Then his eyes met hers, and her stomach knotted.
“Wait,” she gasped just as the priest cleared his throat and prepared to begin the ceremony.
Her groom frowned. “Calliope, what is the–”
“I’m sorry. I – I can’t do this. I’m sorry!” she cried, yanking her hand free. Her gaze darted wildly from side to side, she began to back down the aisle, nearly tripped on the hem of her gown, and then spun around.
“Calliope, wait. Calliope, stop!”
Closing her ears to his shouted commands, she raced past a shocked Helena and burst out of the church as if bloodthirsty hounds were nipping at her heels. She could hear the floor rumbling as her husband-to-be gave chase. He was considerably larger than her. Faster, too. With nowhere else to run she jumped into the waiting carriage and slammed the door shut behind her, then quickly turned the lock.
“Go!” she yelled at the driver, who hastily picked up the reins and slapped them on the horse’s rump. With a snort, the gelding lunged forward and the carriage clattered down the cobblestone street, leaving her spurned fiancé standing in its wake…
Hell burning in his eyes.
Marquess Under the Mistletoe Page 10