The Princess and the Duke Read Free Page B

another, he could see the confusion and hurt deep in her eyes that told him she was every bit as aware of him as he was aware of her. And that his deliberate evasion of her hurt.
    He glanced at the King and wished to heaven that he could have come up with some reason to avoid this wedding, the way he avoided most all of the social events involving the royal family. The sooner he got away from them all, the better.
    But it really wasn’t them all that caused his current consternation. It was only the woman beside him who was upsetting his equilibrium.
    His mind not at all on the service, Pierce silently offered his handkerchief. She looked at him, surprised, then hurriedly looked away. He watched her suck in her lower lip for a moment, blinking rapidly as she tried to gain control of her emotions. But it was no good. A diamond-bright tear slipped down her ivory cheek.
    Almost defiantly, then, she took the square of cloth,being careful not to touch him in any way as she did so. She quickly dabbed the corners of her eyes, then held out his handkerchief.
    The last time he’d seen Meredith so open with her emotions, she’d been seventeen. Back then, it had been all he could do to remember just who she was and keep his behavior properly circumspect. With age, it was easier to remember who she was but no less difficult to remain unmoved by her presence. “Keep it.”
    She didn’t look at him. But her fingers closed over the square of white cloth, enfolding it in her fist.
    The organ suddenly blasted the first notes of a hymn. Beside him, Meredith started, betraying her preoccupation.
    She was watching the ceremony, crying tears over it, yet she’d been as unprepared for the hymn as he’d been. Because of it, he knew she’d been as lost in her thoughts—whatever they might be—as he’d been in his.
    He also realized that the ceremony was nearly finished. For the couple had already retreated and returned from the vestry, along with the bishop and the King and Queen, where they had signed the register. He, master of intelligence, keeper of lies, committer of sins, had managed to miss the entire thing. All because of a woman whose waist he could span with his hands.
    The congregation was singing the final hymn. The words came automatically to Pierce, without thought. And thank God—no pun intended—for it.
    Considering he’d spent his entire childhood from eight to eighteen with his hind planted in one of thepews of his father’s church every Sunday morning and every Wednesday evening, he ought to know the hymns. He ought to know every in and out of every religious service in which the church could possibly participate.
    It really was a measure of the powerful distraction standing beside him that he didn’t even think about what all was involved with a Penwyckian wedding.
    Or what sitting beside her meant in relation to those details.
    Not until the bishop had pronounced Megan and Jean-Paul husband and wife did it begin to dawn on him. Not until Jean-Paul had kissed his new bride, restrained and befitting the public setting but nonetheless a testament to the feelings that ran deep inside him for the woman carrying his child, did it fully hit Pierce.
    But by then, it was already too late.
    For the bishop, all smiles despite the pomp and circumstance of the event, looked at the congregation. “And now,” he intoned, “as has been our custom for centuries, we invite you to greet your neighbors in this house of God with all good grace, and peace, that we may go out into the world, sharing the blessings of this day with all those we meet.”
    In some countries, Pierce knew sharing the blessing might involve little more than a handshake and a muttered, “Blessin’s to yer.”
    In Penwyck, however, it meant the worst of all possible things as far as Pierce was concerned.
    It meant a kiss.

Chapter Two
    H e’d been the son of a clergyman. Had even, briefly, considered following in his father’s stead. How could he have