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“Wait a moment,” he said, interrupting the rector, who was just about to begin his speech. “Let’s throw back that veil.”

“The removal of the veil is generally doneafterthe vows, Your Grace,” the rector said, a trifle nervously.

The Duke did not appear to have heard him, or if he had, he was ignoring him.

“Come, I insist,” he said, still staring down at Daphne.

She clenched her jaw. The feeling of lightheadedness persisted, and she still felt as though she could not breathe. Logic dictated that shewasbreathing, shemustbe breathing, but that quiet, calm voice was drowned out by a louder voice screaming in terror.

Saying nothing, Daphne deftly swept back the veil.

Go on, then. Have a good look at me. You can’t tell the difference between me and my sister, I know it.

The crushing feeling in her chest intensified the longer the Duke stared down at her. Daphne did not allow herself to look away, although the spectacles really were starting to hurt her eyes now.

She had the feeling that the entire congregation was holding their breath. Well, perhaps they were. Octavia and Emily certainly were.

I cannot do this.

The thought cut through the chaos of her mind like a hot knife through butter. The tangled ideas and half-baked plans all melted away on either side of this plain, simple truth.

I can’t marry this man.

I must. To save Emily.

But who is going to save me?

“I had thought,” the Duke said, his voice flat and emotionless, with no inflection either way, “that my bride hadblueeyes, not green.”

He did not speak loudly. But even so, Daphne was sure that the guests in the first few rows heard. A murmuring broke out, or perhaps that was just the buzzing in her head, the feeling that there was not enough air in the church—and howcouldthere be, with so many people in here?—and that if she wanted to breathe again, she had to leave immediately.

“I think you are mistaken,” Daphne heard herself say, her tone matching the Duke’s.

He tilted his head to the side, like a bird. “I am never mistaken.”

“There is a first time for everything,” she shot back.

He narrowed his eyes at her—or so she assumed, with those wretched spectacles that she wished to tear off her face—and her heart sank.

This isn’t going to work. He is going to stop the wedding.

On cue, the Duke turned to the rector. “I believe there is a mistake, good sir.”

Daphne reached out, grabbing his sleeve. Gasps rose from the congregation.

“You shall have to make do with me,” she hissed.

The Duke blinked once, slowly, like a cat.

“I do notmake do,my dear,” he responded.

Well, that was that, then. She’d failed. Her humiliation was complete. This would be an even bigger story than Anna being jilted by her oldest friend.

I cannot do this. I’ve failed.

She couldn’t breathe. She truly couldnotbreathe this time. Daphne began to gasp, turning to short, sharp breaths in an attempt to draw air into her lungs. The Duke noticed, glancing down at her with a frown. His lips parted—whether to comforther or to publicly denounce her, Daphne was not sure—but he never got the chance to speak.

Suddenly, there was a hand on her arm, and she turned to see Emily standing beside her. Emily’s eyes—blue, as the Duke had clearly noticed—were desperate and wide.