Читать книгу Sexual Hunger - Melissa MacNeal - Страница 10

“Never, never have you looked so lovely, Maria! Even more beautiful than last time I saw you—”

“Mere hours ago,” she quipped quietly.

“—which is nothing short of a miracle! My brother will be stunned.” Jude fluttered her voluminous ivory skirts to display their layers of beaded lace to full advantage, and then stepped back for a final assessment. At his request, she wore her veil draped back over her shoulders, to better reveal her exquisite smile, the face he could gaze at forever. He adjusted the butterfly pendant for the excuse it gave him to touch her warm skin. “Relax, now, and hold those happy thoughts. No bride has ever been captured for posterity with such poise, such grace—”

“Better get your shots taken. Lady Darington is spinning like a crazed top.” Rubio Palladino entered the small parlor and then stopped in his tracks, visibly affected by the sight of his sister. “But then, it’s Maria’s day, is it not?”

“So true. Mum will just have to adjust.” Grinning, Jude ducked beneath the black cape of his camera and took hold of the shutter bulb. “Steady now…tilt your chin up just a bit, love, as though you’re telling Jason who’s really in charge—perfect!” He squeezed the bulb, confident he’d captured Maria at her charming, challenging best. “And while you’re here, Rubio, perhaps you’d like to pose with your sister? We so seldom have these occasions in our lives—”

“What a fine idea! I feel so—so obvious—standing here all alone!” Maria replied. Then she smiled wistfully at her younger brother. “You’re all I have left for family, Rubio. And although I adore Jason, I’ll treasure this likeness of us…my last moments before I take on the Darington name.”

“And all the privilege that entails,” Jude remarked with a chuckle. He watched brother and sister position themselves. No mistaking their Italian heritage: the planes of their faces beneath well-placed cheekbones, the coquettish angle of their eyes, and their luxurious hair. Maria’s waves were swept up into a high Psyche knot beneath her veil, with two flirtatious tendrils curling on either side of her face, while her brother’s mane swelled out around his temples and brushed his shoulders in a way that defied the current trend. Together, the two of them made a timeless statement: the lovely bride and the proud brother who would escort her up the aisle to her new husband.

Jude sighed to himself. What he wouldn’t give to trade places with Rubio…to stand in as the groom, just this once—

But he didn’t dare. While most people couldn’t distinguish between him and his twin, such behavior would be tempting fate: his mother had been able to tell them apart since the day they were born.

“All right, you two, we’re not at a wake!” he teased. And as the sparkle leaped into their dark eyes, as they instinctively leaned in toward each other, he snapped the shot.

“And now me, Jude! Make my portrait, too! Please? Please?”

Jude closed his eyes, pausing, so he wouldn’t tell Jemma what a royal pain in the arse she was. Into the parlor she flounced, her blond curls a-flutter around her flushed face. At sixteen, his sister fancied herself the belle of every ball—and she was a bud developing into an exquisite rose, if one could avoid the thorns of her tongue and her temperament. Her gown of cerise silk faille complemented her pale complexion, almost to the point where she looked like a young woman rather than the brat he knew her to be.

“Mummy wants to see you,” she informed Maria pertly. She lifted a speculative eyebrow. “And where are the pearls I loaned you? When Mummy sees that—that vulgar piece of paste, she’ll—”

“What will she do?” a voice demanded from the doorway. And to make the scene complete, their mother entered the parlor with a decisive swish of her taffeta gown. A stunning, one-of-a-kind gown from LeChaud Soeurs, it shimmered in ever-changing shades of periwinkle and aubergine. Although its cut was more form fitted and sophisticated than most women’s gowns, Dora’s presence made the parlor feel even smaller and more confining.

Jude stood taller, waiting. His mother, Lady Darington, would spare no one as she spoke her mind about the butterfly pendant.

She stepped in front of Maria, taking the jeweled piece between her fingers to study it: because she was too vain to wear spectacles, only close family knew how poor her vision had become. “Hmmmm…”

Why was he holding his breath? It wasn’t as if his mother’s opinion would change anything—except perhaps poor Maria’s high hopes for a perfect wedding day.

“Highly unusual,” she remarked. “We agreed upon Jemma’s pearls, however. In keeping with the bridal tradition of—”

“Jude made it! As a wedding gift, which Jason gave me to wear today!” Maria blurted. Bless her, she stood her ground, her eyes aglow with dark fire. “And now that it’s in my bridal portrait, we can hardly remove it, can we?”

Clever girl! Invoking Jason’s name had helped, but she’d also acknowledged his contribution to her wedding day. Jude exchanged a quick glance with Rubio, who stood poised next to Maria to prevent Jemma and his overbearing mother from injecting any more venom.

His mother’s breath escaped with a hiss. “Far be it from me to criticize Jude’s talent or taste. But if Jason approves—”

“Oh, he was proud to give it to me! Even Mrs. Booth remarked on its unusual beauty!” Maria pressed on. “And don’t you look lovely, too? Camille and Colette outdid themselves, flattering you with such an exquisite fit and color, Dora!”

His mother took the bait, focusing on this flowery praise rather than her disdain for Maria’s habit of using first names. “Well, I—thank you, Maria. And for what I paid them, the LeChaud sisters should well have transformed me into a goddess!”

“And they made my gown, too!” Jemma chimed in. She plucked her skirt between her fingertips and twirled like a little girl—until she grabbed her bodice under the gown’s short cape, which seemed to be…squirming. “Willie! Willie, stop it!” she whispered tersely.

“You did not bring that damn ferret—”

“He’s my best boy, Mummy. Queen Elizabeth’s ferret was an albino, too!”

“—to church? To a wedding?” Dora gasped. “My God, Jemma, what were you thinking? If that infernal pest gets loose—”

“I have him perfectly trained! Wilbert has impeccable manners!” the girl replied shrilly. She coaxed the slender white creature out through her scalloped neckline, to cradle him against her chest. “And I will have my portrait made with him! Jude has already agreed!”

Jude stood rooted beside his camera. Pitting mother against daughter was a losing proposition, but at least the ferret had relieved poor Maria of being the target for the negative attention his pendant had created. She, too, stood absolutely still; remained outside the running tantrum that erupted between the Darington females several times each day.

“This is not the time nor the place for such foolishness, Jemma.” Their mother squared her shoulders and lifted her chin, silently announcing that the matter was settled. “Enough distractions! I came here looking for Jason, as it seems no one has seen him today. We’ve a mere twenty minutes before the wedding is to begin!”

The bottom dropped out of Jude’s stomach. As his brother’s best man, he was ultimately responsible for the groom…and he could not confess where he’d been during Jason’s bachelor party last night. His gaze met Maria’s. She, too, was forcing an expression that camouflaged their secret, but she couldn’t keep quiet.

“He was fine when I saw him yesterday! When he gave me this pendant!” The words rushed from her mouth as she fingered the jeweled butterfly. “He left the town house dressed for his party, so—”

All eyes found Jude, and he prayed for a convincing cover story. “Last I knew, he was at the gentlemen’s club near the harbor, fulfilling all those male rituals one observes at a bachelor gathering,” he added with an apologetic glance toward Maria. “I insisted he come home with me, but—as always—he and his friends ridiculed me for wanting to leave early. For acting responsibly, considering today’s wedding.”

His mother’s face tightened. “Are you not your brother’s keeper, Jude? You should have—”

“Jude! Jude, where the hell’s your brother?” Into the airless parlor stalked his father, whose expression said the devil had come to collect his due. “I’ve just quizzed McCaslin and Hackett—who look like Death itself dragged their arses out of bed. They have no idea of Jason’s whereabouts.” Lord Darington’s hair had gone white at the temples and his skin had assumed the patina of his advancing years, but he was still a battle cannon who fired first and asked questions later. “And here you are, looking as fresh as a daisy! As oblivious—or deceitful—as your brother’s fine-feathered friends!” he blustered. “What the hell’s going on here?”

Jude gripped his tripod, knowing three extra legs still didn’t give him a good one to stand on: in his white tie and tails, Phillip, Lord Darington, cut a formidable figure. Not a man to be trifled with, even when his wealth and standing weren’t being showcased at his heir’s wedding. “As I was telling Mum,” Jude rasped, hoping his story matched what Clive and Daniel had said, “when I informed Jason it was time to head home, he and his friends laughed at me!”

“As well they might,” his father replied stiffly.

Jude bit back insults he’d wanted to hurl at this pompous old goat for years. “Jason believes he can do no wrong. Who am I to imply otherwise?”

“That’s a dodge and you know it!” Lord Darington—for he had assumed his role as guardian of the family name and reputation—drilled Jude with his steely gray gaze. “McCaslin and that nutless wonder, Hackett, claim they last saw your brother at—” He glanced at his wife and daughter, then gripped Jude’s shoulder. “No more hiding under that camera’s cape. You can only imagine the consequences if we have no groom for today’s wedding!”

“But the ceremony must go on!” Jemma cried. “I’ve been preparing myself for weeks—”

“I shall not abide such an insult to our reputation! Not even the suggestion of it!” his mother said. She pointed toward the door. “Go! And don’t come back without my son!”

With a last apologetic glance at Maria, who stood like a porcelain statue, Jude followed his father. His temples pounded as though he’d imbibed as much brandy as his brother and those cohorts who’d led him on last night’s misadventures. And indeed, Clive McCaslin and Daniel Hackett appeared green around the gills outside the church doors, weaving and bleary-eyed. At the sight of Lord Darington, they tried in vain to square themselves up.

“Now tell me again! We have no ladies present, so where did you sots leave Jason?”

Clive swallowed as though trying not to retch. He looked to Jude for support, but Jude kept his mouth clamped shut, hoping McCaslin didn’t ask where he’d been last night. “Best I can remember, Miss Amelia—” He blinked and pointed at Dan. “You’re the man who suggested we take up a collection for—”

“Amelia Beddow? The madam who runs a house on the harbor?”

Jude flinched. Their father had escorted them to the madam’s establishment for their sixteenth birthday and paid the lady to make men of them—or of him, anyway. Jason had already dipped his stick when the daughters of their parents’ peers succumbed to his persuasive ways. And while her sporting girls had come and gone over the years, the enterprising Miss Beddow knew a gold mine for its worth, there amongst the sailors and ship captains and captains of London’s shipping industry. Surely she’d known better than to detain Jason on the eve of his much-publicized wedding….

Dan’s vomit splattered the foundation, a doleful sound that brought Jude out of his musings. His father’s face resembled a raw beefsteak, and had the vicar not stepped through the door, he might’ve shoved Dan and Clive against the church’s stone facade.

“Have we still not located the groom?” Father Stoutham tugged at his white collar, not daring to ask any further questions.

Lord Darington cursed. “Do you think we’d all be standing here, trying to nail down the truth, if—oh, here!” He pulled a thick wad of pound notes from his pocket. “I’m leaving you to maintain order until we get back! My wife and daughter are working themselves into a frenzy, and the gossip’s going to fly among the guests. Handle it for me!”

His father’s expression brooked no argument: Jude followed closely as they strode toward the carriage. Pearson, the driver, looked startled when he learned of their destination, but moments later they were clattering down the street and toward the harbor.

Across from him, his father looked suddenly older, despite his rage. “Why do I suspect you ducked out of the festivities as soon as Amelia Beddow came into the picture?” he demanded in a low voice. “You could’ve waited in the front parlor—”

“I had no idea!” Jude protested. “I left before there was any mention of visiting Miss Beddow’s!”

And it was true. Almost. Damn his brother for messing up everyone’s day—and not telling him! In a pinch, he could’ve stood in for his more adventurous twin—and God knows he’d wanted to, plenty of times—so the wedding could’ve proceeded. They could’ve claimed he, Jude, was the missing twin! To avoid scandal, his mother would’ve gone along with the ruse, and would throttle Jason the next time she saw him.

The look on Maria’s face as he’d left the parlor haunted him. She’d stood still and silent during the fuss his sister had kicked up, but she had to be hurt…concerned…heartsick. What awful thoughts must be racing through her mind, these minutes before her wedding? While Maria loved him dearly, she loved his brother in a deeper, different way. And what bride wanted to be crying in the parlor, worried about her man’s whereabouts, when she’d spent the past months dreaming of this moment—this biggest promise and celebration of her life?

And we left her to fend for herself while Mum and Jemma whirl like dervishes, he thought as the masts and piers of the harbor came into view. At least Rubio was there to help Stoutham control the gathering crowd. Things were bound to get ugly—or very interesting, depending on how their guests speculated about their long wait. And when all was said and done, Jason would have to learn to apologize, wouldn’t he? He owed all of them—his bride, most of all—a major explanation.

As the carriage clattered through the traffic toward the modest two-story building near the pier, however, the air of desolation around the place didn’t bode well. His father peered intently out his window, as though to see through the bordello’s drawn draperies. “Why the hell, on a Saturday afternoon, does Amelia’s place of business look deserted?”

“It’s early yet?” Jude offered, knowing it was the wrong thing to say.

His father nearly knocked the footman backward as he threw open the carriage door and strode toward the whorehouse. Lord Darington grabbed the handle, but the place was locked tight. “Open up, damn it! I know you’re in there!” he called out. He pounded continuously on the door as Jude peeked through a front parlor curtain.

Was that a movement, near the bar? The room looked dim and empty, yet someone stirred…shuffled unevenly toward them without making a reply.

“Amelia, we must talk! And you know why!” his father continued in an ominous voice. Heedless of the curious passersby, the iron-haired man in formal attire banged the heavy door with his fist—

Until the lock clicked and it flew open! His father nearly punched the young woman who stood scowling at them, jaded and unafraid. “And what might this mindless racket be about?” she demanded. “Can’t ya see the place ain’t open?”

“Why the hell not? I must talk to Amelia about—”

“Gone, she is. To Brighton, to work a convention. Not that it’s any of your business.”

“Cheeky chit! Have you any idea to whom you’re speaking?” he demanded. “When Miss Amelia returns—”

“Father, please! We haven’t time for such confrontations.” Jude grabbed the arm that was poised to slap the young woman, giving the girl an apologetic smile. “If Jason Darington is passed out in one of your rooms, we’d be pleased to relieve you of him, miss.”

She was thick in the middle and rather homely; not one of the madam’s working girls. Her freckled face and prim gray dress bespoke a maid, perhaps—yet she stood fast as the establishment’s gatekeeper. Jude had no doubt she’d back them off the doorstep, if she chose.

“I’m tellin’ ya, nobody’s here.”

“Then who are you?” his father cut in. “My son, Jason Darington, was here with friends last night, and he’s past due at his wedding! Do not waste my valuable time with these silly games of hide-and-seek!”

As she opened the door wider so they could see the deserted premises for themselves, Jude noticed an enlarged foot that pointed off to one side, beneath her skirts. A clubfoot. “As you can see,” she replied in a haughty tone, “no ladies are present, nor is Miss Amelia. But the police shall arrive moments after I hit the alarm button, if you don’t leave immediately.”

His father’s eyes widened in a face that grew ruddier. “Call the police, if you please,” he jeered. “Since you’re obviously covering for Miss Beddow, the law does indeed need to be notified!”

“So notify them yourself, sir!” The door shut with a loud whump.

“Well, of all the—have you ever seen such insolence? When I catch Amelia—”

“We’d best be getting back, Father,” Jude insisted. “Our guests are in a state of pandemonium by now, unless the vicar has uncorked the wine. Can’t expect Rubio to keep the peace as the only sane male on the premises.”

His father’s body vibrated with pent-up wrath. “Yes, well, if I don’t get to the bottom of this—get a confirmation of McCaslin’s story, or the truth from the police—who will?”

As Lord Darington pivoted on his heel, Jude wanted to stay behind and investigate on his own: he and Jason might be polar opposites in temperament, but they shared a bond that kept them connected even when one didn’t know the other’s location. He resented the way his father berated him, but resentment wouldn’t get his twin brother to the church to marry Maria. With a sigh, Jude returned to the carriage to find his father inside, engaged in a window conversation with a uniformed officer.

“—weren’t no different hereabouts last night than usual,” the policeman claimed, talking around a fat cigar. “Didn’t hear no reports of foul play, nor bodies bein’ throwed off—”

Jude winced.

“—but for you, Lord Darington,” he offered in a more gracious tone, “I’ll dig deeper. See if anybody reported anything amiss last night, or recalls seein’ your Jason.”

His father didn’t look any happier, but at least he accepted the lawman’s story. “Be quick about it, too, while I go back to this fiasco of a wedding. Even if I have nothing to tell our friends—not to mention my wife—you can be sure the illustrious Miss Crimson will get wind of this scandal and publish her own ludicrous version of it!”

“Yes, milord, she keeps the Inquirer in print—not that I condone such gossip, you understand!” The officer, a stubby man with short, thick fingers, flicked the ash of his cigar. “If I learn anything, where might I find you, milord?”

“Saint Paul’s Knightsbridge. You’ll be handsomely rewarded if you show up with my son.”

The ride back to the church did nothing to settle Jude’s nerves. His father sat across from him, legs outstretched and twitching, arms crossed so tightly he appeared to be squeezing the air from his lungs. Even so, it wasn’t love or concern etching themselves into Lord Darington’s commanding countenance: he appeared more angry and inconvenienced than worried.

“Christ Almighty, if Jason doesn’t show up, there’ll be no living with your mother. The two of you nearly killed her during your birthing, but this!” he muttered. “She’s poured every ounce of her energy into making today’s wedding the year’s social high point! You’ve no idea how much pride it’s cost her, because her firstborn has chosen to marry beneath him when so many of our friends have lovely, eligible daughters throwing themselves at him!”

Jude smiled wryly. His father’s remarks only added to his dismay at how horrible—how betrayed—Maria must be feeling by now. What would happen to her, if his twin had found trouble he couldn’t get out of? And if everyone knew the Darington heir was missing, there’d be no more rendezvous about town with Maria—no more passing himself off as his brother.

But it was too soon to assume his brother was in dire straits. No doubt Jason would awaken from his drunken stupor to find he’d wandered onto a ship moored at the pier, or that he’d slept off his brandy while curled up in a doorway—or in some willing woman’s bed.

The thought made Jude smile. Most likely, this was his brother’s fate rather than the more odious ideas that came to mind. Jason was deeply, madly in love with Maria, but the whole point of a bachelor party was to have one last fling with the boys, wasn’t it? And those boys were paying dearly today for all they’d imbibed…. So his brother was, too. Had to be.

“And what are you so happy about?” his father snapped. “Already setting yourself up as the Darington heir? And your brother not gone but a few hours?”

Jude stood up before the carriage came to a complete halt at the church. “That remark doesn’t even deserve an answer, Father! And why do you believe he’s gone, in that way?” he demanded. “Lord knows you’ve always applauded—encouraged!—his escapades, so who can say what sort of fix he’s in? Or, for all we know, Jason has appeared and the ceremony is being delayed because we are not present.”

As he stepped into the vestibule, however, the strident tone of the organ and the chatter of the congregation told him nothing had improved in their absence. Jude slipped into the parlor and wished he hadn’t: his mother and sister were weeping, carrying on as though their lives had been ruined, while Maria sat glumly in the corner. Her ivory skirts billowed over the arms of her chair. Her hands lay tightly clasped in her lap, and her expression told him she was trying to believe the best—trying to be brave despite the horrible scenarios Mum and Jemma conjured up.

“Those worthless friends of his were the last to see him!” Jemma twittered between sniffles. “We should be holding them responsible for—”

“My God, what shall I tell the cook? We’ve prepared for three hundred people—”

“—the fact that my reputation is now ruined!” the younger blonde wailed. She was holding her ferret against her shoulder as though Willie were the last friend she had. “Who will want me, now that Jason has disgraced the entire family? I cannot believe he’d be so cruel as to—what did I ever do to him to deserve—”

Jude smiled apologetically at Maria and then stepped from the room. “Nothing’s to be accomplished in there,” he murmured to his father. “I’ll find Clive and Daniel. Quiz them more closely about last night’s activities.”

“As though they’ll recall anything. Or admit to it.” Lord Darington followed him down the narrow hallway, muttering. “Already four o’clock. If Jason doesn’t show in the next twenty minutes, we must make the only logical decision.”

Blinking his eyes against a wave of regret, Jude rounded the corner to find Rubio Palladino standing before Jason’s three motley-looking friends, whose backs were to the wall. “What are you not telling us?” the medium demanded in a low voice. “You may either volunteer what you know, or I can simply lay my hands on you and listen to your innermost secrets.”

Jude’s eyes widened. Did Maria’s brother truly have such powers? Had they consulted this medium first, perhaps he and his father wouldn’t have wasted time driving to Miss Amelia’s.

“I’m telling you, Jason was fine when Amelia took him to her room!” Clive rasped. His skin still resembled that of a dead fish, but he seemed sincerely concerned for Jason’s welfare.

“And the rest of us, we each had our own—diversions!” Daniel Hackett sputtered. “And the fact that I can’t even recall her face, much less what she did to me, should tell you how drunk we were!”

“All I remember is McCaslin beating on the door, telling us to go down the back stairs because there were stevedores awaiting their turn in the parlor.” Nicholas Northwood had apparently overslept, but he looked no more recovered than his two friends. As he brushed his hair from his haggard face, his hand shook. “I have no idea how I ended up at home in my own bed, but before we left, someone assured us Miss Beddow’s driver had taken Jason home. We would never have left him behind!” he insisted. “What sort of louts do you take us for?”

Rubio’s gaze didn’t waver. His disdain filled the narrow hallway. “My opinions don’t matter,” he replied in an ominous tone. “What you recall about last night not only determines what happens here in the next few minutes, but it may well set my sister’s future. Details, man! At what time did you last see Jason?”

The three hungover friends glanced helplessly at each other. “Was it midnight? Or closer to—”

“Two, it was!” Nicholas piped up. “The bell tolled the hour when we got to the door and Jason tried to beg off. Remember?”

Rubio crossed his arms. “So it might have been, what? Three, or half past, when you staggered out of those rooms? Why do I suspect this impressive pack of Romeos paid to sleep in those ladies’ beds?”

As their stricken faces betrayed this very possibility, Jude listened closely. If Jason had arrived at the whorehouse in the wee hours, how likely was it that Miss Amelia had planned to go to Brighton today? His father’s expression said he, too, had heard this glaring discrepancy—and that he was fed up with the entire situation.

“This yammering gets us nowhere,” Lord Darington snapped. “We have waited half an hour and still have no idea where the groom is. Meanwhile our friends are making up their own stories in the sanctuary. If the organist plays that song one more time I’ll bloody well knock her off the bench!”

Jude grabbed his father’s arm. “We must first inform Maria and Mum! Consider their wishes—”

“All the wishing in the world won’t get Jason to the altar! If something has happened to my son, this church is the last place we need to be, damn it!” His face grew mottled as he took one last look down the corridor in either direction. “I shall inform our friends of this unfortunate situation and ask them to assist in our manhunt! You may tell your mother and sister. And Maria, of course.”

Jude’s insides constricted. But when his father strode toward the sanctuary, there was nothing else to do but carry out his orders…and bear the brunt of three females’ dismay. He prayed for the right words, damn glad Rubio Palladino walked with him. Maria’s younger brother believed Jason’s fate had gone beyond the revelry of a bachelor party and that Maria would be the one who suffered most, even if she wasn’t showing it.

When Jude stepped into the overheated parlor, the room seemed to hold its breath: two shrill voices stilled and three sets of eyes drilled him. “Father is in the sanctuary announcing that we must cancel—”

“No! He cannot do this to—no, I say!” Jemma screamed. When she rushed forward as though to strangle him, Willie jumped to the floor. The ferret raced between him and Rubio and out the parlor door. “Father has no right to—”

“Intolerable!” his mother snapped. “Once again that insufferable man has taken it upon himself to wreak havoc! It’s my place to—”

Despite the increase of their volume and pitch—and the way Maria’s face crumpled—Jude smiled to himself. It was his mother’s mission to create a stir wherever she went. As Jemma chased after Willie and Mum followed her, vengeance against Father on her mind, he stepped over to take Maria’s hands. “I’m so sorry this is all whirling like a hurricane—”

“Do we know what might have happened to Jason?” She stood up, blinking bravely, gripping Jude’s fingers as she looked at her brother. “Yesterday afternoon, he was his usual playful self! Declaring his love—fastening this pendant about my neck and proclaiming himself the happiest man on earth. I will not believe he backed out of our wedding!”

“Nor will I, Maria. Father and I encountered…a suspicious story at the parlor house where Jason last went with his friends.”

A bloodcurdling shriek from the sanctuary made them look toward the door.

“My God, there’s a white rat running down the aisle!” someone yelled.

“He’s jumped up my skirts! Sweet Jesus, save me! Save me—ooohhhh!!”

More shrieks and screams followed. Whatever his father had been saying to their assembled guests, Jemma’s ferret had called a halt to his announcement and all hope of having a ceremony. Not even Jason’s appearance would convince the women to stay now. Jude sighed, torn between duty to his family and affection for Maria. “Since Jason’s absent, I should try to catch that infernal little rodent,” he muttered. “If you’ll wait here, Maria, I’ll see you home—”

“I’ll take her.” Rubio slipped a protective arm around his sister’s shoulders, his eyes shining with concern. “We’ll leave now, while the uproar is diverting the guests’ attention. Saves you a lot of explaining, dear sister. Shall we go out the side door?”

She nodded mutely. Her midnight eyes looked huge with unshed tears as she gazed at Jude, and his heart ached for her. “It’s probably best,” he agreed. “I’ll talk with you later—and meanwhile, please believe we will find Jason! This is all a horrible twist of fate, and he is not to blame! He loves you, Maria!” And so do I. More than I can say.

Maria sighed and turned to go, making the exquisite choker wink in the late afternoon light. As he noted her shaking shoulders, and the way even her gown had lost its luster, Jude hoped he’d said the right thing. And he prayed the bejeweled butterfly wouldn’t become a memento of the nightmare this wedding day had become.