Read Online The Memory of Your Kiss by Wilma Counts - Free Book Online Page A

Might he see her again? He looked more closely at the guests, but did not see her.
    Suddenly it hit him. Sydney—his Sydney—had been promised to another before her sojourn in Bath. In one of those intuitive moments that suspend time, it occurred to him that Henry’s Bella could be his Sydney. Please, God, no! Feeling as though some giant had dealt him a blow to the midriff, he sucked in a deep breath, but he had no time to adjust to that horrifying idea before he saw her. Sydney, preceded by her cousin Celia, appeared on the arm of a tall, thin man with a shock of white hair. But it was Sydney who commanded Zachary’s attention. Sydney in an ivory silk gown, the style of which even he recognized as belonging to a bygone era. She was, quite simply, beautiful. As he looked closely at her face, he thought he detected signs of fatigue or stress—a tenseness about her eyes and mouth. Then her gaze went from Henry to him and he saw a wisp of a sad smile of recognition.
    Had she known all along? Had Bath been a weird sort of game she played? Those trips about town? All those hours together? A grotesque joke at his expense? Just an adventure before settling into the humdrum of married life? The interlude that had affected him so profoundly had been a charade to her. He recalled her response to his kiss. No. That at least had been genuine. Maybe.
    Anger and doubt assailed him. So long as her future had been a vague unknown, he had accepted it. But now? His own cousin? He thought fleetingly of making a scene when the minister got to that part about “anyone who had objections to this union.” He winced inwardlyas her father placed Sydney’s hand in Henry’s. Zachary recalled clearly the feel of that hand in his own.
    Then the bride’s father stepped into place as the clergyman announced the intention of this man and this woman, Henry Matthew Alistair Laughton and Sydney Isabella Waverly, to enter into the holy state of matrimony. Well, that explained the confusion over her name. Zachary struggled to maintain his composure, drawing upon years of experience in observing military decorum—of not flinching in seeing a man flogged, of fighting on, directing others even when a friend’s death rattle seemed to drown out all other noises of battle.
    He could do this. He would do it.
    And somehow he did, even to the point of handing Henry the heirloom ring at the proper moment and watching, fascinated, seeing only their hands as Henry slipped it on her finger. He stood stoically as Henry kissed her. Then the bridal party retired to the vestry to sign the church registry, first Henry, then his bride. As Sydney handed the pen to Zachary, their hands touched and, for just a moment, his gaze held hers. Was it regret or resignation he saw there? Or was that merely what he wanted to see? He signed quickly and handed the pen to Celia.
    Then it was over.
    But no. There was still the wedding breakfast. For the return trip to the Hall, he found himself in a carriage with Henry’s younger sisters with whom he had only this morning become acquainted. They reminded him of his own sister, Julia, and he only half listened as the two girls giggled and gushed over the beauty of the bride and the ceremony itself. They were polite in trying to include him in their conversation and he was pleased to be able to respond in a normal tone.
    Unlike Zachary, Sydney had been prepared for their meeting again—and the circumstances under which it would occur. She had spent a mostly sleepless night before that long, long journey down the aisle of her father’s church. She had worked hard to school her emotions since her sojourn in Bath. Then yesterday, in an instant, all that effort had been shattered.
    Along with her father, Geoffrey and Marybeth, her aunt Harriet and her cousins, she had visited Paxton Hall in part to check on seating arrangements at the post-wedding breakfast. After showing thevisitors the more public rooms of the Hall, Lord Paxton