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“She’s here,” Jacob announces as he walks up the short aisle to join me. He frowns as he looks me up and down, taking in the tension in my body. “Are you okay,deartháir?”
“I’m fine,” I reply, my tone unconvincing.
Though I’m trying hard not to view this union that’s been forced upon me in a romantic light, I can’t resist turning to watch Eleanor as she walks down the aisle with Sorcha. No, she doesn’t walk, she floats. There’s a quiet, serene beauty about her that’s almost ethereal, like one of the faerie folk my mother used to tell us about when we were kids.
Eleanor is simply stunning with her hair pulled back off her face. Her white dress hugs her curves, managing to make her both alluring and innocent at the same time. It makes me want to dirty her up a bit.
As she draws closer, I feel a pang of guilt. With only the barest amount of make-up on, she looks incredibly young and I remember she is fifteen years my junior. I quickly shove my regrets aside when she glares defiantly at me. Little minx. She’ll pay for that later.
Grabbing her hand, I pull her hard against me.
“Behave yourself,” I warn her.
I allow her to step back, putting some space between us, but I hold on tight to her hand. Father McKinlay begins the ceremony and Eleanor resolutely keeps her focus on a spot on the wall straight ahead of her. I recite my vows without hesitation, but when Eleanor’s turn comes, she falters.
Her voice quiet, she stumbles over the words. I tighten my grip on her hand, both to lend her some strength and to warn her not to do anything stupid. I couldn’t bring myself to kill her, but Aidan won’t hesitate to track her down if he thinks she’s a threat to the family.
When I slide the simple wedding band onto her finger, she finally looks up to meet my gaze. She nervously bites her bottom lip as Father McKinlay pronounces us man and wife. I curve my hand around the back of her head and pull her close. There’s nothing tender about the way I kiss her. It’s rough and brutal. Eleanor whimpers and I pull back, not because I’m afraid of hurting her, but because I like it too much and we have an audience.
As I march her over to the table to sign the documents making our marriage official, Jacob and Sorcha follow in our wake. I scrawl my name on the certificate and hand Eleanor the pen.
“You’ve come this far,” I whisper to her. “Don’t make a stupid mistake now.”
Her hand shakes as she signs. Jacob and Sorcha add their names as witnesses to this sordid affair and I thank Father McKinlay for his work here today. As we make the short walk back along the aisle, I try to remember a more miserable occasion, but I can’t think of one.
Even at Aidan’s wedding, where Madeline had to be marched to the altar by armed men, we had family and friends in attendance. There was a celebration afterwards.
I glance down at Eleanor and realize she hasn’t even got a fucking bouquet. Though neither of us wants to be here, I should have done better for her.
We step outside to where two cars are waiting. One will take my new bride and me back to the mansion, where we’ll spend the next few days getting to know each other better. The other, driven by Manus, will take my brother and Sorcha home to London.
I allow my sister-in-law to drag Eleanor off to the side. She throws her arms around my new wife’s neck and whispers something to her, words of comfort, no doubt.
“Don’t forget dinner on Thursday night,” Jacob tells me. “Everyone will want to congratulate you and your new bride.”
Everyone will want to see if I have her under control, more like. I grimace at the thought of bringing Eleanor to her first family dinner so soon, but it’s Andrew’s birthday and I can’t miss it.
“We’ll be there.”
I reclaim my bride from Sorcha and lead her toward the Audi SUV that’s waiting for us. Opening the back door, I help her inside, the very model of chivalry. Aidan may have pushed me into this union before I was ready for it, but I intend to do right by my bride, provided she learns to obey me.
“We’ll see you soon,” Sorcha calls after me. I hear the concern in her voice. It’s a little insulting. She knows that whatever else I am, I’m not a man who hurts women. Or perhaps it’s me she’s worried about. Maybe she thinks Eleanor will stab me in my sleep. I’d liked to see her try.
I climb into the back of the car with my wife and James drives us back to the house. There’s complete silence and I’m grateful the journey only takes six minutes.
When we pull to a stop, I jump out first and help Eleanor to climb down from the back seat. Her movements are hampered by her dress.
Putting my arm around her waist, I lead her into the house. She seems to think we’re heading upstairs as she pulls in that direction, but I take her along the corridor to my study. I position her in front of the desk while I go to sit behind it. As I stare at her, she shuffles awkwardly from one foot to the other.
“What?” The word comes out as a squeak, so she clears her throat and tries again. “What are we doing?”
“We need to get a few things straight.” I take a ruler from the drawer and smack it down on the desktop, causing Eleanor’s eyes to widen. “Neither of us chose this marriage, but it doesn’t mean I don’t want it to work.”
“Okay,” she says warily.
“So you’ll need to understand a few things about the man you married.”
She clasps her hands in front of her, a prim gesture that matches the snooty tone she adopts.
