Caroline Anderson - The Impetuous Bride

“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.

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With thanks to Mike and Jessamy, Tamsin and Will for an inspirational setting and for “lending” me your wedding.

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

‘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.