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The Impetuous Bride
Caroline Anderson
It should have been the happiest day of her life, but as Lydia slipped into her wedding gown, she knew she had to stop the wedding. Jake's whirlwind proposal had been thrilling, but all she wanted was to hear him say he loved her!A year later, Lydia finds herself at the altar with Jake again–this time as a bridesmaid instead of a bride! Jake is the best man–and he's still the only man for Lydia. But can he finally convince his impetuous bride to say "I do"?
“Did I miss something?” she said.
Jake let out his breath in a ragged sigh.
“I’m sorry. It’s just—watching you like that—you don’t make it easy. You’re a beautiful woman, Lydia. I can’t just switch off my feelings simply because it’s all over between us.”
“Is it?” she said softly.
He stopped dead. “Is what?” he asked, hardly able to believe his ears.
“Is it all over? The way you kissed me last night—I rather thought it might not be.”
Almost at the altar—will these nearlyweds become newlyweds?
Welcome to Nearlyweds, our miniseries featuring the ultimate romantic occasion—weddings! Yet these are no ordinary weddings: our beautiful brides and gorgeous grooms only nearly make it to the altar—before fate intervenes and the wedding’s…off!
But the story doesn’t end there…. Find out what happens in these tantalizingly emotional novels by some of your best-loved Harlequin Romance® authors.
The Impetuous Bride
Caroline Anderson
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
With thanks to Mike and Jessamy, Tamsin and Will for an inspirational setting and for “lending” me your wedding.
CONTENTS
PROLOGUE (#u8d9987cc-40ff-5699-a120-add5f93f5352)
CHAPTER ONE (#uc5242623-2685-5064-9115-1a5bee63babc)
CHAPTER TWO (#u7e69990d-5144-589d-9bb4-d4ffdb764c6f)
CHAPTER THREE (#u333664f6-553d-55a2-b907-15b76e0f710d)
CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
PROLOGUE
‘I CAN’T do this.’
‘What? Lydia, don’t be so silly. All you have to do is stand there, looking beautiful, and kiss everyone and say it’s lovely to see them. Of course you can do it,’ her mother said flatly. ‘Now, Melanie, you’ll be standing here, and Tom, you’ll be here—’
‘Mum!’
Her mother sighed and turned back. ‘What is it, darling? What on earth is the problem?’
Lydia took a deep, steadying breath, and said loudly, ‘I can’t do this. Not the reception line thing, the marriage thing. I can’t do it.’
There was a second of shocked silence, and everyone turned to look at her—her mother, clutching her clipboard like a ruffled hen hanging on to a perch; her father, jerked out of his boredom into confusion; her sister, Melanie, aghast and fascinated; Tom, the best man, his jaw dropping slightly in astonishment—and Jake. Her dear, darling Jake, who was marrying her on a whim.
She met his eyes—his beautiful, stunningly blue eyes, so full of fun and teasing laughter usually, now shuttered and expressionless, his mouth a grim line in his stony face.
‘Jake, I’m sorry,’ she said softly. ‘Can we talk about this?’
‘I think that would be a good idea,’ her mother rushed in, and hustled them out of the marquee. ‘You go and talk it over, and come back when you’re ready.’
Lydia didn’t think she’d ever be ready. The heat was closing in on her, and yet she felt chilled to the bone. Hot and cold, like a baked Alaska. Oh, God.
Jake’s hand was firm on the small of her back, and he wheeled her out into the sunshine and turned to face her.
‘OK, let’s have it,’ he said tightly.
He was angry. She should have expected it, but she wasn’t. She hadn’t had time to work out her own feelings, never mind anyone else’s. She’d just felt this huge pressure on her, and her mouth had just opened and spoken.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said again. ‘I just feel—I don’t know, railroaded. I think we’ve rushed into this and don’t know how we feel, and it’s all sort of happening to us. I feel acted on, and I shouldn’t. I should feel as if it’s our wedding, but I feel like we’re actors, and I don’t know if we’re really doing it or just playing a part—going through the motions, you know? I just don’t feel sure any more.’
He scanned her face, his eyes still expressionless, and then looked down, his toe idly scuffing the edge of the matting laid down for the endless guests that were expected in just forty-eight hours.
Guests for a wedding that might not now take place.
Oh, Lord, talk to me, she thought. Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me it’s rubbish. Tell me you love me, that you want to marry me. Tell me not to worry. ‘Jake?’ she whispered, agonised.
He looked back at her, and for a moment she thought she saw a flicker of emotion, but then it was gone. ‘If that’s what you feel, then you’re probably right,’ he said, and his voice sounded strangely distant. ‘Goodbye, Lydia. Take care of yourself.’
And he turned on his heel and strode away, up the sloping lawn towards the house. Away from her.
She stared at him, shocked. She wanted to run after him, beg and plead and reason, but it was pointless. He didn’t want her. If he’d wanted her, he would have said so.
‘Darling?’
She turned and fell into her father’s arms, huge racking sobs tearing her chest apart, and then after a moment she turned and ran away, up to the house. She wasn’t following Jake. There was no point. She just had to get away, to distance herself from the sympathy and curiosity and absolute pandemonium that would ensue.
Her bag was almost packed ready for her honeymoon in Bermuda. She tipped it out, threw back the swimming things and one or two nice outfits, grabbed her shorts and T-shirts from the drawer and hastily packed a few lightweight things. Her passport was ready—in her maiden name, still, because they hadn’t thought about it until it was too late.
Good job, too, she thought, and scrubbed her eyes again so she could see. Shoes—walking shoes, comfy shoes, sandals. She didn’t know where she was going, but somewhere. Somewhere far away.
‘Lydia? Darling, what on earth is the matter?’
‘Not now, Mum. I’ll ring you.’
‘Ring me? Darling, what are you doing? Where are you going?’
Her voice was rising, verging on hysteria, and Lydia just had to get out.
‘I don’t know. I’ll ring you and let you know. I’ll get a standby flight—’
‘Flight?’
The word was laced with panic, and it was too much for Lydia. She scooped up her car keys, her case and her bag, checked for her passport again and kissed her mother’s cheek. ‘I’ll be fine. I’m sorry. I just—
‘Couldn’t do it.’ Melanie spoke from the doorway, her face sad. ‘I’m sorry, love. Want to talk?’
She shook her head, blinking back the tears. ‘No. Just let me go. I’m fine.’
She pushed past them, ran downstairs and bumped into Tom in the hall. ‘Where’s Jake?’ he asked softly, and she shrugged.
‘Pass. Gone home, I suppose.’ She pulled off her engagement ring and held it out, her hand shaking like a leaf. ‘Could you give him this, please? And, Tom—tell him I’m sorry.’
She ran past him, her eyes flooding again, smack into her father’s broad and comforting chest. ‘Don’t do anything rash. Have you got enough money?’ he asked her, and she nodded.
‘I’ll get by. I’m going to Heathrow Airport to start with. I don’t know where after that.’
He took the keys gently out of her hand and put them on the hook on the wall. ‘I’ll drive you,’ he said, in that quiet voice that brooked no argument.
It took two hours. He turned off the mobile phone, turned on the radio and didn’t once try to talk her out of it. It was just as well; he would have been wasting his breath.
He dropped her at one of the terminals, tucked a handful of notes into her handbag and kissed her goodbye, his brown eyes gentle with understanding. ‘Keep in touch, darling. Love you.’
She swallowed hard and kissed him back. ‘Love you, too. I’m sorry.’
She walked into the terminal without looking back, checked out the standby situation at the first desk that caught her eye, and within an hour she was on a flight for Thailand.
She’d never felt more alone in her life.
CHAPTER ONE
‘THANKS.’
Lydia shut the door of the taxi, hitched her backpack up on to one shoulder and turned towards the house, a mixture of dread and eager anticipation tangling in her chest.
It hadn’t changed at all. The roses tumbled in cheerful profusion over the Georgian façade, and the windowframes gleamed brilliant white against the soft old-rose of the bricks. A light wind from the river drifted across the sweeping lawns and caressed her skin with the scent of wild honeysuckle, and she looked down towards the soft blue-green haze of the willows on the riverbank and sighed.
Home, sweet home.
It was June—just a year since she’d left without a backward glance, and now she was back for Melanie’s wedding. The irony brought a twisted little smile to her lips as she headed down towards the house, her backpack bumping against her thighs.
Only one thing was different. There was no Labrador bouncing round her, butting her hand for attention and smiling up at her, tongue lolling, because two months ago their beloved Molly had fallen asleep one night and failed to wake. It seemed strange without her—strange and empty.
The kitchen door was hanging open—just as well, really, as she didn’t have her keys, but the house was usually open and if not there was always a key on the shelf in the old milking parlour.
She went in through the open door, dropped her backpack by the fridge and pulled open the door. She needed a drink. Everything else could wait.
He’d known it was going to happen, of course. Known she’d come back for Melanie’s wedding, if nothing else. He’d been prepared for that, been prepared for seeing her again and steeled himself against it.
Or at least he thought he had. Now, though, his body ground to a halt for an endless moment, then went into overdrive. His heart pounded, his mouth dried, his gut clenched, and need, deep and hot and urgent, ripped through him.
She was wearing shorts—little skimpy cut-off jeans above skinny brown legs and bare feet in leather sandals. Well, maybe not skinny, but impossibly slender. Thinner than they had been, anyway. Fragile. Her T-shirt was loose and baggy, but even so he could tell she’d lost weight. Had she been ill?
Concern for her overtook the raging need, and the complex mix of emotions threatened to choke him.
She’d taken a carton of orange juice from the fridge and was draining the glass when she noticed him. Her hand trembled, and she set it down abruptly. ‘Jake,’ she said simply, and a tentative and rather forlorn smile tugged at her lips. ‘How are you?’
Not ready for this. Not ready for that voice, soft and low and sexy, that had haunted his dreams.
‘I’m fine,’ he lied. ‘How are you? Good journey? We were wondering when you’d arrive.’
She shrugged, picking up the empty glass, toying with it. ‘OK journey, I suppose. Long flight, delays, and so on. It’s nice to be home.’
‘Your parents are in the drawing room with Melanie and Tom. They’ll have my guts if I keep you talking out here. You’d better go and see them.’
She nodded, put down the glass and headed towards him. He was standing in the doorway, and she hesitated for a moment because he didn’t move.
He didn’t know why he didn’t move, just that he didn’t—couldn’t, really, until he’d done this one, foolish thing.
He reached out and cupped her chin, bent his head and brushed a feather-soft kiss across her moist, dewy lips.
‘Welcome home, Lydia,’ he said softly, and then dropping her as if she might burn him he pushed past her and went out of the back door and into the sunlight. He dragged in a lungful of the fresh clean air, and closed his eyes. He could taste the sweet citrus tang of the orange juice on her lips, and the white heat of his response shocked him.
He’d really, really thought he was over her, but he wasn’t. He still wanted her every bit as much as he ever had—maybe more. There was nothing like a bit of abstinence to make the heart grow fonder, he mocked himself. Still, she was back, and he was going to have to deal with it.
Well, fine. He could. Just so long as he remembered she’d walked away before, and she’d do it again. She was trouble—big trouble, with a capital T, and he wasn’t going to fall for her charms again.
Ever.
Lydia stood rooted to the spot for an age, her fingers pressed to her lips, her eyes wide with surprise. She should have expected him to be here, should have expected that he would still have this effect on her.
She’d known he’d be at the wedding, of course, but it had never occurred to her that he’d be here in her parents’ house—just sitting around chatting, for heaven’s sake!
Even if he did live just next door.
Oh, damn.
