Page 123 of Immortal Rose

“You may not,” Foxcourt said tersely, glancing toward the window. To anyone else, it might have read as an arrogant lord’s impatience, but this was as anxious as he’d ever allow himself to appear in front of others. He was truly expecting the police at any moment.

“Please take each other’s hands,” the priest said, grinning.

Neither Foxcourt nor I moved.

Fleming cleared his throat. Loudly.

My fingers lightly closed around his, and the heat that gathered between our palms rivaled even the fire that was spreading beneath my skin.

“Dearly beloved,” the priest began cheerfully, undaunted, “we are gathered here today in the sight of the Lord—”

Foxcourt glanced over his shoulder to the window again. “Dispense with anything but the necessary bits.”

The priest’s toothy grin dimmed. “But, my lord”—he looked between us, pained—“it’s my first wedding ceremony, and I was told—”

“The necessary bits,” Foxcourt repeated with a look that made the younger man shrink back into the safety of his voluminous robes.

“I, er, of course,” the priest said, frantically scanning through the notes in his book. “Dearly beloved . . . the Almighty created woman for man . . . meek and humble . . . the service of love . . .”

The heat trapped beneath my skin turned acutely painful, boiling the sugary lavender scent. My hands convulsively clenched around Foxcourt’s as a lance of pain skimmed down the center of my chest.

He glanced at me, his brows drawing together in concern.

“Ah, yes, here we are, the vows.” The priest cleared his throat again. “These two souls cleave unto each other in the sight of our infinite God, for once joined, only he may tear them asunder—”

Another stab of pain pierced the center of my chest, and it was a fight to stay upright. A thin sheen of sweat broke out over my top lip as I forced myself to breathe through it.

“Do you, Viola Elizabeth Lockwood, take this man to be your wedded husband from this day forward, in times of joy and anguish, in seasons of plenty and fallow, in good health and poor, for as long as you both shall live?”

“I do,” I said through gritted teeth. My nerves were singing from my scalp to my heels, alive and burning. Foxcourt became a dark smudge.

“. . . in seasons of plenty and fallow, in good health and poor—”

“I do,” Foxcourt cut him off, stepping closer to me.

“Are there rings?” the priest dared to hope.

Foxcourt patted across his jacket, retrieving two rings.

“Repeat after me,” the priest said. “With this ring, I offer my body for your protection, my soul to bind with yours, and my heart for your keeping.”

Foxcourt’s voice was a silky murmur as he repeated it. His fingers trembled as he slid the cool metal of the ring onto my finger.

I blinked until my vision cleared, making out a sky blue gemstone surrounded by small seed pearls. I balked, feeling even more lightheaded. I couldn’t faint, not until this was over.

Foxcourt passed me a simple gold band and I stared at it, a growing haze of pain over my mind.

“With this ring,” the priest said with a bit more emphasis to catch my attention, “I offer . . .”

I must have said the words. I could feel my lips moving, even if I heard nothing over the roar of blood in my ears. Somehow, I managed to slide the ring onto his finger, though I couldn’t have said if it was the right one.

“. . . and so having proclaimed your love and commitment before God and witnesses . . .”

A torrent of scalding agony ripped down my spine. I bent at the waist, gasping, only smelling more of that vile lavender. Something was wrong—something was happening to me—

Foxcourt grasped me by the elbows, keeping me upright as I collapsed against him.

“It’s not yet time for the kiss,” the priest complained.