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“I’m a fool, a silly little fool!”
His face softened at her distress. “No, not a silly fool. A sweet, trusting soul who needs a crash course in life if she’s to survive in this world. You lived a fantasy life with Godfrey, Sophia. It wasn’t real. My brother always ran away from life and, for a while, so did you. Maybe it’s time you joined the real world…saw what real men are like!”
“What…what do you mean?”
“You know very well what I mean.”
MIRANDA LEE is Australian, living near Sydney. Born and raised in the bush, she was boarding-school educated and briefly pursued a classical music career before moving to Sydney and embracing the world of computers. Happily married, with three grown-up daughters, she began writing when family commitments kept her at home. She likes to create stories that are believable, modern, fast-paced and sexy. Her interests include reading meaty sagas, doing word puzzles, gambling and going to the movies.
Miranda Lee is the author of Hearts of Fire.
The Bride In Blue
Miranda Lee
‘IT’S time, Sophia.’
A shudder rippled down Sophia’s spine at the sound of the quietly spoken words. Taking a deep steadying breath, she turned from where she’d been standing at the bedroom window, staring blindly out at the lengthening shadows.
She tried not to look as wretched as she felt. After all, a bride was supposed to be happy on her wedding-day. But it was impossible to smile, or feel anything other than depressed.
The man who was about to become her husband filled the open doorway, looking impressive in a beautifully tailored grey three-piece suit. Sophia had always thought him a strikingly handsome man, with his strongly sculptured face, jet-black hair and compelling blue eyes. But it was a cold, forbidding kind of beauty, and she had never warmed to it. She shivered when his dark brows drew together, narrowed eyes sweeping over her.
‘You’re not wearing white,’ he said brusquely.
Gulping, she glanced down at the pale blue suit she herself had chosen, mostly because the softly pleated skirt and thigh-length jacket disguised her rapidly changing figure. It had a matching hat—a small soft thing with a blue flower on one side and a wispy veil that came down over her forehead.
When Wilma had tried to steer her towards something white, she’d been firm in her refusal. White would have been hypocritical. Not because she thought herself impure, but because her wedding was not a romantic wedding. It was simply the fulfilling of a deathbed promise.
‘No,’ she said. ‘I’m not.’
Her succinct answer was not inspired by defiance but by fear. Jonathon Parnell frightened the life out of her.
Sophia had never met a man as intimidating as Godfrey’s younger brother. Not even Joe, her bullying stepfather, had produced the sorts of reactions in her this man could produce. She fairly quailed in Jonathon’s presence, becoming tongue-tied or simply stupid. Sometimes she even stammered, which was why she tried to answer him in monosyllables.
‘You were entitled to wear white,’ he growled. ‘Any wrongdoing lay entirely with my brother.’
Her dark brown eyes flung wide at this unjust misreading of what Godfrey had supposedly done. Perhaps he should have told her he was married, but there had been no heartless seduction, no taking advantage of her tender age, or forcing her against her will. She’d gone to his bed willingly and would have done it more than that one time, if she’d had the chance.
But of course, she hadn’t had the chance. Godfrey had collapsed the following day and within a few short weeks, he was gone. She would never see him again. He would never see his baby…
Tears filled her eyes.
‘Come now, don’t cry,’ Jonathon ordered curtly, drawing a snow-white handkerchief out of his jacket pocket as he strode across the room. ‘What’s done is done. Don’t go messing up those lovely eyes of yours.’
This most uncharacteristic compliment flustered Sophia, as did the feel of Jonathon’s large hands pressing the handkerchief into her tremulous fingers.
That was another of the things about him that she found intimidating. His size. He was a very big man. Not only tall, but powerfully built with broad shoulders, a massive chest and long muscular legs.
Godfrey had been much shorter and of a slight build, with elegant, almost feminine hands. He hadn’t towered over Sophia’s five-foot-two frame as his brother did; hadn’t made her feel like a child by comparison. Jonathon could pick her up and snap her in two, if he wanted to.
‘Th-thanks,’ she said, her voice and hands both shaking as she dabbed