Page 3
Madison
I smoothed the heavy silk satin of my wedding gown one final time, ensuring the pearl-embroidered bodice sat perfectly against my waist.
The full skirt pooled around my feet in careful folds that had taken my lady's maid an hour to arrange.
Despite the layers of fabric designed to make me appear the perfect bride, I felt exposed, as if the act of becoming Hugh's wife rendered my every secret thought visible to his penetrating gaze.
“I wish your father could have made the journey,”
Aunt Elizabeth said.
I frowned, noting how her voice carried an unusual tremor.
She'd been eerily composed all morning, but now her complexion appeared paler than usual. It seemed almost grey in the dim light. “It remains his greatest regret not to stand beside you today.”
She turned toward me and touched one of my teardrop moonstone earrings with delicate fingers.
The jewels had belonged to my mother.
“My sister would be immensely proud of the woman you have become. It is my honour to stand in their place.”
I smiled and reached for her hand.
“Your guidance has shaped me more than you know.
I shall miss having your counsel every day and will write often.”
Her grip tightened on mine with surprising strength.
“Madison, I need you to listen to me carefully,”
she said, the words sounding sharp and urgent.
“You are not Eleanora.
That woman was... fragile. You possess steel in your spine that she never had.”
She paused, her eyes darting toward the chapel doors as if checking for eavesdroppers.
“If the Trent legacy proves as dark as the whispers suggest, remember that your bloodline carries protections that Eleanora's lacked.
Do you understand me?”
My heart raced, but I nodded.
Aunt Elizabeth had spent my entire life insisting I suppress every trace of unusual ability, but now, if I was understanding her correctly, she spoke as if those same abilities might preserve my sanity.
With that, the chapel doors groaned open and Lady Elizabeth gave my hand one last squeeze before moving to stand beside me again.
Shadows danced across tapestry-draped stone walls while morning light filtered through stained glass windows, painting the gathered guests in any array of colours.
The handful of attendees was made up of distant relatives and the political allies of both families.
They sat in uneven rows on ancient wooden pews that had witnessed countless unions, most of them no doubt equally strategic.
But it was Hugh who commanded my attention.
He stood at the altar wearing a deep charcoal suit, its lapels woven with intricate patterns of black silk.
The double-breasted waistcoat with its antique silver buttons emphasised his broad chest and narrow waist. My fingers curled at my sides while I imagined what it would feel like to trail them down that firm chest, to discover whether his skin would be as warm as I remembered from our brief touches.
As always, his expression revealed nothing of his thoughts, but the stiffness to his shoulders was a little more rigid than usual.
Yet when our eyes met, desire flashed in his gaze, sending heat rushing to my core.
Control your emotions.
Show only what is proper.
The familiar refrain felt hollow as I approached the altar.
It was as if Hugh's presence amplified every sensation, every stray thought I should have been able to contain.
The sweet scent of bergamot mixed with cedar wood and winter air wrapped around me like an embrace and threatened to overwhelm my composure.
The elderly priest began the ceremony in Latin.
His voice echoed off stone walls worn smooth by centuries of prayers.
It wavered slightly. Age made the ancient words difficult to form, but the ritual proceeded with comforting predictability. I made the appropriate response, acutely aware of Hugh beside me… of the way his breathing matched mine.
When the moment arrived for the exchange of rings, Hugh produced a small wooden box inlaid with tarnished silver.
His hands were steady as he opened it, revealing two gold bands nestled against dark velvet.
Both were engraved with intertwining vines and symbols that meant nothing to me, ancient script that had probably been old when the abbey was built.
The rings were undoubtedly beautiful, their craftsmanship extraordinary.
I suppressed a shudder.
For some reason, they made my skin crawl. I shook away the feeling as Hugh lifted the smaller band. His fingers brushed only the gold as he carefully slid it on my finger, avoiding any contact with my skin.
“With this ring, I thee wed,”
he said, as it settled in place, sending a shockwave of ice-cold rushing through my veins.
I gasped.
The sound echoed off the stone walls with embarrassing volume.
Several guests shifted in their seats, and I caught Lady Pemberton whispering behind her fan to her companion.
Hugh's face flickered with concern.
His jaw tightened while his eyes searched mine, darkening to nearly black.
My heart and mind raced, unsure what was happening or what to do. I thought Hugh might say something, that he might abandon the ceremony, but duty won over impulse, and he held my gaze steady while ice spread through my bloodstream like poison.
The priest paused, his eyes darting between us with obvious uncertainty.
“My Lord? Shall we continue?”
“Yes,”
Hugh said, his voice rougher than before.
“Continue.”
My hands trembled as I lifted his ring, the gold band feeling far heavier than it should have.
“With this ring, I thee wed.”
I struggled to keep my voice from shaking while I slid the band onto his finger.
But the moment our skin touched, fire replaced ice.
Heat rushed through me like lightning.
Hugh's eyes widened, his breaths quickened, and his skin felt hot enough to burn where it pressed against mine.
But his touch lingered.
Behind us, someone coughed, and Aunt Elizabeth's sharp intake of breath carried clearly in the silence.
The priest fumbled with his prayer book, his weathered hands shaking as he struggled to find his place in the ceremony.
Hugh's thumb brushed across my knuckles before he released my hand, leaving me cold from the loss of contact.
The rest of the ceremony passed in a blur, but when it was over, Hugh stepped closer, close enough that I relished the heat radiating from his body.
He lifted his hand and lightly cupped my cheek before bending his head toward mine.
“Lady Trent,”
he murmured, his voice pitched for my ears alone.
“My wife.”
With that, he closed the distance between us.
His mouth was on mine, his soft lips moving against my own.
The kiss was brief and chaste as propriety demanded, but when Hugh pulled back, I saw the passion raging in his eyes and coming in waves of heat from his body. He cleared his throat and slipped his mask back into place before offering me his arm and leading me from the chapel.
He doesn't want you here.
I stumbled as my foot caught in the heavy silk of my train.
Hugh's grip tightened on my arm, steadying me while his brow furrowed with concern.
The words echoed around the chapel, but when I glanced around, every face showed only polite attention. Even Aunt Elizabeth appeared to have heard nothing.
He doesn't love you.
He never will.
“Are you well?”
Hugh whispered as he guided me toward the chapel doors and the reception that awaited us.
His breath stirred the wisps of hair that had escaped their careful arrangement and sent shivers down my spine. “Yes,”
I said, though the lie tasted bitter on my tongue.
“Simply overwhelmed by the occasion.”
Just as she was overwhelmed.
Until the madness took her completely.
Hugh's jaw tightened, and I wondered if he had heard that whisper too.
“Weddings can be taxing,”
he said carefully.
“My father once counselled—”
He cut his words off, and wariness replaced concern in his expression.
All while the shadows in the corridor deepened, responding to whatever emotion he struggled to contain.
I wanted to ask what his father had said.
I wanted to understand the pain that flickered across his features.
But the ring on my finger pulsed again, sending another wave of dizziness through me that made Hugh's arm the only thing keeping me upright.
He'll soon tire of you.
He's incapable of loving anyone more than he loves himself.
My vision blurred while we walked.
Hugh's solid presence beside me, his arm supporting mine, was my only anchor in a world that had tilted on its axis.
The voice spoke words I refused to acknowledge, fears I had carried since accepting this union. They defied comprehension and left me unable to distinguish between what I was hearing and what I was feeling…
You feel too much.