He walked up the steps stiffly, and she had the impression that it was only sheer will-power that was moving him forwards and up and through the huge oak doors. As she followed him inside and her vision adjusted to the gloom she noticed that he’d gone alarmingly pale. His fingers tightened around hers and she realised that this wedding wasn’t only going to be an ordeal for her.
But what could be the reason for Luke’s unease? she wondered, taking one of the orders of service that were being held out by an usher. Was a fear of weddings a medical condition? Matrimoniphobia, perhaps? He didn’t strike her as the sort of man who would tolerate a fear, yet he was clutching her hand as if his life depended on it.
He let her go so she could shuffle along an empty pew. Had he been dropped in the font as a baby? Had he too once been to the wedding of someone he’d cared about? A funeral, perhaps? The possibilities were endless, but it was hardly the sort of thing she could ask.
‘I was right,’ said Emily, glancing around before putting her handbag on the floor.
‘About what?’ muttered Luke.
‘Hats and glass.’ She tried to settle herself on the uncomfortable pew.
When Luke didn’t answer she stole a quick peek at him. He was studying the church’s architecture with an almost fierce intensity, but at least some colour had returned to his face. It was as if he’d gone into some sort of zone, she thought, running her fingers over the engraved front of the order of service. She was willing to bet that he was totally unaware of her presence. Or anyone else’s, for that matter.
‘Emily?’ A voice behind her and a tap on her shoulder made her jump. She twisted round and found herself face to face with one of the few people who had stayed in touch when she and Tom split up.
‘Felicity, how lovely to see you,’ she said.
‘Likewise. How are you? It’s been ages.’
‘Too long.’
‘Isn’t this fantastic?’ Felicity waved a hand around to indicate the magnificence of the church. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever been to a wedding like it. I can’t wait for the reception. Marianne’s lovely, and doesn’t Tom look great?’ There was an awkward pause as Felicity’s expression of delight turned to one of horror. She clapped both hands to her face. ‘Oh, God, I’m sorry. Sometimes I only open my mouth to change feet.’
‘Sorry about what?’
Felicity looked bewildered for a second. ‘Well, you know. Banging on about the wedding. When Tom is marrying Marianne.’
Emily glanced at Luke, but he didn’t appear to be listening. ‘Don’t worry about it,’ she assured Felicity, who was staring at her with concern.
‘Are you all right with it?’
‘Heavens, yes.’ She could feel herself going red. She’d been so wrapped up in what was going on with Luke that she had barely given Tom a second’s thought. ‘I’m happy for him. Truly,’ she added at the sceptical look that crossed Felicity’s face.
‘I can well believe that,’ she said, leaning forward. She nodded in Luke’s direction and asked, ‘Who’s your friend?’
Emily caught the appreciative note in her voice and felt a stab of irritation. Whatever Luke was going through, he didn’t need to be subjected to a barrage of questions by an over-flirtatious female.
A rustling behind them saved her from having to answer Felicity’s question. ‘Oh, look, I think the bride’s arrived,’ she said brightly, as the organ boomed the opening bars of the ‘Bridal Chorus’ and everyone stood and turned to watch the entrance of Marianne du Champs.
The organist then launched into the first hymn, and Emily took the opportunity to survey the congregation. As she’d suspected, she didn’t spy many allies among the glamorous throng. Mainly she encountered expressions of surprise. One or two glimmers of sympathy, which she could have done without. And there was enough eyeing up of the man beside her to have her inching towards him in a distinctly proprietorial fashion.
She was just debating whether or not it would be a bit much to thread her arm through his when Tom’s voice poured through the speakers and jerked her head back. Had they got to that part already?
For the first time since the ceremony had begun, and with a faint sense of shame, she turned her attention to what was happening in front of her. Her gaze rested on the man with whom at one point she’d been planning to spend her future. Tall, blond, good-looking and familiar, he was smiling down at the woman in white—the woman who at one time could have been her.
She waited for her heart to lurch, for a stab of pain, perhaps, or regret, but as she watched and heard him say his vows all she could think of was Luke and that kiss.
Which wasn’t right, surely? Even if she was over Tom, shouldn’t she be experiencing some sort of inner turmoil at seeing him standing up there at the altar about to marry another woman, instead of lusting after another man? She frowned. Perhaps her mind had sent her into denial without her knowledge.
Emily emptied her head of all thoughts and forced herself to focus on Tom. He was looking proud, happy and relaxed. Unlike Luke. Oh, no. How could she examine her emotions for turmoil if Luke clouded the issue? She blinked and pushed him to one side.
Now, where was she? Oh, yes. Tom. He was sliding a ring onto Marianne’s finger and staring down at her with an awed expression on his face. Hang on, she thought with a frown. Did her heart just ping? And was that another one? Yes, it was definitely pinging. Thank God for that. Two tugs on her heartstrings was perfect. Just enough to reassure herself that she cared, not enough to cause her pain. What a relief. Now she could dally with Luke without any nasty insecurities popping up at inconvenient times.
And she did want to dally with him. Very much. She looked up at him. He was glowering at a window and a muscle was ticking in his jaw. Desire mingled with curiosity. Whatever the reason for Luke’s phobia of churches, it clearly went a great deal deeper than a simple fear of commitment.
Luke barely heard the music and words echoing through the church, and he wasn’t concentrating on the stained glass. No. He was far too busy gritting his teeth and fighting for control of his mind.
It had been three years since Grace’s funeral. Three years since he’d last stepped inside a church. Of all the things that should be going through his head, skin-prickling awareness of the woman beside him was not one of them.
Yet every time they stood or sat a fresh wave of her intoxicating scent hit his perplexed brain. The memory of her in his arms, her mouth and body moving against his, rolled back into his head and he had to clench his fists to stop himself from reaching for her.
Luke sat down and studied the painting above the altar. Exhaustion. That was it. That was why his mind hadn’t been working properly in the meeting yesterday and wasn’t working properly now. That was why his attraction to Emily was hitting him quite so hard. He should take a break—ease up on his insane workload before he burned out. And maybe he should indulge in the ‘fun’ that Jack kept banging on about.
Luke heard the rustle of people standing and automatically got to his feet. He had the feeling Emily could be a lot of fun. Emily was warm and vibrant and attracted to him. Her response to his kiss had been hotter than he could have imagined.
Her arm brushed against his, making him jump as if he’d been poked with a cattle prod. That was it. He’d had enough of only half existing. It was about time he had some fun. He tore his gaze from the cherub he’d been focusing on and turned his head to look down at her. At the same time she looked up. Their gazes collided, and the leap of desire he saw in Emily’s eyes decimated any remnant of doubt he might have had.
Emily nearly collapsed back down on the