Sinc held up his hands peaceably. “Don’t look at me like that—I only bet that she’d turn up on time. Just thought that you’d want to know how much faith I have in her.”

It was not done to strangle your best man before the wedding, Hart reminded himself. He took a few deep breaths, forcing himself back to an appearance of calm before saying coldly, “If you ever—I mean ever!—make a public bet on my wife again, so help me, Sinc, friend or not, I won’t be responsible for my actions.”

“No, no, of course, not. Don’t know what got into me. Sorry, Hart. Meant no disrespect, just can’t seem to help m—”

The organ sounded an emphatic chord. The congregation hushed. Slowly Hart turned toward the entrance . . .

She stepped through the doorway and paused at the head of the aisle. There was an audible gasp, followed by a ripple of murmurs and whispers.

Hart’s mother gave a loud moan and swooned dramatically over the nearest man. Only he and her companion reacted, the companion fluttering forward with smelling salts.

Hart ignored it. He only had eyes for his bride. She stood motionless, a pale, slender sprite wrapped in flaming scarlet. No demure pastel or ivory bride this. The dress screamed defiance, flamboyance and a warning. It was utterly outrageous.

It clung to her upper body like a second skin, every slight curve faithfully outlined until it flared out at her hips. Her small breasts were framed by the scooped neckline, like a delectable dish to be served.

He would taste that dish very soon.

She stood straight, her head flung back as if daring him—or anyone—to criticize.

The congregation stared and muttered and whispered and looked to him for a reaction. Hart didn’t move. She would come to him.

Sinc leaned forward and murmured, “Told you she’d lead you a merry dance.”

And what a dance it would be, Hart thought. She was glorious. Magnificent. Unique. And she was his.

The music swelled and, one hand on her uncle’s arm, she strode down the aisle with that long leggy gait that purely drove him wild. Her eyes were locked on his. Here I am, she was saying. I belong to myself. Marry me if you dare.

Hart dared, all right. He couldn’t wait.

She came to the end of the aisle. Ashendon removed her hand from his arm and offered it to Hart. Every eye was on them. Everyone was waiting to see what Hart would do.

Her skin, so pale and perfect in the dim light of the church, was like a pearl. Her lips were rich, dark and moist; her eyes met his with a mix of defiance and uncertainty.