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  Felicia Stubblefield sat looking very pleased in her pew. She arched an eyebrow in smug silence when Meredith risked a glance in her direction. It was evident who had a hand in spreading the rumors. Perhaps she would have minded and even sought to correct the misapprehension everyone was under concerning her relationship with Sir Hiram. Perhaps. If she weren’t so numb. If she could muster a modicum of concern. Instead, she clung to the remaining scraps of her dignity and faced the front of the church.

  Stares penetrated her, burning into her profile, drilling into her back. With everyone behaving as though she were some sort of fallen woman, Nick’s long ago comments questioning the charity of her fellow churchgoers surfaced in her mind. He had been right. People were fickle. Society was fickle. Neighbors were quick to condemn. A small part of her did not blame him for shunning these people—this life.

  She was suddenly pulled from her musings. Not by any particular sound but rather the abrupt halt in Mr. Browne’s voice. A quick look up revealed his startled expression focused on the back of the church. The heavy fall of footsteps thudded down the center aisle, a murmur of whispers following in their wake. Her pulse quickened and her right eye began to twitch. Still, she could not force herself to turn around.

  At last, those footsteps stopped beside her pew. She waited one long, interminable moment, struggling against the fear and hope warring inside her. Finally, she risked a glance and swallowed a cry of dismay at the sight of Nick’s bruised and battered face. He lowered himself beside her, pressing his fingers against her mouth, silencing her questions. His eyes burned brightly, drinking in the sight of her face, looking at her in such a way—

  “Later,” he whispered, and turned to the front of the church, giving a slight nod for Mr. Browne to continue.

  Her mind reeled from his presence beside her. In church, of all places. She knotted her hands in her lap and didn’t think it possible to remain silent for the remainder of the service. As if understanding her confusion, Nick removed one fist from her lap. She trembled as he laced his fingers with her gloved ones, calling her attention to the cuts and bruises marring his knuckles. What had happened to him? The back of his tanned hand stood out in sharp relief against her white gloves. She gazed at their clasped hands with nothing less than shock, as if they belonged to some other couple.

  Mr. Browne cleared his voice and resumed his sermon.

  She never heard a word.

  His steady grip kept her from pulling her hand free. He knew she was dying to pelt him with questions. Yet he waited. He wanted privacy when he said everything he had to say. He would have preferred to look more presentable before joining her at Sunday service, but last night only brought home to him the fleeting nature of life. So, flaunting a black eye and split lip, he took his place in the Attingham village church for the first time in over twenty-five years.

  And he didn’t go up in flames.

  In fact, he felt oddly content sitting in the Brookshire family pew with Meredith pressed to his side. As if he had arrived home. At last. The thought that he almost missed the chance tightened his heart. If Skelly had his way, he would be lying dead in that alley and not the other way around. And Meredith would never have known that he died loving her. As they filed out of church, she tried to tug her hand free, glancing self-consciously at the gawking speculation sent their way. He would have none of it. He fought a life and death battle to reach her. He was never letting her go. With a tender smile, he kissed the back of her hand and tucked it firmly in the crook of his arm. Her eyes widened. He chuckled.

  Aunt Eleanor beamed at him in approval. “About time. Although you could have waited until you looked more like yourself, you scamp.”

  “And leave my wife languishing?” His thumb traced small circles against the inside of her wrist where her glove ended. She flushed a becoming pink. “I couldn’t have waited that long,” he said in husky tones that had even Aunt Eleanor blushing.

  “Who are you?” Meredith leaned close to hiss as they stepped outside. “Where is Nick?”

  “You’ll not get any explanations from me,” he replied with a mischievous smile. “Not yet.”

  Then Meredith gawked as Nick greeted Mr. Browne and praised him on his sermon.

  “Er, thank you, my lord,” the young vicar stammered, his thin chest puffing out and his face brightening a delighted red.

  Nick moved to greet other neighbors, dragging a speechless Meredith with him. He did not even feel bothered at rubbing elbows with neighbors who stood by wordlessly when he and his mother were cast out. Not as long as Meredith’s fingers stayed twined with his.

  “Let’s get out of here,” he whispered in her ear. “We need to talk.”

  “We have to wait for Aunt Eleanor.” She eyed him nervously, as if uncertain she wanted to go anywhere with a madman.

  “Trust me,” he assured her, catching Aunt Eleanor’s eye and sending her a meaningful wink. “She won’t mind.”

  “But we can’t leave Aunt Eleanor. She’s talking with Mr. Browne right now—”

  “Isn’t he coming for dinner?”

  Meredith nodded warily.

  “Perfect. She can ride with him. Or,” Nick added wryly, “any of the other dozen people she’s inviting.”

  “Nick, we can’t—” Meredith paused as his words penetrated and exclaimed, “Oh, she is not!”

  “I’m afraid she is.” He nodded his head to where Aunt Eleanor now chatted animatedly to a large group of ladies, her words drifting to where they stood.

  “I insist. You must come. The earl would love nothing more than getting better acquainted with his neighbors.”

  “Oh no,” she groaned, closing her eyes.

  He grabbed her hand and pulled her toward his horse.

  “We can’t both ride Solomon,” she protested as he grabbed her by the waist and swung her up.

  “Why not?” He swung up behind her.

  “People are watching—”

  “And what do they see?” His eyes locked with hers, the moss green pulling him in, warming him. “The Earl and Countess of Brookshire so in love and eager to be together that they’re sharing a mount. They’ll think it’s romantic.”

  “Nonsense,” she scoffed.

  Nick hesitated, staring at the back of her neck. He brushed his hand against her nape and pressed his mouth to her ear. “It’s the truth.”

  She stiffened in his arms and turned in the saddle to stare at him, saying in the barest of whispers, “Nick?”

  His hand caressed her cheek. “I love you, Meredith. I’ve known it a long time. Stupid fool that I am, it only took me this long to accept it.”

  A strangled sob tore from her throat as she flung her arms around his neck and kissed him in plain sight of everyone. So much for a private audience.

  When they came up for air, Nick brushed his thumb against her mouth. “Let’s go work on filling that nursery you’ve had your heart set on.”

  She smiled wide, her face glowing as she replied, “We’ve already begun to accomplish that, my lord.”

  His heart stopped and he heard himself choke, “You don’t mean—”

  “Yes,” she replied, looking uncertain as she studied him. “You are pleased?”

  “Meredith,” he sighed, cupping her face gently in both hands. “I don’t think my heart could be any fuller.” Gazing into the lush green pools of her eyes, he felt himself drowning…with happiness. “I love you.”

  She clutched his neck tighter and whispered against his mouth. “I love you.”

  The sound of clapping distracted them, and they pulled apart to observe Aunt Eleanor clapping madly, her turban in danger of sliding off her head as she nudged the two ladies beside her to join in. The two women obliged, and soon the entire churchyard was filled with applause. Nick doubted everyone knew the exact reason for their applause aside from the fact that Lord and Lady Brookshire were engaging in a most unseemly display in the Attingham churchyard.

  But he knew the reason.

/>   He was home.

  Acknowledgments

  Many thanks to those who read and critiqued this book in its various and dubious stages: Tera, Leslie, Ane, and Christy. Tera, your savvy (or second sight?) helped get me here; Leslie, you made sure my scenes had the requisite “sizzle”—this book wouldn’t be what it is without the “cabinettes.” And thank you to Ane, my first writing friend, your enthusiasm feeds my soul. Thank you, Carlye, for being so mule-headed. You never stopped nagging me to write and sell a book—even when I begged you to. Thank you to my mother-in-law, Rosanne, for countless hours of baby-sitting. To my fellow writers at West Houston Romance Writers of America, thank you for your support and encouragement. Not so long ago, I walked through your doors a stranger, having no idea I would find a haven among you. And thank you to my agent, Maura Kye-Casella, who called at precisely the right time in my life and said all the things I most needed to hear, and to my editor, May Chen, for believing in this book.

  About the Author

  SOPHIE JORDAN, a former high school English teacher, resides in Houston with her family. When she’s not writing, she divides her time between inventing what she likes to call culinary masterpieces—her husband won’t always agree—and visiting her family’s pecan ranch in the Texas Hill Country.

  Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins author.

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  Copyright

  This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  ONCE UPON A WEDDING NIGHT. Copyright © 2006 by Sharie Kohler. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

  ePub edition February 2007 ISBN 9780061736483

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