A Wedding By Dawn. Alison DeLaine

Warre wasn’t paying any attention. He was scowling toward the front of the church looking for a priest. India sat up and looked dreamily around the shadowed church. “It’s lovely. Everything I always hoped my wedding would be. Isn’t it perfect, Millie?”

      She waited for Millie to tell William to go to the devil, to unhand her, but Millie only stood woodenly in his grasp, gripping and regripping her own wrist. And now India was too aware of William’s hold on Millie’s arm, the possibility that he might be angry enough to thoughtlessly hurt Millie even knowing what she’d suffered in London. He would show no mercy—they may have been shipmates once, but Katherine was William’s closest friend in the world, and he would not easily forgive India and Millie for taking her ship.

      She looked pointedly at his hand on Millie’s arm. “I am the bride, William—at least allow Millie to attend me.”

      William didn’t budge.

      Millie’s eyes darted about the church for a possible means of escape, already dulled with the conclusion that there would be none.

      India dragged in a breath. “So far this day has been everything a wedding day should be. In fact, even had I dreamed it I could never have hoped for something this unsurpassed in beauty and...” Nicholas Warre stalked off toward the church’s recesses. “And splendor.”

      She tried to stop herself from shaking, but her whole body trembled. Millie’s silent conclusion was correct: there was no chance for escape now. Nicholas Warre would offer the priest money, and they would be wed in a sham ceremony. And then they would return to that inn—

      “William,” she hissed the moment Mr. Warre was out of earshot, standing up, abandoning all pretense. “You cannot possibly be a party to this. After what he did to Katherine? Do I mean nothing to you at all?” The dark tomblike church swallowed her plea. It was deathly quiet, with the eerie flicker of candles sputtering in small banks next to a dozen shrines.

      William forced Millie onto the pew. “At least he tried to take from Katherine in broad daylight—unlike the two of you, who sneaked away under cover of night.”

      “She wasn’t using the ship.”

      “That didn’t make it yours to steal,” he bit out.

      “At least give us a fair hearing!”

      “The kind of hearing you’d receive if I hauled you back to England and accused you of piracy? You’d be hanged.” William may have laughed in the tavern—William always laughed—but he wasn’t laughing now, which was worse than anything he could have done. “You have a fine way of showing your thanks to Katherine. Would have expected more loyalty from you, under the circumstances.” He looked at Millie. “Especially you.”

      Millie stared up at him, still working her fingers mechanically around her wrist. “I won’t return to England,” she said. “I can’t. You know I can’t.”

      “Millie and I apologize about the tavern,” India said, more desperately now. From somewhere in the dark recesses of the church came the sound of Nicholas Warre knocking on doors and calling out. “Don’t we, Millie. We never meant to put you in danger. And we know taking the ship was wrong—” depending on one’s point of view “—but you’ve secured it once more—” unless she and Millie could somehow find their way back on board “—and this goes too far. You can’t possibly approve of this marriage, William. You can’t possibly. And it can’t be what my father intended.” But it could be, and it probably was.

      What she wouldn’t give to know what that contract said. If only she weren’t such a muttonhead. If only those books in the Possession’s great cabin had done her any good. But she was, and they hadn’t. Some people were easy to fool—Nicholas Warre would not be. She would have pretended to read the contract, understanding nothing, and he would have understood very clearly how stupid she was.

      “Past time someone took you in hand,” William said. “Daresay Warre is better than having the crows peck the rotting flesh from your bones at the mouth of the Thames.”

      “You would never allow that.”

      “Not here on my own behalf, and the law is the law.”

      For a split second the image of a stinking, crowded room at Marshalsea paralyzed her lungs. “I won’t say the vows,” she warned, trembling harder now.

      “You’ll say them, or you’ll suffer the consequences.”

      “Dear God—” Millie made a sudden dive to exit the pew, but William caught her by the shoulder.

      “Sit.”

      “I’d rather you kill me now than return me to England,” Millie seethed at him.

      “And I shall kill Nicholas Warre if you do not stop this wedding,” India warned. From the back of the church there was another knock, another call. “You know I shall.” She would not be taken to England and locked away again—not in prison, and not by Nicholas Warre.

      “You’re a pair of fools,” William barked. “Millicent—” He struggled against her. “Enough.”

      Millie kicked him. “Let go of me.”

      India scooted out of the pew. William snatched her arm but imperiled his grip on Millie. “Warre!” he shouted.

      Almost immediately Nicholas Warre was there, pulling her away from William, who now held a wild, struggling Millie by both arms. “Where’s the bloody priest?” William barked.

      “There’s nobody here.”

      “Got to be. Devil take it—” He turned Millie’s arms behind her back and held her head down, immobilizing her.

      “Let me go!” Millie shrieked.

      “William, you’re hurting her,” India cried.

      “I’m not bloody hurting her.”

      “Anyone would have heard us long before now,” Nicholas Warre said, holding India tightly against his body. “There are other churches—”

      “Can’t drag this one through the streets like this. I’ve got to get her to the ship.”

      “I’ve got my bag at the inn, and I’ll be damned before I’ll leave this island unwed,” Nicholas Warre snapped.

      “Listen here,” William said. “I’m— Millicent, cease!” He adjusted his grip on her. “I’m taking this one to the ship. You want to be wed? Then stay and take care of the bloody business yourself.”

       CHAPTER FOUR

      OH, YES. NICK would take care of this bloody business, and he would do it just as soon as dawn broke and a priest could be found.

      “What a shame our wedding did not turn out as you hoped,” Lady India was saying as he steered her back to the inn. “But you mustn’t be too disappointed. Sometimes one’s best-laid plans are put asunder for reasons much higher than mortal understanding can grasp. It seems clear—we did just leave a house of worship, after all—that Someone is attempting to keep you on the straight and narrow path, Mr. Warre.”

      “Indeed. The straight and narrow path to an early morning wedding.”

      “A morning wedding.” He could hear the gears turning inside that lamentably pretty head. “Excellent idea. I always did think a morning wedding would be so charming.”

      To think, he’d imagined saying the vows, sending Lady India to the ship with William and devoting a few motion-free hours in that lumpy bed.

      “You’ll secure me a room of my own tonight, naturally. It isn’t proper for a bride and groom to pass the night together before the wedding.”

      He ignored her.

      “I’m