing to defend the honor of the Wentworths, and Uncle Hugh—as the head of the family—was the logical choice.
She scanned the settled mass of New York and London high society. Her family seemed aghast, but other guests looked fascinated by the unfolding drama.
Her bridesmaids and groomsmen appeared ill at ease, even her friend, Tamara Kincaid, who was always self-assured.
Off to the side of the church, her other close friend and wedding planner, Pia Lumley, had blanched.
“I say, Easterbridge,” Tod spoke up, irritated and alarmed. “You were not invited today.”
Colin shifted his gaze from the bride to her intended, and his lips curled. “Invited or not, I would hazard to guess that my position in Belinda’s life entitles me to a say in these proceedings, wouldn’t you?”
Belinda was acutely aware of the hundreds of pairs of interested eyes witnessing the show unfolding at the altar.
Bishop Newbury frowned, clearly perplexed, and then cleared his throat. “Well, it appears I’m compelled to resort to words that I’ve never had to use before.” He paused. “Upon what grounds do you object to this marriage?”
Colin Granville, Marquess of Easterbridge, looked into her eyes.
“Upon the grounds that Belinda is married to me.”
