Kingsley's Bride
Автор
S. S. Sahoo
Прочтений
216K
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"I could not breathe.
That image, Lord Kingsley’s face in the moonlight, red-streaked steel in his hand, and those cold, terrifying eyes, was burned into me.
What had I just witnessed?
Who was this man?
And what secrets did the Kingsley Estate keep buried beneath its manicured grounds and placid lake?"
Scarlett never dreams of marrying a man like Lord Darius—cold, unreadable, and carrying secrets darker than midnight. But when her sister vanishes and jilts him at the altar, Scarlett must step into her place as his bride. Now trapped in a marriage she never wanted, she can’t ignore the mysteries swirling around the Kingsley estate—or the chilling night she saw Darius with blood on his blade. With whispers of betrayal, long-buried family secrets, and a sister who may not have left by choice, Scarlett is caught in a dangerous game. Yet the more she clashes with her forbidding husband, the harder it becomes to tell where fear ends and desire begins.
Chapter 1
He stood in my doorway wearing nothing but a dressing gown.
My husband. My sister’s husband. The man I’d married in her place.
“Scarlett.” His voice was low, rough. “We need to talk.”
“It’s the middle of the night, my lord.” My fingers brushed the scalpel’s handle beneath the pillow. My heart pounded so loud I was certain he could hear it.
“I’m aware.” He stepped into the room. Moonlight from the tall windows caught the hard line of his jaw, the breadth of his shoulders. The door clicked shut.
Three days. I’d been married to this man for three days, and I still didn’t know if I should fear him or—
“My grandfather expects this marriage consummated.” His blue eyes held mine, unreadable. “He’s made his position clear. If we don’t produce evidence of a wedding night, he’ll have the marriage annulled.”
Evidence. The word sent heat rushing to my cheeks.
“And what do you expect, my lord?”
He moved closer. The dressing gown gaped slightly at his chest, revealing a sliver of bare skin. I shouldn’t have looked. I looked anyway.
“What I expect,” he said slowly, “is irrelevant. The question is what you want.”
What I want.
I wanted to find my sister. I wanted answers. I wanted to understand why Cecilia had run, why she’d called him a monster, why this cold, beautiful man had agreed to marry a stranger rather than face the scandal of being jilted.
My grip tightened on the scalpel.
What do I want?
“Tell me, Scarlett.” He leaned down, bracing one hand on the headboard. His face was inches from mine. “What do you want me to do?”
THREE DAYS EARLIER
The church pews were filling with whispers.
I sat rigid in my seat, gloved hands folded in my lap, watching the door to the vestry. Cecilia had gone in twenty minutes ago to finish her preparations. The ceremony should have started by now.
“Where is she?” Mother hissed beside me, her smile fixed but her eyes darting. “People are beginning to talk.”
They were. I could hear it—the rustle of silk, the murmured speculation, the way Lord Kingsley’s attendants kept glancing toward the Earl with barely concealed unease.
Lord Kingsley himself stood at the altar like a man carved from marble. Patient. Still. His blue eyes swept the congregation once, then fixed on the vestry door.
Waiting.
Five more minutes passed. The whispers grew louder.
“I’ll check on her,” I said, rising before Mother could object.
My footsteps echoed on the stone floor as I crossed to the vestry. The heavy oak door groaned when I pushed it open.
“Cecilia? Everyone’s waiting, you need to—”
Empty.
The room was empty.
My sister’s wedding gown lay crumpled on the floor like a shed skin. The back door—the delivery entrance used by clergy—stood open, letting in a shaft of summer light.
And there, on the small table beside the mirror, a note in Cecilia’s handwriting:
I can’t. I’m sorry. Not with that monster.
My blood turned to ice.
I read the words again. Again. My hands were shaking so badly the paper trembled.
What do I do?
I pressed my back against the cold stone wall, my mind racing through the options.
If I announced this—scandal. Ruin. The Earl of Hastings—for that was the Kingsley title—humiliated by a physician’s daughter. My father’s practice destroyed. My siblings’ futures in ashes.
There was only one way to stop this from destroying my family.
My eyes fell on the wedding gown.
Before I could think better of it, I was stepping out of my Sunday dress. Unlacing my stays to make room for the different cut. Pulling the silver-embroidered silk over my head, struggling with the hooks at the back. The gown was too long—Cecilia had always been taller than me—but it fit well enough in the bodice.
I looked at myself in the mirror.
A bride stared back at me. A terrified, furious, desperate bride.
This is madness.
I picked up Cecilia’s bouquet. Took a breath. And walked out into the church.
The congregation erupted the moment I appeared. Silk rustled as every head turned. Fans snapped open to hide scandalized whispers.
“What trickery is this?” One of Lord Kingsley’s attendants—a portly man with an impressive mustache—shot to his feet, face purpling with outrage. “That’s not the bride!”
“I am the bride.” My voice came out steadier than I felt. “I am Scarlett Ravenswood. And I am here to honor the marriage contract between our families.”
“Where is Cecilia?” the attendant demanded. “Where is the woman Lord Kingsley was promised?”
My throat tightened. “Gone.”
“Gone? Gone where?”
I forced the word out. “Fled.”
Chaos.
The attendants erupted in shouts. The Earl rose from his box pew, his face like thunder. My mother let out a sound somewhere between a sob and a scream. My father was on his feet, hands raised, trying to calm the storm—
“This is an outrage!” The mustached attendant advanced toward me. “A deception! The Earl should have your family thrown in debtor’s prison for this insult—”
“The contract specified a Ravenswood daughter.” Father’s voice cracked with desperation. “Scarlett is a Ravenswood daughter—”
“This is fraud! Bait and switch! We’ll see you ruined for this—”
Through it all, Lord Kingsley did not move.
I found myself staring at him—this still point in the chaos, this eye of the hurricane that was tearing my world apart. His attendants raged. His grandfather fumed. My family scrambled for damage control.
But Darius Kingsley simply…watched me.
His gaze was terrifying. Cold and assessing, like a predator sizing up prey. I should have been frightened. I should have been running, like my sister.
Instead, I couldn’t look away. Something in those ice-blue eyes held me pinned.
What are you thinking? What are you planning? What kind of man agrees to marry a stranger?
He raised one hand.
Silence fell like a guillotine blade.
“Continue.”
One word. That was all it took. The attendants froze mid-tirade. The Earl’s mouth snapped shut. Even my mother’s sobbing cut off abruptly.
The priest cleared his throat nervously. “My lord, are you…certain this is what you wish?”
Lord Kingsley’s eyes never left mine. “I believe I was clear.”
The priest gestured for me to approach the altar.
My feet moved without my permission. The too-long hem of Cecilia’s gown dragged on the stone floor as I walked down the aisle—past the shocked faces of wedding guests, past my white-faced parents, past Lord Kingsley’s furious attendants.
And past the Earl.
Darius’s grandfather tracked me as I passed his pew. Cold. Contemptuous. The look a man gives something foul he’s stepped in. I was not the bride he’d chosen. Not the beauty, not the prize. I was the lesser sister—the backup—and his disgust was written plain on his ancient face.
This man will never accept me.
I arrived at the altar. Turned to face Lord Kingsley.
Up close, he was even more beautiful. Even more terrifying. The sharp planes of his face looked as though an artist had sculpted them from stone.
I’d heard rumors about the tragedy that had befallen his family—his father, his brother, his male cousins, all murdered two years prior. Looking at him now, I could believe he’d survived something terrible. There was a coldness in him that went bone-deep.
“My lord,” the mustached attendant tried again, his voice strained. “Surely you cannot mean to—are you certain this…woman…is acceptable?”
“I find her sufficient.”
The words hit like a slap.
Sufficient.
My temper flared, cutting through the terror. “Is that meant to be a compliment?”
Something flickered in his eyes—surprise? Amusement? It vanished before I could name it.
“Would you prefer insufficient?”
“I would prefer not to be in this situation at all.”
“As would I.” His voice was low, meant only for me. “And yet here we are. Your sister made her choice. Now make yours.”
He held out his hand.
I stared at it. Long fingers. A signet ring bearing the Kingsley lion. The hand of a man my sister had fled from.
Don’t do this. Run. Find Cecilia. Find out what she knows—
But my family was watching. The Earl was watching. And if I fled too, everything my father had built would crumble.
I took his hand.
His fingers closed around mine—warm where I expected cold, steady where I expected cruel. The priest began reading from the Book of Common Prayer, but I barely heard the words. I was trapped in that grip, in that gaze, in the certainty that I had just made either the bravest or the most foolish decision of my life.
“With this ring,” Lord Kingsley said, his voice deep and resonant as he slipped the gold band onto my finger, “I thee wed.”
“You may kiss the bride.”
He leaned in. His lips brushed mine—brief, barely a touch, but it sent electricity crackling down my spine. Heat flooded my cheeks. My breath caught.
When he pulled back, his blue eyes held something I couldn’t read.
The church was silent. No applause. No congratulations. Just the weight of a hundred stares.
I was Lady Kingsley now.
And I had no idea if my husband was a man—or the monster my sister had named him.
