Читать книгу The Hired Husband - Judith Stacy - Страница 8

Los Angeles, 1897

“I now pronounce you man and wife.” The minister closed his Bible. “You may kiss the bride.”

Rachel Branford glared up at her new husband. “If you even think about kissing me, Mitch Kincade, I swear I’ll bite your lip off.”

She stomped away.

Mitch stood at the altar watching his bride storm past the rows of empty pews, her quick footsteps echoing through the silent church. Back stiff, dark hair drawn in a severe knot beneath her hat, she wore her least favorite dress—she’d made a point of telling him so, the one time she’d spoken to him this morning.

The woman could throw a blanket of frost over everything around her, no doubt about it.

And still, he wanted her.

Even if she couldn’t stand him.

Not that he blamed her, Mitch conceded, as he watched her bustle bobbing down the aisle. Not after the disaster her father had caused and her brother had compounded, the mess that she’d been left to fix…with her body.

But she’d given her word and she’d stuck by it. She’d gone through with the wedding. Why wouldn’t she? Rachel had as much at stake in this marriage as he did.

Now, through that series of unfortunate circumstances, Mitch stood on the verge of having the one thing he’d fought for, sweated blood over and dreamed of for years. So close he could taste it.

“Vengeance is mine, sayeth the Lord,” Mitch mumbled.

“Excuse me?” the minister asked.

Mitch glanced back at him. “Nothing. Never mind,” he said.

The minister shifted uncomfortably. “Well, uh, congratulations.” He cleared his throat. “And…good luck.”

You’ll need it, his tone implied.

Mitch didn’t disagree.

Drawing in a breath, he popped on his bowler and headed down the aisle after his bride. He’d have what he wanted from Rachel Branford.

One way or the other.