Read Online An Improper Wife by Tarah Scott and KyAnn Waters - Free Book Online
Authors: Tarah Scott and KyAnn Waters
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eyes. Not yet.
The reverend cleared his throat. “All rise.”
A unified shuffle sounded, then silence reigned.
“Dearly beloved,” the minister began, “we are gathered together here in the sight of God, and in the face of this congregation, to join together this man and this woman in holy matrimony.” He glanced down at his book and Caroline reached inside her bodice and pulled free the black, lace handkerchief she’d stuffed there earlier. Her heart pounded in anticipation of the moment the minister caught sight of the black handkerchief that openly stated the bride still mourned the groom’s brother.
His head lifted as he continued, “which is an honourable estate, instituted of God in the time of man’s innocency, signifying unto us the mystical union”—his gaze fastened onto the cloth—“that is betwixt Christ and”—he swallowed hard—“his Church.” The last word died on his lips and Caroline felt all three men staring at her.
With a steady hand, she dabbed at her eyes with the handkerchief.
“Er.” The minister dropped his attention back to the book. “His—His Church, which holy estate Christ adorned and beautified with his presence, and—” He flicked a glance at Caroline. She clasped the handkerchief to her breast and released a melodramatic sigh. The reverend’s eyes widened.
A murmur rose in the chapel behind her. Strong fingers seized her hand and forced her palm face upwards. She snapped her head up. Taran stared at the black cloth, his furrowed brow and dark eyes betraying…amusement? He released her and looked at the reverend who stared open-mouthed at them.
“Please continue, Minister,” he instructed.
The man remained motionless.
“Have you not seen a woman in mourning before?” he asked.
The minister looked at him. “I-well, I, of course, but—”
“But what?” Taran demanded.
The minister glanced helplessly about, then his gaze shifted to the hymnal, searching briefly for the words before he continued, “Which holy estate Christ adorned and beautified with his presence, and first miracle that he wrought, in Cana of Galilee—”
Caroline tore her gaze from the reverend who was droning on with the vows, and stared at Taran. He turned his head to reveal a slightly arched brow. The scoundrel was challenging her.
Fool , she mentally telepathed, this is for your own good.
The handkerchief was abruptly snatched from her grasp. Caroline jerked her attention to the left. Her uncle stared at the minister, the last of the handkerchief being stuffed neatly into his breast pocket. His hand dropped back to his side.
She had prepared for this. Eyes locked on his profile, Caroline reached into her bodice and pulled free a second black handkerchief. His head shifted and his gaze met hers. She turned towards Taran before her uncle had a chance to snatch the second handkerchief from her and came face to face with her soon-to-be husband. His bland expression didn’t disguise the faint twitch at the corner of his mouth. Her tummy flipped. What would he do when she displayed the remaining black she wore? With her free hand, she grasped her skirt and lifted the hem an inch.
A collective gasp went up and a woman’s low wail sounded in the front pew.
“Silence,” her uncle hissed.
A tremor passed through Caroline. Courage. It didn’t mattered what her uncle thought. Taran’s gaze dropped and both brows shot up. Satisfaction surged through her. This is what mattered. The dear viscount couldn’t ignore the black, quilted underskirt accented with black, silk stockings. What man would want a woman who publicly announced she preferred his dead brother? Caroline abruptly realised the chapel—including the minister—had gone silent.
Taran seemed to notice it as well, for he looked at the minister. “What did you say?”
The minister’s eyes were glued to Caroline’s ankles, where the edge of the underskirt and stockings were still visible.
“Minister,” Taran said
The reverend cleared his throat. “All rise.”
A unified shuffle sounded, then silence reigned.
“Dearly beloved,” the minister began, “we are gathered together here in the sight of God, and in the face of this congregation, to join together this man and this woman in holy matrimony.” He glanced down at his book and Caroline reached inside her bodice and pulled free the black, lace handkerchief she’d stuffed there earlier. Her heart pounded in anticipation of the moment the minister caught sight of the black handkerchief that openly stated the bride still mourned the groom’s brother.
His head lifted as he continued, “which is an honourable estate, instituted of God in the time of man’s innocency, signifying unto us the mystical union”—his gaze fastened onto the cloth—“that is betwixt Christ and”—he swallowed hard—“his Church.” The last word died on his lips and Caroline felt all three men staring at her.
With a steady hand, she dabbed at her eyes with the handkerchief.
“Er.” The minister dropped his attention back to the book. “His—His Church, which holy estate Christ adorned and beautified with his presence, and—” He flicked a glance at Caroline. She clasped the handkerchief to her breast and released a melodramatic sigh. The reverend’s eyes widened.
A murmur rose in the chapel behind her. Strong fingers seized her hand and forced her palm face upwards. She snapped her head up. Taran stared at the black cloth, his furrowed brow and dark eyes betraying…amusement? He released her and looked at the reverend who stared open-mouthed at them.
“Please continue, Minister,” he instructed.
The man remained motionless.
“Have you not seen a woman in mourning before?” he asked.
The minister looked at him. “I-well, I, of course, but—”
“But what?” Taran demanded.
The minister glanced helplessly about, then his gaze shifted to the hymnal, searching briefly for the words before he continued, “Which holy estate Christ adorned and beautified with his presence, and first miracle that he wrought, in Cana of Galilee—”
Caroline tore her gaze from the reverend who was droning on with the vows, and stared at Taran. He turned his head to reveal a slightly arched brow. The scoundrel was challenging her.
Fool , she mentally telepathed, this is for your own good.
The handkerchief was abruptly snatched from her grasp. Caroline jerked her attention to the left. Her uncle stared at the minister, the last of the handkerchief being stuffed neatly into his breast pocket. His hand dropped back to his side.
She had prepared for this. Eyes locked on his profile, Caroline reached into her bodice and pulled free a second black handkerchief. His head shifted and his gaze met hers. She turned towards Taran before her uncle had a chance to snatch the second handkerchief from her and came face to face with her soon-to-be husband. His bland expression didn’t disguise the faint twitch at the corner of his mouth. Her tummy flipped. What would he do when she displayed the remaining black she wore? With her free hand, she grasped her skirt and lifted the hem an inch.
A collective gasp went up and a woman’s low wail sounded in the front pew.
“Silence,” her uncle hissed.
A tremor passed through Caroline. Courage. It didn’t mattered what her uncle thought. Taran’s gaze dropped and both brows shot up. Satisfaction surged through her. This is what mattered. The dear viscount couldn’t ignore the black, quilted underskirt accented with black, silk stockings. What man would want a woman who publicly announced she preferred his dead brother? Caroline abruptly realised the chapel—including the minister—had gone silent.
Taran seemed to notice it as well, for he looked at the minister. “What did you say?”
The minister’s eyes were glued to Caroline’s ankles, where the edge of the underskirt and stockings were still visible.
“Minister,” Taran said
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