From the fullness of her breasts, the gown narrowed to tightly encircle her waist before spreading in heavy folds over her hips. That tiny waist invited male hands to seize, while her rich skirts evoked images of plunder.
She was a goddess designed to fill male minds with salacious imaginings, to claim their senses, snare their hearts, and trap them forever in a world of sensual longing.
And she was his.
And furious.
With him.
Gyles dragged in a breath as, with a susurration of silks, she stepped to her place beside him. He was dimly aware that to all eyes but his, she appeared a radiant bride, her lips curving in a smile of joyful happiness beneath her veil.
Only for him did her eyes flash. With a warning, and a promise.
Then she looked at Hector and smiled.
Hector nearly dropped his Bible. While he shuffled and reshuffled, trying to find his place, Gyles looked down and struggled to breathe. She was handling this better than he was, but then, she’d known who he was all along-
He hauled his mind off that track. He couldn’t afford to let his temper rule him. He had to think. He tried, but felt trapped, as if he was fleeing through a maze meeting blank walls at every turn.
Devil nudged him. He lifted his head as Hector, finally ready, cleared his throat.
“We are gathered here today…”
He barely registered the words. In a daze, he repeated the phrases he had to say. Then she spoke, and instantly captured every last shred of his awareness.
In her sultry, smoky voice, she-Francesca Hermione Rawlings-vowed to be his wife, in sickness and in health, for better, for worse, until death should them part.
He had to stand there and let it happen.
Devil gave Hector the ring. Hector blessed it, then held out the open Bible, the ring balanced on the page.
Gyles picked it up and turned to her.
She extended her left hand. He closed his fingers about hers, so small and delicately boned. He slid the ring on her finger. It slipped down, but he had to ease it over her second knuckle. It fitted perfectly.
The ring glowed against her skin; the emeralds winked, their fire an echo of her eyes.
He looked up and caught her gaze. The fire burned brightly there.
She returned his regard, then her lips firmed. Surreptitiously she tugged, trying to free her hand.
Gyles tightened his hold.
For good or ill, she was his.
The realization swept him. A turbulent power, basic, elemental-wholly primitive-flowed through him.
“And now, by the grace vested in me, I pronounce you man and wife.” Hector closed his Bible and beamed upon them. “You may now kiss the bride.”
Gyles released her hand. With apparent calm, she raised her veil and set it back.
Sliding his hand around her waist, he drew her to him. She quickly looked up, eyes widening, lips parting-
He bent his head and covered her lips with his.
It should have been a gentle kiss, a mere formality.
It wasn’t.