Read Online Trapped at the Altar by Jane Feather - Free Book Online Page B

scent.
    Someone had had the sensitivity to turn this rough-hewn room into a true bridal chamber. Who would have given the order? Ari wondered. Not her uncle Rolf, that was for sure. He had set her on her feet now, and she was aware of the men crowding the top of the stairs, drinking and laughing, as the young women moved to help her undress.
    There was nothing she could do but endure. The women gathered around her in a tight circle, shielding her as best they could from prying eyes, but as each garment was removed, the raucous ribaldry grew ever coarser, and Ari felt her skin grow hot with anger and embarrassment.
    â€œShe’s such a tiny little thing, Ivor, you’d best be careful you don’t split her apart,” some inebriated young colt slurred, and the next moment, a hard thrust to his chest unbalanced him, sending him tumbling backwards, knocking into the men on the stairs behind him so that they all fell in an ungainly heap.
    Ivor took three steps down the stairs. “Take your vile tongue out of my house . . . and the same goes for the rest of you. You’ve had your fun, now get out and leave me to my own business. You, too, my lord Daunt.” He had bounded up the stairs again and now confronted Rolf. “Enough is enough, sir. Leave Ariadne to her women now.”
    Rolf looked momentarily confused, but there wassomething about Ivor’s determination that penetrated his drunken haze. “Oh, if you must spoil sport, Ivor . . . I suppose you’re overeager to get to your bride yourself. Come on, men, there’s many a bottle left to broach before dawn.” He stumbled to the stairs, and the rest of the elders followed him, casting darkling looks of disappointment at the groom, who held his place at the top of the stairs until he heard the front door close.
    Ariadne stood in her chemise, looking at Ivor. “My thanks,” she said softly.
    He shook his head and said coolly, “It doesn’t suit my pride to see my bride exposed to prying eyes. I’ll leave you to the women.” He went back downstairs. Ordinarily, the men would be waiting for him, to undress him and deliver him naked to the bridal bed, but his outburst seemed to have put an end to that little ritual, too. For which he could only be thankful.
    He poured a goblet of brandy from the bottle he kept on the dresser and stood with his back to the range, waiting . . . waiting for the moment when he had to confront this travesty of a marriage head-on.
    He heard low voices and footsteps above his head as the women moved around the bedchamber and then feet on the stairs. Tilly, her cheeks a little flushed, stopped on the bottom step and announced with portentous gravity, “Lady Ariadne is abed, sir. If you would be pleased to come up.”
    â€œIn a few minutes, Tilly. You and the women leave now. I have no further need of you this evening. You may come to attend Ar . . . my wife in the morning.”
    â€œYes, sir.” Tilly managed an ungainly curtsy on the narrow stairs and turned to scamper back up to the bedchamber. In a moment, she and the other women came down together, all looking remarkably solemn.
    â€œYou’re sure you won’t be needing me again tonight, sir?”
    â€œQuite certain, Tilly. And thank you for your efforts with the bedchamber. You had little enough time to work such a miracle.” He took a small leather pouch from the mantel and handed it to her. “With my thanks, all of you.”
    Tilly beamed, the contents of the pouch clinking as she weighed it in her palm. “Our thanks to you, sir.” She hustled her companions out of the cottage. As the door opened, the sounds of music and merriment drifted on the still night air. Presumably, the feasting would go on until dawn. Ivor shot the bolt across the door and dropped the heavy bar into place. He would have no further disturbance this night.
    He refilled his goblet and