Read Online Mail Order Devastation (Montana Mail Order Brides, Book 4) by Julianna Blake - Free Book Online Page A

thrill to see the real color of her hair —he could only guess at it before, from her own description and the shades of grey in the photograph she sent.  The rich auburn tresses were pinned artfully into a cluster of curls at the back of her head, with her small hat perched atop her head, just above them.  Her skin was approximately the same shade of cream that he had supposed it would be, but her neck was slimmer and more elegant than he had expected.  That was all he could surmise about her appearance from his vantage point, and he chastised himself for choosing a seat at the very back.
    When Miss Quinn turned her head, for a terrifying moment he thought she would turn about and catch him staring …but instead, she looked to her left, casting a glance up at the stained glass window nearest her, which depicted a lamb with its foreleg hooked around a banner bearing a Latin phrase.  It gave him the opportunity to study her face in profile.  Though he couldn’t see her features well at such a distance, he could see the same rounded cheeks that narrowed to her chin, which had given her face a heart-shaped appearance in the photograph she’d sent.  Even at that distance, he could see how enticing her full lips were, and a horrifying thought occurred to him—could other men be admiring his bride at that moment, just as he was?
    He cast a worried glance about the church but didn ’t see anyone who appeared to be craning their necks as much as he.  Noah settled back against the hard oak pew.  He couldn’t give any other Helena bachelor the chance to catch the eye of his betrothed.  He’d have to see that Madeline Porter didn’t delay his marriage to Miss Quinn any longer than necessary.  Given the Catholic practice of announcing “the banns” at Mass for three weeks in a row prior to a wedding—to give any parishioners time to notify the priest if they knew of any reason why the couple should not wed—he knew that a talk with the pastor might be in order.
    At last the organ played a brisk melody, accompanied by the assembly of men and boys up in the choir loft, who belted out their polyphonic tune.  The lantern-bearing acolytes proceeded in form down the aisle, followed by the altar servers, the Master of Ceremony, and at last the priest, dressed in his full “high Mass” regalia.  As soon as the priest passed through the open double door into the narthex at the back of the church, the parishioners all stood, gathering their missals, reticules, and other belongings, and began to filter out into the aisle. 
    Noah stepped out into the aisle, genuflecting briefly toward the tabernacle and crossing himself before standing again and walking quickly out of the church.  He was disappointed that the priest and all his servers were already gone, disappeared into thin air as if from a magician ’s trick.  He glanced around, wondering where they might have gone.  Then he remembered—many years ago, when his family still went to Mass, he remembered being an acolyte himself at high Masses.  They’re back in the sacristy already, putting away all the accoutrements of the high Mass, and shedding their vestments. 
    He debated a moment, then decided not to wait.  He walked back into the church, up the aisle, and let himself through the gate in the communion rail.  After genuflecting again, he crossed over to the door to the right, which he knew must lead into the sacristy. 
    Noah stepped inside, where young boys bustled about, securing their torches—the lantern-topped staffs which contained lit candles during the Mass. Behind them, older boys pulled off their vestments, revealing their street clothes beneath, and hanging them in a cabinet with care.  A few of the boys glanced up at him, then went back about their business.  It wasn’t unusual to see a man come back to the sacristy after Mass to ask a priest a question, or request an off-hours confession.
    At the far end of the narrow little room, Noah saw