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In the commotion after the ceremony, Helena lost track of West. Which was something of a miracle, given she’d been burningly conscious of him from the moment she entered the church. Her heart had slammed to a stop at the sight of him waiting at the altar, tall and handsome in his blue coat.

Tall and handsome, and drawn and tired. Today he appeared ten years older than the man she’d seduced in the summerhouse.

Despite his best attempts to avoid looking at her—honestly, he must know the game was up when it came to hiding their liaison—a thread of fire had connected them. But as Silas and Caro left for Woodley Park in a barouche garlanded with ribbons and hothouse flowers, she glanced around the rice-strewn churchyard and realized that West had disappeared.

Fear stirred. He’d been so ill. Had he collapsed somewhere, and in all the hullabaloo, nobody noticed?

Berating herself, she retreated from the thinning crowd—Silas had laid on a celebration for the villagers at the tavern, while his friends and family walked back to the house for the wedding breakfast.

One last check of the area. No West.

She started her hunt in the church, but only saw the vicar’s wife collecting hymn books. Helena shivered and wrapped her arms around herself. Without the press of warm bodies, the old stone building was cold.

Where on earth was West? Had he slipped away to the house ahead of everyone else? After the ceremony, carriages had driven the old and infirm up to the breakfast. But she couldn’t see West, no matter how ill, admitting that he fell into that category.

She emerged into the day, blinking at the glare of sun on snow. The villagers had cleared the road, and the area in front of the church, but white blanketed everything else.

What a perfect winter day for a perfect winter wedding. Caro and Silas’s transparent happiness had brought a tear to even unsentimental Helena Wade’s eye. Her brother and his bride deserved every ounce of their joy.

Helena made her way around the church, thankful anew for the villagers’ hard work. Her fur-lined half-boots were a stylish take on seasonal footwear, but they weren’t up to wading through snow. She shaded her eyes and looked over the graves—although why West would choose to wander among tombstones today of all days, she couldn’t imagine.

Still no sign of him. He must have left without her noticing. Which seemed dashed odd.

Nettled and still worried, she turned to retrace her steps, and caught sight of a pair of long—and familiar—legs. They extended across the entrance to the stone porch outside the vestry.

Propelled by a mixture of relief and concern, she hurried forward. “West? Aren’t you well?”

During the ceremony, he’d looked pale and serious. She suspected iron will alone had kept him standing.

“Helena.” He didn’t look up as she appeared in the doorway. “My day is complete.”

She flinched as foreboding settled heavy in her stomach. The words might be flattering. His tone was not. He sounded like the drawling, sardonic rake she’d so disliked in London.

He’d removed his hat and set it on the bench beside him. She bit back the urge to insist he put it on against the cold. The last thing he’d want was her fussing about his health.

“Are you all right?” Needing the support, she set a shaky hand on the stone archway. His closed expression deterred her from touching him.

His illness might explain this cool reception, she supposed. Although she couldn’t help feeling something more personal lay behind his reserve.

He concentrated on the flagstoned floor. “Of course I am.”

She set a hand on her hip. “Then why are you brooding in here?”

“Just catching my breath. You go ahead. I’ll be there soon.”

She struggled to hide how his dismissal stung. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

At last, he lifted his eyes. The green was flat as she’d never seen it. “Yes, I have.”

She was surprised at the ready admission. Surprised, puzzled—and hurt. “Why?”

Impatience lengthened the lips that had kissed her into a frenzy. “Because there’s something I need to say. And I don’t want to spoil Silas’s wedding for you.”

She stiffened her spine and raised her chin. “Well, that’s damned considerate of you.”

He shook his glossy head. As if anchoring himself in place, he hooked his gloved hands over the edge of the oak bench. “We need privacy, and no likelihood of interruption.”

Worse and worse. Sick apprehension knotted her stomach. The last time he’d wanted privacy and no interruptions, he’d sent her to paradise and back. The contrast with today was chilling.


Tags: Anna Campbell Dashing Widows Romance