Free Virgin Bride by Tamara Leigh Page A

falling silent. Though their exchange was unspoken, she knew something had transpired between the two men. A moment later there was a shuffling of feet followed by the door closing once again, taking with it the light and returning the sanctuary to its normal gloom.
    Graeye did not falter in her prayers, thinking that by some miracle she might yet find her escape from the inevitable. Mayhap the floor would fall from beneath her knees, or the ceiling yawn open to raise her up and away....
    Gilbert Balmaine's presence became a tangible thing as the minutes dragged by. She prayed him away, but his presence persisted. She prayed it was a terrible dream she found herself in, but knew she was fully awake. She prayed herself to another time and place, but found she was still in the chapel upon opening her eyes. In the end there was naught for her except to brave the encounter and have done with it.
    Crossing herself, she slowly rose from the kneeler, then turned to face the one responsible for her brother's demise, and to whom she had unknowingly given herself the previous night. The Baron Balmaine.
    Legs spread wide, arms crossed over his broad chest, he stood in the center aisle that divided the benches into left and right, presenting a formidable adversary. His partially shadowed countenance hard and expressionless, he slowly drew his gaze from her face and down her disheveled habit.
    Graeye forced herself to remain motionless. Still, her insides were churning with a fear she was having far too much difficulty keeping hidden. Her heart beat a wild, frantic tattoo in her chest that made it difficult to draw a full breath.
    When at last Balmaine's eyes returned to hers, looking as if they could pierce her straight through, she felt thoroughly degraded. There was no mercy there—not a hint of tenderness for the night now long past.
    This, she realized, was not the man who had loved her yestereve, though his likeness was hone other's. This was an angry man, a man who looked ready to tear her limb from limb rather than make love to her again. A coldness thrust itself upon her as she waited to hear the deprecating words she knew would come.
    As if part of his design to disgrace her, Balmaine allowed the awkward silence to drag out for interminable minutes, until Graeye had clenched her teeth so tightly, her head pounded.
    Perhaps he was uncertain as to her identity? She toyed with the far-fetched possibility, but found no consolation in it. Nay, he had placed her, otherwise he would not have pursued her.
    " 'Tis obvious," he said at last, his voice deep and clear in the silence of the chapel, "you are not accustomed to keeping your vows, Sister—sacred or otherwise."
    His words jolted her. Truly, he must see her in the very worst of lights. She had offered her body to him, then made a vow she'd had no intention of keeping. And today she stood before him clothed in the raiments of a nun.
    He stepped forward, his limp slight but noticeable.
    Graeye mentally armed" herself for what was to come. She stiffened her spine, straightened her shoulders, lifted her chin, and instructed herself that she was not to cower.
    When Balmaine stood but an arm's length away, he halted. His hands fisted upon his hips, he looked down that long, straight nose of his.
    Graeye swallowed hard on the lump of anxiety lodged in her throat as she raised her eyes to brave the wintry stare so far above her. His face no longer shadowed, she was taken aback as she met the most amazingly blue eyes. In the darkness of the night they had disguised themselves as being anything but this vivid hue. Never before had she seen eyes that color.
    "By what name are you called, daughter of Edward Charwyck, faithless bride of Christ?" he asked, his upper lip curling.
    Graeye pulled herself back to the present. Her mouth having gone suddenly dry, it was some moments before she was able to answer him. "I am—"
    "Ah. So you can speak, after all."
    Yet another mark against her already