Married By Midnight Read Free

crystals that shimmered on the surface of the snow, while the sound of the coach wheels rolling over the frozen rutted road remained the only disturbance.
    When at last the vehicle passed under the impressive triumphal arch and the horses’ hooves clattered over the icy stones on the cobbled court, Lord Garrett woke with a start and sucked in a deep gulp of air.
    The dream was always the same... The relentless roar of the wind in the sails, the taste and grit of the salt on his lips, Johnny’s small wet hand slipping from his grip ...
    Like every other night since the accident, it woke him, haunted him, tortured him—like a violent, spiteful ghost.
    Drenched in sweat, shivering in the chill of this punishing English weather, Garrett sat forward and worked to calm his breathing. When would it end? he wondered. Not just the weather, but this terrible torment inside of him. Would he know happiness again? He prayed to God that this Christmas would deliver a gift, a reprieve from the agony he’d endured since spring. Otherwise he wasn’t sure he could go on living.
    Sitting back, desperate for a distraction from the memory of that day on the water, he cupped his hands to the cold glass and peered out at the courtyard and palace, brightly lit up in the night.
    Not much had changed since he quit this house seven years ago. It was still the same ostentatious braggart of wealth and social position—a sickening display of showy baroque architecture with giant towers and turrets, a commanding clock tower over a massive portico at the entrance, and enough steps to intimidate even the most privileged aristocrat—not to mention any decent common man of typical upbringing.
    All this belonged to his family alone, while thousands of decent, hard-working people starved in the poverty-stricken streets of London. He wanted no part of this world, yet he needed the funds that his father had offered out of the strange depths of his madness. Garrett had come home to do what he must in order to attain them and put them to good use.
    Nevertheless, what he must do plagued yet another part of him, for he supposed he was no better than a whore—selling himself for money—and he feared he was about to marry a woman cut from the same cloth. He didn’t know what to expect and was quite certain this was the second lowest point in his life. Not to be outdone, of course, by the first. Never to be outdone by that.
    The coach crossed the courtyard and pulled to a careful halt at the front entrance. Garrett did not wait for the driver or a footman to open the door. He had been living too long outside this world of class distinctions and chose instead to flick the latch and alight from the vehicle on his own.
    Tugging his coat collar tighter about his neck, he stepped out and exhaled sharply. His breath puffed out of him like thick smoke on the chilly night air.
    Just then the doors of the palace were flung open, and he braced himself for the enthusiastic welcome he did not wish to receive...until he saw his sister Charlotte approaching.
    His twin.
    At the shocking sight of her—so grown up and lovely in her lavender dinner gown and jewels—whatever was left of his long-suffering heart snapped in two.
    Heaven help him, this was not going to be an easy Christmas. He wished he could leap forward in time to when it would be over, but that, unfortunately, was not possible. He would simply have to muddle through.
     
    * * *
     
    “ Garrett!”
    His sister ran toward him without shawl or cloak and nearly knocked him over as she launched herself into his arms. Somehow he managed to keep his footing on the icy ground, and held onto her more tightly than he’d expected.
    “ Charlotte...” he softly said. “How I’ve missed you.” She was always the one he longed for most.
    “ And I, you,” she whispered in his ear. “Oh, Garrett. I feel whole again at last.”
    He was vaguely aware of the servants collecting his bags, a footman speaking to the driver.