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“No. I’m not risking it getting dirty. Besides, I bought you some really nice panties and stockings and you won’t get those on without crushing the dress.”
“Okay.” I turn my back to Sorcha once more and she begins the laborious task of unbuttoning me.
“This is so fiddly,” she grumbles, “and I have thin fingers. Andrew will never get you out of this without tearing it.”
“You think he’s going to be undressing me?”
“Of course, unless you plan to consummate the marriage fully clothed.”
Sorcha’s words knock me sideways. Until this moment, I hadn’t thought about what this whole thing means. I latched onto marrying Rory as the acceptable option far too easily. I didn’t protest, didn’t put up any sort of fight. Before I even had time to formulate a question in my head, I was slipping the ring on my finger, making my choice. Am I fucking insane? I must be.
Suddenly, I can’t catch my breath. Panic grips me and I feel as if I’m going to be sick. I somehow manage to get out of my dress, leaving it on the floor as I sprint to the bathroom. I make it to the toilet just in time to be violently ill. Heaving sobs wrack my body as I consider the ultimatum Rory gave me. Marriage or death. Are those really my only options? That can’t be right.
I barely saw anything at the club last night. As a witness, I’d be useless since I can’t describe the man who was tied to the chair and I don’t actually know what happened to him. My life cannot be forfeit when I don’t really have information that could bring the Donovans down.
“There must be another way,” I say as Sorcha comes into the room.
She crouches next to me, a look of concern on her face.
“Don’t do this to yourself, Eleanor.” She puts an arm around my shoulders and pulls me in for a hug. “I know you’re feeling trapped right now, but if you marry Rory, he’ll be good to you. I know he will.”
“But I don’t want this,” I protest. “I don’t want Rory fucking Donovan.”
“Well, tough shit.”
Startled, I pull back from Sorcha and meet Rory’s dark glare as he looms large in the doorway. He has a jacket and tie on now. It’s incredibly sexy, but I can’t ignore how livid he is.
“Get off the fucking floor, get dressed and be at the fucking church on time. If you’re not there, I’ll drive to Canterbury and slit your mother’s throat. Do you understand me?”
“You’re a monster!” I spit at him.
“Yes, sweetheart, I am. Now, I’ll ask you one more time. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, I understand.”
Rory nods briskly, turns and storms off. Both Sorcha and I jump as the bedroom door slams shut.
“He doesn’t mean it,” Sorcha says as she sees the look of pure shock on my face. “He wouldn’t really do that.”
“Yes,” I tell her as I struggle to my feet, “I think he would.”
I quickly wash my face and dry off with a towel before returning to the bedroom. Like it or not, I have a wedding to get to.
CHAPTERSEVEN
Rory
Despite the warningI gave Eleanor, she’s late. According to my watch, she should have been here ten minutes ago. I know she hasn’t tried to run, because Sorcha would have let me know. That means she’s stalling, deliberately pushing it to see how I’ll respond. She’s not going to like the result of playing games with me.
“Are you nervous, son?” Father McKinlay asks.
He’s been our family priest since he baptized my brothers and me when we were babies. He conducted Ciaran’s wedding and his funeral. Father McKinlay also officiated at Aidan and Andrew’s marriage ceremonies, which came about under far from conventional circumstances with less than willing brides.
Yet here he is once more, apparently oblivious to the fact my marriage is not the result of a love match.
“No, just impatient.”
He gives me a knowing nod, imagining no doubt my impatience is because I can’t wait to be alone with my new bride. In fact, what’s irritating me is that my leg is getting stiff as I stand here. I shift my weight from right to left and back again, wincing as a pain shoots through me. Clenching my fists, I breathe in and out through my nose in slow, measures breaths until the ache subsides.
